by Stirling
I broke up with her on the phone because I wasn’t man enough to do it in person or I was too much of man. She’d hug me the way she did, face pressed to my chest, the nails of one hand digging into my shoulder blade, the other into the small of my back. She’d press her crotch against my leg until I could feel both labias pressing through two layers of denim and the blood pulsing through the arteries of her thigh. Then she’d cry, and as mascara and foundation ran down my shirt she would whisper..
“Please don’t go.” And I wouldn’t.
So, she got a phone call from 142 miles away, to the day-room phone. I confessed my love but said I just wasn’t ready to get married yet, I had to go, please don’t call, don’t write, please just let me be, let me figure out who I am before I marry you, , please, my love, just give me time. She cried, and begged, and pleaded, but I was strong. For once, I had to be stronger then the bounce of her breasts, the curve of her ass, and the smell of her hair. I had to want what was best for me more then I wanted in her pants, because I knew if I didn’t something in me would die.
“FUCK YOU!” were her last words. I hung up the phone. Three months later the wedding invitation arrived by email. Written the bottom was “Just wanted you to know that I am totally over you now.” I cried as I held it, and as I burned it. I moved on. I got in another relationship. I settled down. But when my marriage was on the rocks, I thought of my little blond haired fire cracker, far away in the Big City. I emailed. She wrote back. We talked and then…she was gone.
Years later, having failed out of school, I was preparing to move across the country. Staring at the surf rolling in, I decided I wanted everything to be right between us, and I called. We spoke. Tears. Growth. Smiles. and then, she was gone.
Her second marriage fails. I get an email. She wants to be part of my life. She wants me, alone in a hotel room in the Big City. I tell her that sounds wonderful, but it’s not what I do. My wife and I are open, but I don’t fuck strangers. If she wants to be friends again, get to know each other, and then try to work out sex as a loved equal and not a stranger wearing the memories of my fiancée…then perhaps.
She says she doesn’t believe in sex with people she cares about, and that she doesn’t make her self vulnerable enough to be the kind of deep friends I am talking about. She tells me it is sad and lame that I still think there are real feelings, and that it’s too bad I haven’t gotten over her like she’s gotten over me, and then, she was gone.
New email. She wants to know how things are going… so here in my blessed anonymousness let me say how things are going.
Fuck you, you stupid, fucking uppity bitch. I tried to give you everything when I was freshman in college. I tried to give you everything when I had a family that depended on me, I tried to give you everything thing when my life was changing, and most recently when I offered you everything I have to offer as the family-man I am, you said you don’t “do that” anymore.
All I ever wanted to be to you was a loved as an equal. I didn’t want to be your sex slave, I didn’t want you to be mine. I wanted us to love and take care of one another. You know what you want? You want my dick. Not because you love me but because since you were 17 years old I’m the only man who had so much self respect that he turned down sex with you just be in control of his life. You don’t give a shit about love, or friendship, or even having fun with your body. You just need men to need you. You don’t deserve me.
Take the fingers you used to hold me with, stick them in the pussy you tried to whip me with and go fuck yourself, because I sure as hell won’t.
