What I Really Wanted For Christmas...

Forget about love. Forget about romance. Forget about all that other emotional, serious stuff. Way back in September, he told me to use him however I wanted. And I was willing to take him up on that offer.

All I really wanted was to see him on a semi-consistent basis—maybe two or three times a month, that’s all—and have a good time with him! Have dinner, go to the movies, hang out, and get off together. That's it. Nothing deep. Just sex…hot, dirty, raunchy, passionate, fun sex with HIM—someone I knew and trusted and liked and enjoyed spending time with.

I wanted us to be friends with benefits. No strings attached.

I wanted to do things with him that I could never do with anyone else.

I wanted to share that part of me with him.

I wanted to show him a side of me that no one else gets to see.

I wanted to lay waste to him.

I wanted to leave him exhausted and completely satisfied, and send him to sleep with a smile on his face.

I wanted to drizzle scented oil all over him and use my naked body to massage it into his skin.

I wanted to watch us together in front of a mirror. I wanted to do it in the shower. In the tub. On the kitchen floor. Across the dining room table. On the basement stairs. Outside on the deck, in front of the blazing fire bowl to keep us warm.

I wanted him to bend me over and take me from behind, smashing his hips against me, smacking my ass, pulling my hair, biting my shoulder.

I wanted him to pull me down on his lap and impale me with his incredible, beautiful cock, grabbing my hips and rocking me back and forth as I squealed in pleasure.

I wanted him to mash my vibrator against my clit as he thrust into me, until I screamed for mercy.

I wanted to hear his teeth chatter and his howl of release as I got him off harder than anyone else has ever gotten him off before.

I wanted to take him into my mouth, his hands tangled in my hair as he forced himself deeper and deeper between my lips, telling me how to suck him, until he exploded.

I wanted him to bury his face between my thighs, cover him with my juices, watch him lap it up like sugar-water, feel his tongue darting inside me and flicking against my clit. I wanted to hold the back of his head and grind his face into me as I spread myself open so he could lick every inch of me.

I wanted him to whisper his nastiest thoughts in my ear as he slid into me.

I wanted to lay naked before him, my fingers tracing slow circles across my breasts, down my stomach, between my legs, my eyes closed, while he watched me and stroked himself.

I wanted to watch him touch himself, talk him through it, let him come all over me.

I wanted to hear his voice whispering, moaning, gasping, shouting my name, over and over and over.

That's what I REALLY wanted for Christmas.

That’s what he missed out on.

Pity.

Stolen Moments

Remembering the days when our love began
Thinking of a million ways to escape and be with you
But reality wasn't just you and I
It was long drawn-out days and lonely nights

Dreaming about you
I keep dreaming about you
Dreaming about when you would say
Let me take you to another place
Where nothing ever seems to matter
It's just you and me
We can take flight like a thief in the night
Stolen moments with you

Destiny didn't have such a simple plan
I was just a girl and you a young man
How could age define something so divine
Can this even be real or just exist in my mind?

Dreaming about you
I keep dreaming about you
When I'm dreaming and praying for the day
When no one and nothing else takes up our time
Finally you're only mine

Each and every day
I'd walk with you right by my side
But instead we have to hide, sneak around and lie
Just to spend time alone
If loving you is a crime
I'd rather do the time
And leave the world behind

Let's get away
We can get away

-Alicia Keys

***********************************************************

Just recently heard this song and of course it reminded me somewhat of David.

Will this hurting EVER go away? God.

I miss him. It feels like my heart has been pulled out of my chest.

But have to admit life's been quite a bit more peaceful in the past week. Changing my cell phone number was a good decision. I no longer jump every time it rings. I don't have to worry and wonder and stress about when I'll hear from him next, because I know that he won't ever be calling me again. And it hasn't been terribly difficult to resist the temptation to call him. I just have to stick to it.

I've been thinking a lot and decided that I just love him too much to have continued with whatever it was that we were doing. Can what we had be considered an affair? To me, that word conjures up a long-term secret relationship. We only had sex twice in two months...not exactly a long-term thing, is it? More like a two-night stand. Although we've been talking for the entire six years that R. and I have been together without his knowledge, so I suppose that could count for something. An emotional affair, maybe? I don't know.

Anyway, my point is that, in every relationship, it seems that one person loves the other maybe just a teensy, tiny bit more. That's been my experience, anyway. With R. and me, he definitely loves me a little more than I love him. And I like it that way; I retain control of things in that position. It's better to be in that position, even though it makes things a bit boring.

But with David, I am the one who loves him more than he loves me. I think it was always that way. He makes me feel completely out of control, which is a lovely thing at first, especially for a control freak like me. But it always topples over on itself in the end.

I once told one of my friends that I don't make good decisions where David is concerned, and that's the truth. I am blinded by my feelings for him. Another reason why things could never work out with us. I accept too many things, too much bad behavior when it comes to him, and in the long run it would completely destroy me.

Over and Out

It's over now. This chapter of my life is over. I feel like a thousand pounds have been lifted from me.

I bit the bullet and changed my cell phone number this morning. I feel much better already.

He doesn't have any of my email addresses.
He doesn't know where I live, other than the name of the town, which is 30 miles from where he lives. And he has no car.
My home phone number is unlisted.
I don't think he'd ever try to call me at work. He probably doesn't even remember the name of my company. He has a general idea where my office is located, but he doesn't know specifically where it is.
I'm certain he doesn't remember the URL of this blog. Or the URL of my other everyday blog, though he posted on it before, almost one year ago.

I wonder what thoughts will go through his mind the next time he decides he wants to call me, and he hears that automated voice telling him that my cell phone number--the same cell phone number I've had since I was in college!!--has been disconnected.

Will he understand why I did it?
Will he try to find a way to come to me?
Or will he just accept it, shrug it off, and move on?
I don't know. But I'm going to have to be OK with not knowing. There are some things in life that none of us is meant to understand.

The real test for me will be to ensure that I never pick up the phone and call him. I still know how to get in touch with him, with his family. I still know where he works. I am going to have to force myself to forget these things, so that I'm never tempted to reach out to him again. It would be too dangerous for me. I have deleted all his phone numbers from my cell phone. Hopefully I will forget them soon enough. It would be much easier that way.

I'm still keeping this blog, though. The fact that I've blocked all avenues of his ability to contact me directly doesn't mean that he's no longer my soulmate. I will always believe that he is, but the obstacles he faced were too much for him to overcome. I still expect to write about him, about my memories of him.

I will love him from a distance, same as I've been doing for the past six years until September 12, 2006, the night of the concert when I let him back into my heart for real.

Thoughts for Today

I think I'm going to have to end this.

Because I'm greedy.

I want to see him more than once a month.
I want him to call me more than once every two or three weeks.
He came on so strong in the beginning and I miss that.

It hurts me too much that huge chunks of time pass between our trysts.
Doesn't he want me?

I keep trying to step back and look at the big picture.
I keep telling myself that I should just enjoy it for what it is for now.
But I can't.

He is like a drug to me. Hypnotic, delicious, euphoric.
I think about him all the time. Daydream about him.
Even in my sleep, I can't escape him. He is always with me.

I think about ways I can get him, just a little bit of him, to hold me off for now.
To satisfy me temporarily. To end my cravings.

I wind up compromising myself, my principles, my pride just for a sliver of him.
Just for a slice of his time. Just for a few hours every month that I get to feast on him.

I hate myself for that sometimes. And the end result is always the same:
The same thing that I think will stave off my cravings only winds up making me crave more.

It's him. That's how it's always been with him. I cannot resist.

I wanted him to be a safe harbor. I wanted him to be my lover.
But he's neither; he's like a phantom that comes and goes in my life.
Disrupting my sleep, my appetite, my sanity.
And I let it happen. Yes, I realize I'm to blame for this, too. I allow it.

I don't know how much longer I can do this.

So I'm thinking the only way I will find peace is if I end it altogether.
Move on with my life. Try to forget about him.
Ignore his calls. Delete his voicemails.

Maybe find another who is more available to meet my needs?

The idea of that makes me laugh.
How does a married woman go about finding a lover?
I'm not quite sure.

June 2002

The summer before I married R.

I was in my car, heading over to Linens N Things to update my bridal registry, sunroof open, windows rolled down, radio blasting. A hot, sticky evening. I was wearing track shorts and an old t-shirt, my hair pulled up in a ponytail. Not a speck of makeup on my face. I think I had just come from the gym.

For once, I decided to take the shortcut to the store, which took me around the back of the shopping center where the local computer school was. I don’t know why I decided to go that way that night; I usually went into the shopping center from the front entrance.

I slowly drove through the rear parking lot, and there he was.

David. Standing outside the glass doors of the computer school, leaning against a car, smoking a cigarette. I hadn’t seen him for months at that point; maybe even for a year, or longer. I recalled then that he’d told me he was taking a computer programming course at the school several months ago.

I felt panicky. I wasn’t looking my best and didn’t want him to see me. Although I told myself that I shouldn’t care, especially since my wedding was only two months away, a small voice in the back of my mind contradicted me. But before I could decide my next move, David lifted his head and his gaze fell upon me, as quickly and deliberately as if I’d yelled his name out my window. His left arm rose in greeting. There was no way around him now; I’d have to pull over and say hello.

I parked my car next to the one he’d been leaning against and smiled at him, hoping he couldn’t see my anxiety, my insides quivering. Small talk was never one of my strong points, and David was such an intense person that I’d always found it difficult to conduct idle chitchat with him.

He pointed out his new car to me. I’d never seen it before, so he asked me to sit down in the passenger seat and check it out. It was nice; a black Nissan Maxima with tinted windows and an incredibly loud sound system. He proudly showed me all its bells and whistles, and I responded in what I'd hoped was an appropriately impressed manner.

He looked good. Really good...tall and tanned and handsome. And healthy, like he’d been clean for a while, which relieved me. He was still living with Marsha, whom he’d met right around the time he and I had broken up, and he said that things were good between them. I felt a vicious, uncharacteristic stab of jealousy in my chest as he talked. She must be really special to him...he’s clean, going to school, working full-time, owns a car. Why couldn’t he have gotten his shit together before, when we were still together? He must not have loved me that much.

I pushed the thoughts out of my mind and instead tried to focus on what he was telling me. He mentioned that he had just started taking Paxil a few months earlier. He had been depressed, he said, and it was helping him a lot, though he told me offhandedly that it was killing his sex drive.

Then he asked me about the wedding planning, but I could tell that he wasn’t really listening when I answered. He had a faraway look in his eyes. It was such an awkward moment.

We chatted for only a few minutes, though it felt inexorably long to me. I had been hoping that I’d never see him again. It was just too hard for me to handle all the emotions that bubbled up within me whenever I saw him. Talking to him on the phone was one thing; I could somehow manage to keep my distance then. But when he was right next to me, looking in my eyes and laughing and smiling at me, I felt shaky and lightheaded and weak.

He took one last drag on his Newport and tossed it out the open window, telling me he had to get back into class; he’d only been outside to catch a quick smoke on his break. I started to pull on the door release handle, but he flew around to the passenger side of his car and held the door open for me as I climbed out.

Then he hugged me. I’d figured that he’d give me a quick squeeze—the tension between us for the past few minutes had been so palpable it was almost embarrassing—so I was dumbfounded when he held me against his chest for much longer than necessary. It sounds cliché, but he held onto me for so long that I thought he’d never let me go. I finally pulled away from him and reminded him that he was going to be late getting back to his class. He smiled at me, the corners of his mouth going down instead of up, then kissed the top of my head and backed away.

I watched him enter the building and disappear around the corner in the lobby, then I collapsed into the driver’s seat of my car and sat there, staring at the steering wheel, for a long time.

One Wish

"So how was your weekend?" I ask David.

He stares up at the ceiling. "Let's see...Friday night, I got drunk." He sucks in his cheeks and glances sidelong at me. I am careful to keep my expression neutral. "Saturday, I slept all day. Sunday, I slept until one o'clock, got up, watched the Eagles game, then went back to bed." He tries to smile at me but I can tell how miserable his life must be.

I begin stroking the nape of his neck. "Do you mind me doing this?" I ask him.

"No! Not at all." He bites his lip. "I just never want to clock out at work," he admits. "I wish I could work every single day. It's the only time I'm happy." He slides down the booth to sit closer to me and I pull him into my arms, kissing his left temple.

"We have to figure out how we can get you to inseminate me," I whisper in his ear. He laughs, which is precisely the reaction I was aiming for. "I want to have your baby," I continue, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. "I want to have a piece of you all to myself forever."

He smiles and kisses me. He knows exactly what I mean, and he's not shocked or appalled. "Forever, huh?"

"Mmm-hmm."

He kisses me again. "Well, practicing is the fun part! We can practice as much as you want."

But it's something that I've thought about frequently...I've even thought about the lengths that I would go to in order to do it. How terrible is that? I want to have his baby. Not my husband's, not anyone else's. Just David's.

Even if I had to lie to everyone (even if I had to lie to David!) and pretend that the baby was really R.'s.

Even if I never saw or spoke to David again for the rest of my life.

If I knew for sure that I could get away with it and that no one would ever suspect...I would do it. I want to make a baby with David. I've never felt this way about anyone else.

I know I'm crazy.

Post-Mortem

The following morning, I text him.

I know the letters said a lot. Hope ur not too freaked out.

He calls me around 1:30 from the telephone in the shop. He never got my text message because his cell reception has no reception.

"How was your night?" I inquire innocently.

He laughs. "Do you mean before or after I saw you? Because after I saw you, I felt great!"

I giggle. "I felt great, too. Thank you."

"I just got finished reading both of your letters," he says. "They blew me away. You write so well."

"Well, that's why I sent you that text message earlier," I reply. "I know that they said a lot. I hope you don't think I'm this crazy girl who's totally stuck in the past. After I left you last night, I almost wished that I could take them back, so you wouldn't see them."

"I would never think that," he reassures me. "Your letters are beautiful, and I'm glad you gave them to me. They made me feel so good. And bad, at the same time."

"That's what I didn't want," I explain quickly. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

"No, I know that. It's okay. I needed to read that. And I wish that I could explain how I feel as well as you do...the distance between my brain and my mouth is really, uh, long, and most times I just can't even say things that make sense."

"I know. Don't worry about it. I understand you."

"Yes, you do. If anyone understands me, it's you." He pauses. "Look, I don’t know if this is gonna come out right, but if something ever happened to your marriage because of me, I would never be able to live with myself...I would feel awful."

"David...it is what it is. It’s almost like I’m leading a double life with you. And I’m okay with that. Nobody has to know. This is just about you and me, and that’s it. And you are the only person I could ever imagine myself doing this with. So I'm not sure I understand what you're saying. You're not worried you're going to break up my marriage, are you?"

"No...I just think that we...it’s taken us years to get back together. A lot of mistakes, a lot of heartbreak. And I just don't want anything bad to happen to you. That's all. "

"Okay." I still have absolutely no idea what he means, but I decide not to pursue it further for now. Instead, I switch gears. "So did you get a chance to listen to the Foo Fighters CD I made for you?"

"No, not yet. I'm working in the shop all day today and my boss put on some Christmas music earlier...to get in the holiday spirit, I guess. He asked me if I had any other music to listen to, and I almost told him to put on that CD, but I wasn't sure he'd go for it. He's pretty hip, though. I think he'd probably like the Foo Fighters. So maybe I'll put it on later."

"Just make sure you really listen to every song on that CD," I instruct him. "Give them all a chance, even if you don't think you like them at first. I didn’t even like some of them at first! But I picked them especially for you."

"I will, I promise. Ya know, my boss turned off the Christmas music a while ago and I've just been listening to the radio all morning. It's kinda crazy...every song I’ve heard today makes me think of you, I swear. Every single song. Even this Limp Bizkit song came on a while ago, and I was listening to it, going, 'Yeah! That's just like me and her...'." He laughs at himself, sounding embarrassed. "Everything reminds me of you...you're everywhere."

I sit in the empty stairwell, hugging myself and grinning like a lunatic. "I know how you feel. That happens to me a lot, too. Hey...I need you to do something for me."

"Hmmm?"

I take a deep breath. "Look, I don't have very high expectations of this, David. I don't want to place any demands on you. I’m so afraid of being disappointed. I just want to be the person you have the most fun with."

"You are," he says solemnly. "I have fun with you every single time we're together, no matter what."

"Good," I reply. "But I'd like you to ask me to do stuff, too...I feel like I'm always the one trying to orchestrate us getting together. It makes me feel bad, and I hate feeling like that. I want to feel like you want to see me, too."

"I know," he says. "I know what you mean. I just have to be careful. She's always watching me. She always has an eye on me. Not that I care, but..."

"Yes, you care," I interrupt. "Of course you do. It's self-preservation! So you have to care. You need a warm bed to sleep in every night, and a place to live..."

"Yeah," he agrees. "You're right."

"I understand." And I do. But how is it possible that I'm married, yet I have more freedom to roam around, getting into trouble with him, than he does? Ah, that's right: my husband actually trusts me.

Odd

I just got off the phone with a client of mine, an older doctor whom I've never spoken to before. I called to apologize to him because his monthly installment check was issued later than usual, and to tell him that it was mailed to him yesterday morning.

He chuckled (and I was eternally grateful that he had a sense of humor about it) and then the good doctor said to me, "Hmmm...maybe someone in your cash management department was on a walkabout in Australia, and that's why I didn't get my check last month."

I almost choked on my Sprite. Until David mentioned the word "walkabout" to me two days ago, I'd never heard that term before in my entire life.

Coincidence? Or just another example of how fucking weird my life is?

Reunited

But at 4:20, he calls me. "We still on for tonight?"

"Yeah," I answer. "Are you sure you still want to meet?" I am so freaking scared that he's going to disappear on me again, I can hardly bear it.

"Absolutely," he reassures me. "Just call me before you leave work and let me know where you are."

At 5:10, I call him and he answers immediately. "I'm leaving work now, and I'll be there as soon as I can. Hopefully the traffic won't be too heavy."

"All right. I'm outside of Carmine's right now," he says.

Again, I can't resist asking him, "Are you sure you still want to meet me tonight?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" he exclaims. "I'll be here."

But when I pull into the parking lot of the shopping center twenty minutes later, I don't see David anywhere, and my heart drops into my stomach. This can't be happening again.

I wander into the True Value hardware store next to the pizza parlor, thinking that perhaps he has come here to kill time. After scanning all of the aisles in the store and not seeing him anywhere, I call his cell phone. "Uh...where are you?" I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.

"Out front of Carmine's. Where are you?"

"You weren't out front of Carmine's a minute ago! I'm in the hardware store next door. I'll be right over." I clap my cell phone shut and just about swoon from the relief of knowing that David is still there, waiting for me.

I step outside and turn the corner. He is standing in front of the pizza parlor's door, smiling at me.

DAMN! He looks good. Too good...I'm toast.

I walk over to him and we hug. Truthfully, it's an awkward moment. I hadn't realized until now just how angry he had made me by standing me up. I pull back from him, and it seems like he's going to try to kiss me, but I turn around and walk into the restaurant before he can.

We sit at a booth in the far end of the parlor, as far from the other diners as possible. After we place our orders and the waitress brings us our sodas, I just stare at him.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

I look down at the Formica tabletop. I am so fucking weak. "I want you to come over here and sit next to me, but I didn't want to ask you."

Immediately, he stands up and moves to my side of the booth. He settles down next to me and I appraise him.

"I guess you didn't get the package I sent you last week, did you?" I ask him.

He feigns a puzzled look, but I can tell he's lying. "Package?" he echoes. "No...I haven't gotten anything in the mail."

"Really," I reply, more a statement than a question.

We start talking about our respective weekends, and then he interrupts himself. "Okay...I lied to you. I did get your package late last week. But I haven't opened it yet."

The tiniest smile crosses my face, and I raise my eyebrows in his direction. "Mmm-hmm..."

He grins back at me. "You knew I was lying before, didn't you? You could see right through me."
"Yep."

"But I didn't open the package yet. I swear!"

"Why not?"

He takes a deep breath. "I saw it last week at my mom's house, and I knew it was from you, even though there wasn't a return address on it. And I just wasn't ready to open it yet."

"Why? Did ya think it was a bomb or something?" I roll my eyes at him. "It's just a Christmas gift I'd gotten you a while ago."

Our pizza arrives and I serve him the first slice. "Eat up."

As we eat, I ask him in my most non-accusatory voice why he stood me up.

"Because I'm callous and cold-hearted and mean," he tells me. "And I just get lazy. I don't know why. I thought that I was gonna call you to shore up our plans to go out that Saturday, but I got busy on Thursday, and I didn't call you...kept thinking to myself, 'Gotta call her today, gotta call her now,' but I didn't...and then it was Friday, and I didn't. And then it was Saturday. I don't know why. I'm just lazy about that stuff sometimes."

"That's not laziness," I counter. "That's just fear. Plain and simple. You're afraid." But privately, I still think he's lying. I still think he went out that Friday night and got high, and has been avoiding me ever since because he is ashamed of himself. "David...look, you don't owe me anything...I'm not gonna yell at you. Is that why you haven't called me since then? Because you thought I was going to get mad at you? Because I wouldn't be mad. I was just sad. Really, really sad."

He grimaces. "No, it's not that I was scared that you were going to be mad at me. Hell, I've seen you mad at me before! It's because you would've been sad. And I can't stand to see you sad."

"Well, you shouldn't have done that. You should've just called me and told me to forget about it. I'm a big girl, I can handle disappointment!"

"I know," he sighs. "I'm just a coward." He polishes off another two slices of pizza, and encourages me to have another slice. "Eat, eat! You gotta be starving."

I've only had one slice, but I'm full. Sitting this close to him makes my appetite disappear. "Nah, I'm good."

He chews on a pizza crust. "I read your horoscope today. It said--"

"I know you did," I interrupt him.

He cocks his head. "Really? How'd you know that?"

I smile. "I know you! I keep telling you that, but when are you finally gonna believe me?"

"I read your horoscope every single day," he tells me, his face solemn. "Every day." He nuzzles up next to me and rests his warm left hand on my thigh. "Mmm...you smell so good." He begins kissing the nape of my neck and trying to suck on my earlobe through the heavy curtain of my hair. Then he pretends to yawn and stretch, his arms rising high above our heads, and then drops his left arm down around my back. His hand snakes down to the small of my back, then to my waist, and then even further down. He gives my ass a gentle squeeze.

I’m wet again, damn him! How does he manage it? It seems effortless on his part, and I hate him for it, just for a moment.

We leave Carmine's and I inform him that I'm going to drive him home, despite his protests. I want to spend as much time with him as possible. Before we get into my SUV, I hand him the CD I've made for him, along with a plain white envelope that contains the lyrics of the songs on the CD as well as a letter I've written him.

We chat as I drive down the pike towards his house, and when we stop at a red light, he cups my chin and pulls my face to him. "This one’s a nice, long red light," he whispers before kissing my lips for the first time all night. I relax into him as his tongue explores my mouth. I wasn't sure he even wanted to kiss me ever again.

We hold hands and kiss intermittently for the rest of the ride to his house. As we approach his street, I ask him where I should drop him off. He tells me I should make a u-turn and drop him off at the bank, which is about a block away from his street, but I accidentally-on-purpose pull into the parking lot of the Observatory Field instead.

David laughs. "This'll work, I guess. Is that what they call a Freudian slip?"

I shrug, unashamed. He has to know what is coming next. "Maybe."

Our gentle kissing soon gives way to a full-on frenzied make-out session in the front seat of the SUV. His cell phone keeps vibrating. It's Christine. She's been calling him all night. I pull away and tease him, "It's your girl calling you...she's feenin' for ya."

David makes a terrible face, rolling his eyes. "She's not my girl. Ugh. Don't call her that. And she can feen all she wants. I'm yours right now." He kisses me again.

I giggle, nipping his neck with my teeth. "We could put that vibrating phone of yours to better use, I think."

He reaches down between my legs and presses his index finger firmly into my slacks, right above my clit, making me gasp. "I could put it right here...mmm...you're sooo warm."

"Look how wet you make me," I murmur. "How much time did you say you have?"

We look at each other for a long moment, and then we climb into the back, pulling the seats down to maximize the space in the trunk. I pull out a condom from my purse and hand it to him. We undress ourselves quickly; I leave on my bra as he crawls on top of me, grinding his erection into my belly. "I am rock hard." He slides his finger into me as he kisses me. I am so wet that I feel like I might just drown.

"Now! I need to feel you inside me now!" I whisper frantically, and he eases into me with a gentle finesse that makes me tremble.

I grab his narrow hips. "Nice and slow this time, babe."

We stare into each other's eyes as he presses into me, and I feel like I'm looking into the other half of my soul at this very moment. It's disconcerting, but I cannot tear my gaze away from his.

"Oh my God! David!" I cry out as I receive him inside me. He pulls down the cups of my bra and takes each of my nipples, one at a time, between his full, soft lips, suckling my breasts until I feel a hot tingling sensation between my legs. Then his lips return to mine, his tongue plunging relentlessly into my mouth over and over again.

I close my eyes as he begins to tease my breasts again with his lips. "I love you.”

"I love you too," he whispers hoarsely. He moves his hips rhythmically against mine as I lift my legs up and apart for him. He shoves his left arm under my head and pulls me closer to him, close enough for me to bury my face in his neck and breathe in his delicious scent as he pounds me.

"Let me get on top," I implore. He smiles and pulls out of me, rolling over onto the upholstery. I climb astride him and grasp the base of his cock, guiding him into me. I place my hands on the flat plain of his belly and begin to rock my hips back and forth against him. He moans, his hands clutching my hips, helping me move. Then I lean back so that he can get a better view of me, completely naked except for my powder-pink bra that is still clasped just under my breasts. I hope he likes what he sees. I throw my head back, swaying and rolling my hips slowly as I ride him, vaguely conscious of his soft groans. He makes me feel completely wanton and shameless and free, like a porn star, and I love every second of it.

I dip forward to kiss him, pulling back after a few minutes to rub my bare breasts across his face, his mouth gaping as he tries to take my nipples between his lips. I lean forward over his face even further, and his hands cup my ass as he starts pumping me up and down on his cock. Faster and faster I ride him, and I can feel his body underneath me tensing, ready to climax. “I’m gonna come soon,” he grunts, his teeth clenched.

I bear down on him inside of me, tightening my muscles to enfold him as firmly as possible. I lean over him, my breath hot in his ear, whispering, "Come for me! Come for me…right…now!"

And he does, another lengthy, wrenching orgasm. His face contorts in pleasure as a strangled sound escape his pursed lips. With the final pulse of his climax, he squeezes his eyes shut even harder than before and howls in total satisfaction and release. I sit up straight, with him still inside me, and we smile at each other.

"Was that good?" I tease him.

"Uh-huh," he sighs. Then he pouts. "But I want you to come, too."

I kiss the tip of his nose. "Not gonna happen, honey. I don't come from sex. Only from my toy. But this is still a lot of fun!"

I lift myself off him and lay down on the back of the folded seat. We lay in silence for a few minutes, listening to the music playing from my iPod, which I had left on when we’d first parked. His cell phone keeps vibrating.

Finally, I sit up and begin dressing myself, my demeanor becoming almost business-like. I’m still kind of in shock that we’ve just made love again. But I don’t want to tip my hand. I’m so afraid he’s going to hurt me again.

“Guess you’d better go,” I remark.

“Yeah.”

“It was good to see you tonight. Enjoy your Christmas gift.” He’s heading over to his mom’s house and has told me that he is going to open the package I’d mailed to him last week.

He kisses me briefly, then hops out of my SUV and walks into the night.

The Call

10:28 a.m. An unfamiliar number appears on my cell phone display, with a city area code. Odd.

Should I answer it? Yes.

"Hello?"

"Hello?" he echoes, as if I've called him instead of the other way around.

So this is the call I've waited over a month to receive. The funny thing is, though I've hoped so much to hear from him, I am now totally unprepared to conduct any kind of meaningful conversation. I mean, where do I even start? "Hi."

"What are you doing?"

I finish chewing and swallow hard. "Eatin' a chocolate chip cookie."

"Are you at work? Is this a good time to talk?"

"Yeah, I'm at work, and it's fine," I reply as I walk out the back door of my office suite into the stairwell.

"What are you doing?" he asks, as if nothing has happened. As if it hasn't been over a month that I've heard from him. Un-fucking-believable.

"Thinking about you, per usual," I sigh.

"I'm sorry I dicked you," he says. I don't hear a trace of remorse in his voice. I start to feel a burning hatred for him deep in my gut.

"That's okay," I murmur. "I know enough not to take it personally. It's just what you do...what you've always done." He is silent. I continue, "Did you move back in with her?"

"Yeah. It's so stupid. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing."

"Hmm. I knew you would." Was I right, or was I right? Thank you very much.

"Yeah? How did you know?"

"Because I know you," I hiss. "I know how you are. Not that I care. It's your life."

"I can't stay there much longer, though. This weekend was miserable. I don't even want to talk about it."

I've heard it all before, the same old song and dance routine that he trots out every time we talk. Not that I care. It's not like I'm leaving my husband for him, that's for damn sure.

He tells me that he didn't show up because he's lazy and that there was no excuse for it. "I'm thinking of going on a walkabout."

"A what? Are you even speaking English right now?"

"Yes! Of course I am. Didn't you ever see Crocodile Dundee?"

"Like I'd remember it? It came out when we were about eight!" This conversation is growing more bizarre by the second.

"A walkabout! Ya know...just pack up and move. Travel around the world."

"Oh. Okay."

"Wanna come with me?"

"No," I reply firmly.

"Why not?" he asks, sounding hurt.

"Because, David...you can't just walk away from your problems."

"Sure I can."

"No you can't. Because your problems are inside of you. They'll always be with you unless you address them." Why do I even bother?

"I heard you were looking for me," he says, changing the subject.

"From who? Your dad?" I had called his father two weeks ago, not particularly because I was looking for David, but to wish him a happy holiday and to ask about his recuperation from the double knee replacement surgery he'd had in October.

"Yeah...he called me and told me that you'd called him. He sounded pretty jazzed that you called, actually. He asked me, 'Are you going to get back together with her?'" David chuckles. "My dad always liked you. He thinks you're a nice girl."

"Hey, I didn't even bring up your name when I spoke to him. I just called him to see how he's been feeling since his operation."

"Well, he was pretty happy to hear from you."

Silence.

"I've missed you," he says finally.

Oh, God. Here it comes. I can feel the tears well up, threatening to spill over my eyelids and down my face. My voice quavers. "I miss you too. I...I can't talk about it right now. Or else I'll cry."

"Please don't cry. Don't cry! I'm sorry...I don't want to make you cry," he pleads.

It's too late to stop the tears from flowing, but I manage to get my voice under control after pausing for a long moment. "It's okay. I'm okay. I know I shouldn't take it personally."

"Please don't! I don't know what my problem is," he admits. "I just had a funny reaction to that night we were together. I got all...fluffy. But I shouldn't have done that to you. I'm really sorry for standing you up." He sounds perfectly contrite this time.

"What kind of reaction?" I ask.

"You know...how I broke out in hives that night, and I started feeling panicky." That much was true; after dinner at Applebee's that night, he'd complained that he wasn't feeling well. His skin had turned flushed and clammy, and he'd told me he was having a hard time breathing. At first I'd joked that I was the cause of his symptoms, but I'd soon realized that he wasn't kidding me. We'd sat outside for a while so that he could get some fresh air, and I'd kept asking him if he wanted me to just take him straight home. He wouldn't hear any of it, insisting on staying with me because "it's the only night I get to see you this week." Eventually, the reaction had passed, and we had then gone to my SUV and commenced with the rest of the activities of that evening.

"Well, I don't want to cause that kind of reaction in you, so maybe we shouldn't see each other again," I suggest.

"No!" he says. "I think it was from the paint thinner I've been using at work. Because it's happened again since then, and I haven't seen you. So it's not you."

"David," I whisper, "that night we were together was beautiful. To me. I don't care what you think, I thought it was perfect. When you...entered me, I felt like I was home again. You feel like home to me." I start to cry again.

"Awww, don't cry, please," he begs again. "I'm sorry."

"Just tell me the truth," I say. "What did you think I was going to do? Scream at you? I would never do that. If you didn't want to meet up with me that day, you should've just called me and told me so. I'm your friend, David! Probably the only friend you've ever had."

"I know that," he replies glumly. "That's the truth."

"And friends don't do that to each other. If there were ever a time when you didn't feel like talking to me or seeing me, you need to just tell me the truth. That's all. I wouldn't be mad at you."

We make arrangements to meet for pizza later that night. I have a Foo Fighters CD compilation I'd made him, since he'd told me that he didn't have any of their music, so I want to give it to him ASAP.

He tells me he'll call me at the end of the day, and I'm almost afraid to believe him. I hang up the phone--neither of us has said "I love you"--and I expect that I'll never hear from him again.

Deep Breath

He called this morning.

He called.

I need time to gather my thoughts in some kind of logical pattern before I allow my emotions to just explode all over this page.

11/18/1997

My life seems to get more and more fucked up!

Tonight, David called me. He apologized for being a dickhead to me. We chatted for a bit, and I told him we'd always be friends.

I wound up picking him up from work that night, and hanging out at his house. I knew something was up, because when he went to get me something to drink from the kitchen (a Crush orange soda), he brought it to me but instead of handing it to me, he put the can on my shoulder. Get it? I've got a "Crush" on you? Ha.

We went up to his room and sat and talked for a while, goofed around. I was having a lot of fun, actually.

Then he told me I looked good. I said thanks. Somehow he asked me if I was seeing anyone. I said yes.

He said, "Who?"

I said, "Ryan."

"Ryan who?"

"Ryan Miller."

"Where's he from?"

"Morton."

"How did you meet him?"

"Through my friend T.J."

"Is he cool?" David asked me.

I didn't mean to, but I couldn't help it. I smiled a little bit, and said, "Yeah, he's really nice."

David got REALLY upset. Then finally he said, "I miss you soooo much. I'm different now. For the past two weeks, I've been feeling so alone and so empty, I'd do anything to have you back."

I said, "Well, what can I do to help?"

He looked in my eyes and said point-blank, "Come back to me."

I just stared at him. Then he said, "I know I'm being very forward, but I just want you back. I love you. Let me prove myself to you."

Basically, he went on to say that if we did get back together, his life would be "work and you," as he said. He told me that he wanted us to be very serious and that he wouldn't want me dating other guys.

I told him that I needed time. He asked me to hang out with him tomorrow and I said sure, what do you want to do?

He told me, "I don't care, as long as it's with you."

So I'm going over there tomorrow to watch a movie with him.

Am I being a fool? I wish I knew. He seems so sincere this time. He's never said before all the things he told me tonight. And I was actually able to get him talking about his crack addiction. Wow.

When I left tonight, he gave me his housekey and told me to let myself in and come upstairs and wake him up tomorrow morning. Damn.

He let me out, and we kissed very softly and gently and he said, "I love you," and kissed me, then said, "more than anything," and kissed me again, "always and forever."

Man, what the HELL?

I got home and about twenty minutes later my phone rang. It was David. He just called to say goodnight and to make sure I got home safe and sound.

Boy, am I being totally idiotic? And what about Ryan? I am in love with David, but can he be a better boyfriend than before? FUCK!

11/21/1997

Well, Tuesday was quite the eventful day.

David treated me like a princess. He kept staring at me and telling me how cute, beautiful, perfect, etc. I am. He also told me that he's in love with me. He said he thought he'd never be in love again, but that he has fallen in love with me. Then he, like, proposed to me. He asked me if I'd ever marry him (HUH??) I politely tried to change the subject, then jokingly said, "Why? Would you marry me?"

He stared at me and said, "In a heartbeat."

WHOA.

Tonight we went out to eat and saw a movie, "The Man Who Knew Too Little." In the theater, I was feeling a little frisky, so I started giving him a handjob! We wound up leaving the movie in the middle of it (it sucked anyway) and going back to his house for an intense round of sex.

What am I doing???

Afterwards, we actually TALKED for like an hour and a half about a lot of shit. It was really cool. I love talking to him.

So weird.

12/8/1997

Still in love with my honey. He somehow manages, everytime I'm with him, to amaze me in some way.

He's so smart, so funny, so sweet and kind, gentle, loving, sensitive, charming. Plus, he's a MEGA-HOTTIE!!! Yum yum!

I have so much fun talking to him and hanging out with him. I feel like I can tell him anything. I feel so safe with him. It's so cool. He's my best friend. And damn is he SEXY! Sensual, too. I love him, love him, love him!

4/3/1998

After all that he's done, I still love David and want to be with him. You know what? I really don't doubt his love. Even after all that's happened, I know he truly does love me.

His crack addiction. Well...I can only do so much. It's not up to me. I can only judge the actions that he takes, I cannot judge him. I pray to God that he'll stay clean. If there is only one thing on earth that I want more than anything else, it is that he gives up the drugs. And not just the crack, but the weed and the alcohol, too. I don't pray for world peace, or for a cure for AIDS or for cancer. I just want him to be clean, sober and healthy. I know that sounds pretty selfish, huh? Oh well. I don't care. I just want my baby to stay safe, so that I can be with him for a long, long time.

In the past four days, he's mentioned marriage twice. HUH? I'm not even concerned about that at this point; he's gotta grow up and prioritize his life first.

But I am still truly, madly, deeply in love. And I can't believe that in just a few days, it'll be 9 months since our first date! Holy shit! In a way, it doesn't seem that long, but in another way it feels like it's been 9 YEARS! Wonder if he'll say something, or if he'll even remember. I bet that, knowing him, he'll remember, but wait to see if I say something first. That way he can seem cool and unconcerned. But I know he does care.

I know him so well.

11/10/1997

And again...

As I said, when it's good, it's spectacular. Unfortunately, if it's only good 35% of the time, it's ultimately not enough to satisfy me.

So last Saturday night, November 1, I told him that I wanted to see other people. I had a date that night with Chris M., a guy from my Spanish class. I also told David about that. He didn't seem to care at first, but when I left his house, he slammed the front door behind me so hard that the whole house shook.

Then I called him on Wednesday, November 5, to make arrangements to pick up all the stuff I'd left at his house. He told me to come over. His uncle Jude and he were hanging out and he asked me to stay for a bit. Must admit, I know I looked REALLY hot. So I stayed.

The first thing he noticed was that we were both wearing the silver CK One friendship rings, and he seemed surprised and happy that I was still wearing mine.

Then he started a little pillow fight with me. Jude left the room to go to the bathroom, and David grabbed me and kissed me. I pulled away, saying, "Yo, man, what's up with THAT?"

He just said, "Well, it seemed like the thing to do." He went on to say that he didn't know why things always got bad with us, and that I drive him crazy, and after not seeing me for a few days and that hanging out like this with me made him remember only the good stuff, and forget about the bad shit.

Jude left eventually. Then David said, "So, how was your DATE?"

I politely edged around it somehow. Then he said it. He said, "Don't worry, I love you for who you are."

I looked at him and got up and said, "OK, I'm leaving now," because I felt he had insulted me. Plus he was also trying to look down my shirt, and it was really pissing me off. I walked out of his bedroom but hesitated in the hallway. Then I went back into his room and stood there at the door. He sat there and finally said, "What? I said that I love you...what's so wrong with that?"

I went to him and said nothing. I started to kiss him. We lit "our" candle (the one from Tracie's wedding) and began to undress each other. I knew it wasn't right, because he's not the one for me, but I can't explain it. I guess I just wanted to pretend for a while.

He looked at me so sadly and said, "Please come back to me, just for a while."

I slowly shook my head "no." But we kept kissing, and of course, wound up making love.

Over and over, he told me, "I love you...I love you...I'll always love you...I'll go to my grave loving you..."

10/27/1997

Another old diary excerpt:

Still in love with him. Tonight we got food from the restaurant and ate in. Made love TWICE and then talked a lot...about what scares us the most about life, our wishes, our goals. We also talked about religion, sex, etc. It was a VERY good night.

We also came up with names for each other. It was too funny. He calls me "Princess Dashiki Un-Foo-Foo" but shortens it to "Princess."

He makes me laugh.

At my cousin Tracie's wedding last night, there were scented candles on all the tables as favors. We each took one. On the candles were two rings, like wedding bands. He took them off the candle, slid one on my finger, and said, "I do."

So now are we not only both wearing the silver CK One friendship rings, but both of us are wearing the fake wedding bands, too.

When things are good between us, they're spectacular.

I love him.

10/24/1997

Actual excerpt from my diary:

Well, an eventful week or so. Tuesday the 21st was my 20th birthday. The night before it, I spent with David. We had a few drinks together at Beefeater's Pub, then made divine, slow love by candlelight in his room.

Tuesday, I went out to dinner with my friend Dave Keesey. It was fun. I was upset though, because David never even called me to say Happy Birthday. So after I got done with Keesey, I went to the restaurant to get my paycheck, and then went over to see David.

He wasn't home. His brother's girlfriend told me he'd been out with his uncle Jude but came home around 10:30 p.m., then went back out by himself. I knew exactly what was happening--David got paid at least $400 that very day.

I went home, very worried.

The next morning, I called him at work. He never showed up, and didn't even call out sick. His uncle Chuck asked me if I knew where he was. Of course not, but I knew exactly what he'd been doing.

David finally came home, almost a full 24 hours after he'd left. He told me that he'd spent $300 on crack. Jesus Christ, in less than 24 hours! He said he was trying to smoke enough to make his heart explode.

At least he's safe for now. But for how long?

Tonight, he called me and asked me to see a movie with him, his uncle Jude, and Jude's friend Stephanie. We had a REALLY nice time. It was a lot of fun. David was very sweet and affectionate, making sure to hold my hand or keep his arm around me. We kept kissing often, too.

Then we came back to his house and made incredible love. It was so beautiful. He told me how he loves to watch himself disappear into me, and how special it is.

Afterwards, we were lounging around his room naked, talking and goofing off. he said so much to me. He went off on how beautiful I am. Then he apologized for his disappearing act and wished me a happy birthday.

"Wow, the big two-oh. Damn, what am I gonna do next year when you're twenty-one? I'll have to chain you to my bed."

"Why?" I asked him.

"Because," he said, "all those drunk bastards groping you, all over you like a cheap suit. You're mine forever--and a day!"

I just giggled. Then we started talking about my job at the restaurant, about the guys in the kitchen. I said, "Ha, you don't even want to know HALF of what goes on there."

He joked, "Yeah? I'll have to go over there and tell them to quit looking at my girl, or else I'll kill them."

I laughed again. Then he kissed me on the back of my head and said softly in my ear, "Can I ask you a silly question?"

I said, "No such thing as a silly question."

He asked, "WILL you be my girl?"

I smiled and said, "Honey, I've ALWAYS been your girl."

He also asked me to wear his arrowhead chain again when I first got to his house tonight.

I love him, love him, love him!!!! God, I am in love with him. Keeping my fingers crossed.

In Memoriam

Here I sit at my desk at work, sobbing as I type this.

I've come to the conclusion that the only way I'm going to be able to get past all this is to pretend that David is dead. I mean, what the hell...I've already been grieving for him, for the potential he had, for what life could have been like for him and for us, if not for his drug problem. So why not just act like he's no longer here? It wouldn't be that much of a stretch.

I have plenty of good memories of him that make me smile:

I remember the first time we went to the movies together, in the summer of 1997 when we'd first started dating. The theater's air conditioning system was running at full-blast and I was freezing. Seeing me shiver, David pulled his t-shirt up over his head and gave it to me to put on over my shirt! He stayed shirtless for the whole movie. That made me feel so loved.

I remember going to a whole bunch of concerts with him...The Who, Goo Goo Dolls, Fleetwood Mac, Rage Against The Machine/WuTang Clan. He is the person who introduced me to concerts, and he's the reason that I enjoy going to concerts now.

I remember the day we decided to go to Clementon Park, an amusement park that our entire school used to visit once a year to celebrate the end of the school year. We hadn't been there since we were about eight years old. We drove all the way to Jersey and realized, as we pulled up to the entrance of the park, that we were the only white people there! It looked like the Million Man March. We had a good laugh about it, then drove down to the shore and spent the night at a motel in Wildwood instead.

I remember going to Wildwood another time, for a weekend. We stayed at a hotel across the street from the beach. One night at sunset, we made love on the beach right at the water's edge. It was like a scene out of a movie. Afterwards, David found a stick and wrote in the wet sand, "Lori I Will Love You 4Ever" and drew a heart around it. He boosted me up on his shoulders and I took a picture of it. I wish I could find that photograph.

I remember going to a friend's wedding with him and having the best time ever. The videographer filmed us slow-dancing for the duration of an entire song and we really hammed it up. We were totally in love...you would've thought that it was our wedding day. And the footage of us dancing actually made it into the final wedding video.

I remember going out dancing with him all night, sweating up a storm, kissing on the dancefloor, laughing together, making fun of other people. I loved those times.

I remember the times when he'd show up at my job, when I was still waitressing at the restaurant, with a bouquet of roses for me, or a stuffed animal.

I remember one time after we'd had an argument, he rode a bicycle from his house to mine one night and showed up on my doorstep to apologize. It was probably a fourteen mile roundtrip. That made quite the impression on me, that he would actually go to that trouble to say he was sorry.

I remember going to Marsh Creek and renting a canoe with him. We'd forgotten sunscreen and had picked what had surely been the hottest day of the summer to do it. It was sweltering and we were sure that we were going to melt! But we made the best of it anyway.

I remember going down to the shore with him, his mom, and his mom's boyfriend, who had a house right on the bay, complete with a little boat in the back of the house. David and I decided to sleep in the boat that night, and we awoke at sunrise being eaten alive by about a thousand mosquitoes! We jumped out of that boat so fast that it nearly capsized. I still laugh when I think about it...so funny.

I remember going into the city on the Fourth of July to watch the fireworks at the Art Museum with him. As we walked down Kelly Drive back to my car at the end of the night, a kid tossed an empty Snapple bottle from an overpass that we were just about to walk under. The bottle missed my head by about ten inches and shattered on the ground right in front of me, and David became so infuriated that he started screaming at the kid, threatening to kill him.

I remember going to the Observatory, which was the name of the softball field where we'd first kissed, on one of our anniversaries. David brought a little trashcan he'd filled with ice as a bucket for a bottle of champagne he'd bought. He popped the top off the champagne and we toasted each other, then kissed for hours as we sat by home plate.

I remember cuddling with him as we sat at Penn's Landing at night, overlooking the river, watching the ships pass by.

I remember going to the zoo with him. We went into the reptile house, and I hate, HATE snakes...he kept scaring the crap out of me by grabbing me unexpectedly and hissing at me. And I nearly jumped out of my skin every single time! Then we went into the lorakeet house and laughed our asses off as dozens of these little brightly-colored birds perched all over us.

I remember him accompanying me when I had to put down my dog Nikki. I held her in my arms while the vet gave her the shot, and David cried with me as Nikki went to sleep.

He was so damn cute. Funny and sweet and smart as hell, too. And more sensitive, deep down, than anyone could've ever imagined. Many people, not just me, loved him.

But I knew him. I could see the real him underneath the addiction and the manipulation and the lies and the anger and the despair. I saw who he really was, and I loved him even when his actions broke my heart over and over again. I was happier spending time with him, even when we did nothing at all, than I was anywhere and with anyone else. I tried so hard to be everything to him, but no one can be everything to anyone, which is a lesson I finally learned after three years.

I do believe that he truly loved me, and he did try to be a good boyfriend, but the power of his addiction was stronger. I understand now that the times he chose to use weren't meant as a personal insult to me; it's just that the drugs were a higher priority to him than I was. And I know he didn't like living like that. I can attest to that...I watched him struggle many times to overcome it. He did want to stop, I think, but he wasn't ready to use the tools that were available to him to help him stop. Also, I think he was very angry, not to mention confused, that he couldn't have "fun" (as he perceived it) like everyone else. He couldn't just have a beer or two, because it was a slippery slope that generally led to him using his drug of choice. I think he resented that.

Plus, his life was not normal. He had a sucky childhood. Never had any real guidelines for what a normal life was like. His father was an alcoholic philanderer, and his mom worked her fingers to the bone and tried her best to raise four kids, most times by herself. That's never easy. Also, he didn't have any real friends; he only hung out with losers and users. I may have been the only real friend David had ever had. Not that any of these things were excuses for his problems, but they were definitely contributing factors. And he knew it, too.

The one thing that haunts me happened just two months ago, that night at Applebee's when he kissed me again for the first time since August 2000. We were eating dinner and talking, and he asked me, "If you could have any superpower, what would it be?"

I thought about it for a minute and then said, "Invisibility, I guess. I would love to spy on people without them knowing."

He laughed and said, "Me too! And if I were invisible, I would hang out in your bedroom all the time and watch you get dressed every morning for work, and move your clothes around so that you'd stay naked for as long as possible."

I am smiling right now just remembering that conversation. But I've thought about my answer since that night, and I've decided that if I could have any superpower, it would not be invisibility. It would be the ability to travel backwards in time. Because if I could do that, then I would go back and change so many things for him: his childhood, his circumstances, everything that led up to his choice to start using drugs.

I know I can't do anything for him but go forward with my own life and hope for the best for him. Hope that he will finally find the courage and strength to walk away from that life forever. I don't know if that will ever happen, but I always hope it will. I must have hope; otherwise, where would I be? And if we are truly meant to be together, truly fated to be together, I have to put my faith in the Universe that we will find our ways back to each other. I have to trust that everything happens for a reason and realize that I have no control over the outcome.

I am glad, despite the heartbreak I've been living with lately, that we had the chance to share some beautiful times together in the past few months. He came back to me and I felt his love again, even though it was really just for a moment or two. I've missed him so terribly for the past six years, and I felt blessed to have had the chance to be with him again, to feel him inside of me again. When he entered me, when he cradled my head in his arms, when he kissed me over and over again so gently...every single moment we spent together, I truly felt like I was home again, for the first time in years. For me, David will always be home. No matter what. I will always have those lovely memories, and I am thankful for that.

I am so glad that the last words I heard him speak before I left him at the softball field that night were, "I love you."

And I'm so glad that the last words he heard me speak were, "I love you, David."

It's a damn shame he's gone. I will always miss him.

Mantra

I can never get exactly what I want.

That has always been my mantra. It's become something of a joke to the people who know me really well. Nothing is ever just the way I want it to be. It seems to apply to all areas of my life. When I go shopping with something very specific in mind, I can never quite find what I'm looking for. When I go to a new restaurant, I can never find just the right entree on the menu. And, I think privately, when it comes to love, I can't have David the way I need him to be. It's never simple. I am mature enough to know that nothing is ever perfect in life, but damn it, he would be perfect for me if only he quit drinking. If only.

As I pull into a parking spot in the Applebee's lot, I ask casually, "Your girlfriend...does she do any drugs?"

"She smokes weed...a lot of weed. Drives me crazy. I haven't touched that shit in months."

I almost choke. "You? You haven't touched pot in months? I can't believe it!"

He nods, grinning. "Yep. I haven't smoked in a really long time."

"Are you serious? You, the same person who, when we were dating, told me that you would never quit smoking pot?"

He shrugs. "It just makes you lazy...it takes away all your energy. I don't like that. She smokes pot all day long and just sits around watching tv...she doesn't want to do anything. I can't stand it. Life is for living, ya know?"

My mouth is hanging open, and my eyes surely must be on the verge of falling out of my head. This sounds too good to be true. Why couldn't he have come to this realization while we were together? I had constantly harped on him to cut down, if not totally eliminate, his pot smoking. It seemed like he always needed to take a hit or two before he did anything, and I hated it. To hear him talking like this now almost breaks my heart.

"What about coke? Does she do that too?"

His hesitation tells me all I need to know. "Uh...yeah. She does."

I drop my forehead on the steering wheel of my SUV. "Oh, David...why? Why do you stay with her?" I sigh. "You have so much potential...why do you hang out with people who'll only bring you down?"

He looks down at his lap, silent. He has no answer for me.

Later, after we've made love, he unexpectedly starts talking about his drug use again. I am afraid to ask questions or interrupt him; it's so rare that he is willing to discuss this part of his life, I don't want to discourage him from sharing it with me.

"I was really deep in my addiction a few years back. It got pretty bad. But then I started going to meetings almost every day. I had a sponsor and everything, this older dude who was really awesome. He was married, had a family. He was a good guy."

I bite my lip, yet I am unable to resist asking him, "Why'd you stop?"

He runs his hand through his short, spiky hair and stares up at the ceiling of the SUV. "Because I started drinking again. And you can't keep drinking and go to meetings. You can't do it half-assed. You have to quit everything."

My hand lightly glides over his bare torso, my fingers entwined in the soft, dark hair on his chest I've always loved. "Wow...I can't believe you were going to meetings. I thought you didn't like them. That's what you always told me."

"Yep. I was going all the time. They tell you it works, and it does. Because as soon as I started going, good things started happening to me."

I close my eyes and snuggle further into his chest, thinking about everything he's just told me. Thinking about what could've been. "I wish you did that while we were still together."

He sighs. "Yeah, I know. But I wasn't ready then. When you left me, it was a wake-up call." Then he falls silent, leaving me to wonder if the only way he'll ever straighten himself out is if I permanently remove myself from his life.

That is the ultimate test of my love for him, I realize. Do I love him enough to override my own selfishness so that he can get clean? Can I pledge to myself that I will leave him alone forever so that he can quit the drugs? Is that what it will take? It makes me sick to my stomach thinking about it.

I can never get exactly what I want.

The Photo

David and I have been sitting at the bar at Applebee's for about a quarter of an hour. He's just given me the rest of the money he owed me for the concert ticket. I’m well into my first frozen daiquiri, and he is puffing away on a Newport, trying his best to keep any smoke out of my vicinity. He always acts as if I've just quit smoking hours ago, when in reality it's been over five years since my last cigarette. But still, I appreciate his thoughtfulness.

Then I remember what I've brought to show him. I grab my purse from the brass foot rail of the bar and pull it onto my lap. He looks at me questioningly. I root through the bag until my hand finds the slippery paper of the half-dozen or so old photographs I’d brought with me. I fish them out of my purse and present them to him.

Last night, I’d stayed up way past my normal weeknight bedtime, flipping through some old photo albums. I’d found several pictures of David and his family, and I thought he’d get a kick out of seeing them.

I’d also come across a photo of myself that David had taken, and I'd remembered that night so clearly it may as well have been just a week or two ago. We’d been getting ready to go out clubbing on a Saturday night with a bunch of his coworkers from the dialysis clinic. I can’t recall exactly what we were celebrating, but it was winter, and I was wearing black jeans and a tight, stretchy black shirt with a peek-a-boo cutout that exposed the deep gash of my cleavage. I’d just finished applying the last of my makeup in the mirror of his black lacquer bureau when he’d called my name from behind me. I turned around and he was standing right there, with a disposable Kodak camera pointed inches from my face. I’d always hated having my picture taken, but David loved taking it, so I'd given him a little half-smirk as he snapped the photo.

It turned out to be the only picture of myself that I actually ever liked. Certainly the quality isn't outstanding; David had been standing way too close to me when he took the photo, so the image is slightly blurred and the flash from the camera has turned my already-pale skin into an almost unearthly white. But the light plays so well off my dark hair, accentuating its natural auburn highlights and illuminating my hazel green eyes. My lips are pressed together in a self-conscious little smile, and the look in my eyes shows that the love I have for David clearly outweighs any annoyance I felt at the moment the picture was taken.

As we sit together at the bar, David begins flipping through the photos I’ve passed to him, chuckling at the old images of himself, until he arrives at the picture he took of me. His laughter dies out quickly. I watch his face as he examines the photo, trying to see his reaction to it.

“I remember that,” he whispers, more to himself than to me. Then he looks me pleadingly in the eyes. “Can I keep this?”

I give him a long look and then slowly nod. “Sure. Okay.”

He lowers his head and stares again at the photo of me staring back at him. “Wow,” he breathes.

In Your Honor

“Did you get a chance to read the blog?” I ask David as we pull apart from a long, sloppy kiss. He has just jumped into my waiting SUV in the parking lot of the bank across the street from the bar where we’d planned to meet.

“Yeah, I logged on last night for an hour. You write a lot! I couldn’t believe how much was there. I was thinking of printing it all out so I could read the rest of it on the bus this morning, but I didn’t.”

I smile and lower my head. “Yeah, I do write a lot. It all just comes pouring out of me. I can’t help it. So what did you think of it? Did you like it? Some of it is pretty explicit…”

He stares out the windshield at the passing traffic on the pike. “I feel like you know exactly what I'm thinking, like you're inside my head. It's amazing how well you know me. I still didn’t get through it all. I noticed that you wrote about everything that’s happened, but…” he trails off as if he’s not sure how to phrase what he wants to say.

“But what?”

“…but you never really talk about how you feel…how you feel about this. About us.”

I am aghast at this statement, and I struggle to downplay my astonishment. Isn’t it perfectly obvious how I feel about David and about us? As of today, November 8, I have written over 11,000 words in the blog, have logged countless hours—usually when I’m supposed to be working—putting into words everything that has happened between David and me since the night of the concert. If that isn’t a clear sign of the love I feel for him, I truly have no idea what is. If someone wrote 11,000 words in my honor, I’d be pretty fucking ecstatic. What more does he want from me?

“I…I thought I did,” I stammer. What a lame answer! What I really want to tell him is “I love you…love you more than anything, David, and I’m always thinking about you. I married the wrong person, and I’ve known it all along, and I’m so sorry because I know it crushed you. I want to be with you all the time, I want you to be in my life again…and yes, I would seriously consider leaving my husband for you…but unless and until you stop drinking and doing drugs permanently, that’s just not possible. Because I will not tolerate a life of insanity, and that’s exactly what it would be if you are still using.”

But I recognize that I have no right to say it, though those words have been on the very tip of my tongue for four years now. What a hypocritical monologue that would be, coming out of my mouth. I am married, for god’s sake, and anyone who knows me thinks I am the “good” wife, happily ensconced in a life of perfect domestic tranquility with R. Yet I’m sitting here in my car with my ex-boyfriend, making out with him like a teenager—-fully expecting that the evening will end with us making love, even!—-without a shred of guilt or even a moment’s thought to the wedding ring I am wearing on my left hand. I’m not exactly a shining example of virtue myself.

Besides, I spent three years telling David how I felt about him and about us, and what good did it do me? I won’t put my heart on the line with him again. I’ve already told him too much, as far as I’m concerned, and I already feel terribly vulnerable, though I’d never admit it.

“You have been on my mind every single day since July 11, 1997.”

“I miss you so much.”

“I still have the mousepad that you gave me for Christmas one year when we were dating. I use it every day at work and I always think of you.”

“I want to see you again.”

“I’ve been in love with you since I was nineteen years old, and I’ll never stop loving you.”

“I had the hottest sex of my life with you, and I just can’t help but think of that whenever I talk to you.”

I have no idea what else he needs to hear me say to be convinced that I love him more than anything else.

I’m at a loss.