I Remember

We'd been dating for a while and one Saturday night, we made plans to go out after you finished work with your uncle Jude and his friend Stephanie.

We headed down to South Street and had a few drinks at our usual haunt, Abilene. Things seemed OK, and we had a nice time, listening to a blues band and knocking a few drinks back.

But Jude and Stephanie never showed up, so you and I decided to get a motel room for the night to have some privacy and time alone together.

I was so excited to be spending the night with you. You have no idea.

On the way to the motel, you asked if we could stop off so that you could buy some weed. At that point in time, I'd stopped smoking but I didn't really care that you still did, so I agreed.

You drove my car into some godforsaken ghetto in West Philly...who the hell knows exactly where you took me. I was a little tipsy by that point anyway, and I wasn't paying much attention to where you were driving.

You left me alone in my car in the dark and disappeared around the corner.

I was too stupid to be scared.

You finally came back ten or fifteen minutes later, started the car without a word, and took off to the motel.

We checked in and you immediately locked yourself in the bathroom. I remember thinking that was a little odd...you never hid before when you smoked your weed...but I was too happy to be alone with you in the motel to question it.

I had even packed a special black lace teddy and impossibly high black patent leather heels to wear for you that night.

I slipped off my clothes and slid into the teddy and heels. Then I arranged myself prettily on the end of the bed and waited for you to come out.

You were in the bathroom for a long time...almost half an hour, if I remember correctly. I knocked on the door and asked if everything was OK.

You said you'd be out in a minute.

And you were.

You came out with a wild look in your eyes...like a rabid animal. You approached me on the bed and yanked me up into your arms, crushing my mouth with yours. You kissed me so hard that I couldn't breathe.

I pulled away to catch my breath as you stripped off your clothes.

Before I could say anything, you literally ripped that black teddy off my body with your bare hands and turned me around on the bed.

I was scared, baby, but I didn't want to say a word.

You bent me over and pounded me from behind, harder than you ever had before...and what was normally my very favorite sexual position became instant, sheer torture.

I had to bite my lip to keep myself from crying out in pain. It went on forever...you weren't able to come, yet you seemed to want to keep fucking me anyway. I went dry and started to bleed. Finally I begged you to stop. I've never had to ask any of my lovers to stop before that night.

There was no love that night. Our sex, which was usually slow and gentle and sweet, felt like rape.

I felt violated. Used. Lower than dirt.

It wasn't until much later that I put two and two together...you'd been smoking crack in that motel bathroom.

And I still feel sick to my stomach when I remember that night.

2 Crackheads in Love...

Aren't they sweet? They really do deserve each other.

I do get the tiniest bit of satisfaction when I compare this picture to the one of you and me in the last post.

You see, the expression on your face in our picture is one I recognize very well: pure, unadulterated love.

You love me. I know you do. You can't hide that look on your face. Your eyes are soft and almost limpid in that picture. You are smiling ever so slightly, perhaps even a bit wistfully. Your love for me shows clearly in your expression in our picture. Your head is tilted in towards mine, and if I'd turned my head just a bit, our lips would've touched. You're hiding behind my hair. It's a very intimate pose.

On the other hand, in this picture with what's-her-face...you know, the one you're not supposed to even be hanging out with anymore...you have that crackhead look going on. Your eyes are dead. You look like a total poser. And I can tell that you're totally not into her; she's hanging on to you for dear life, all over you like a cheap suit...and you couldn't care less about her.

So no matter what...in the end...I won.

115 Days

Do you know that the happiest moments of my life have been the times we’ve spent together?

I feel perfectly content and satisfied just sitting next to you on the couch and watching tv, or strolling through the mall, or sitting in the movie theatre, or riding our bikes, not even saying a word.

Whenever your name appears on the Caller ID of my cell phone…when I get your text messages...when you rub my feet as we lounge on your sofa…when you plant a sweet little kiss on the back of my head while we stand in line for water ice…when you feed me bits of your soft pretzel at the mall…when you hold my hand as we walk together...when you gently guide me through a crowded place with your hand resting on my shoulder…those are the moments that I live for.

Isn't this what love is...when you'd rather be with one person more than anyone else in the world? When the little things mean the most?

I just don't get it. You say you're a runner, but I don't know why. I would never hurt you and I would never lie to you. I'll always love you and I only want what's best for you. You don't have to pretend to be someone or something that you're not; I know you almost as well as I know myself and I adore you. Why would you run away from that?

I took this picture of us at the Def Leppard concert on 7/14/07.

You'd been trying all evening to get physical with me, even after I told you that we could only be just friends unless you treated me better.

We ate dinner al fresco at a corner pizza place at 22nd and Spruce. I studiously avoided your eyes and tried to keep the conversation light.

Then you stared at me and said, "Your breasts look great."

I'm sorry, but none of my other male friends ever comment on my breasts.

When we got to the Tweeter Center, you purposely tried to steer me towards a quiet, secluded back corner of the concession area, but I wouldn't even come near you.

So then you glanced way up the hill of the general admission lawn seats and feigned curiosity.

"Hmm...what's that deck all the way up there?"

"I don't know," I replied.

"C'mon...let's go up there and check it out."

We climbed the seemingly endless steps carved into the hillside until we reached the top, where we found a large, empty deck with a deserted tiki bar overlooking the Delaware River. The sun was still fairly high over the city skyline across the river, and I said, "There's my shot."

Leaning on the deck rail, I pointed the camera at the Philadelphia skyline and started taking photos.

You came up from behind me and pressed your groin into me. You were rock hard. Slowly, your hand snaked up my bare right arm and softly pushed aside my hair. Your mouth fell upon my neck. You must have kissed, licked, and sucked my neck, shoulder, and ear for fifteen minutes.

And I ignored you completely. For the first time ever in my life, I didn't give in to you.

How did that feel?

You sensed defeat, so you switched gears. Pulling away, you looked at me and whined, "Can we make out?"

"No," I said firmly.

"Why not?"

I sighed. "Because nothing good can come from that."

"Actually, I was thinking just the opposite," you giggled.

I sighed again, deeper this time. You resumed working over my neck with those soft, juicy, luscious lips of yours.

Finally, I murmured, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because," you whispered as you traced the outline of my earlobe with your tongue, "I'm selfish...and self-centered...and you're beautiful."

AND I PULLED AWAY. Despite feeling almost unbearably weak in the knees and soaking wet in my panties, I pulled away from you. Score one for me.

"I'm not doing this, David," I said. "I can't do this anymore. Because I never get what I want."

"Well, what do you want?" you returned.

I snorted. "Oh, I'm not even gonna get into that right now."

And so we wound our way down through the lawn seats and found our spots in the covered pavilion.