Thinking about Edgar now feels like I've awoken from some dream, some hyper-sleep state where the memories that didn't all come through immediately are now starting to file in one by one.
He's the best person to talk about music with...he insists I don't listen to nearly enough punk music. He talks about his favorite band the Lawrence Arms with so much admiration, it's adorable. His iPod is forever changing positions in his car, from being stuffed in his center console to hooked up on his visor to avoid the sound of static from having it transmit through his car radio. I remember my iTrip really sucked and I never got it to work as long as he has.
He claims the reason I have "Working Class Whore" by Pulley on my iPod is because he told me to download it...suddenly, it's his favorite song by them. I know that I downloaded it randomly, only because I knew he liked the band. What he doesn't know is that I was a MySpace creeper a few years ago and noticed he listed them as a favorite band.
We talk about the time he had me listen to a demo he had cut with his band. I told him that it was "a good start." I bet his ego is smarting over that. :)
I like that we kissed during "Love Will Tear Us Apart" by Joy Division.
He makes a lot of confessions around me. I love that he starts each revelation with, "I've never told anyone this but..." or "The only other person who knows this is my friend Abraham...."
He has a brother named Gabriel and a sister named Stephanie. I've never forgotten.
On the ride to my apartment, he stopped in mid-conversation to tell me I looked especially pretty that night.
I admitted that I like to be chased. And that he's done a good job at keeping that up.
He called me "Lucy" as a joke because of my separate bed with Dan.
I'm only about 4 inches shorter than him but I feel he towers over me when he's standing right in front of me.
He kept the goatee because he knows I like a little bit of scruff. FACIAL HAIR ROCKS!
I caught a glimpse at his underwear....boxer briefs, navy blue with stripes.
On the ride home, I heard him sneeze for the first time. Twice. I was so startled I nearly jumped out of my skin.
He sleeps in his parents renovated garage: he says it's a nice bedroom but insanely cold during the winter.
He loves my smile and puts his fingers up to my lips when I start talking too much or putting myself down. I instantly smile. I told him I like his teeth (I think I was a bit tipsy) and he just laughed. His smile is killer, too.
The gel from his hair left little, itty-bitty white flakes on the edge of my sheets. I didn't wipe them away the next night. I left them there and inhaled deeply. You could still smell him. I found traces of his scent on my blouse. I was sad when I had to throw it in the laundry hamper.
Here's a song that pretty much sums it all up, which is a tell-tale sign that I'm getting sprung on the wrong guy again...I can't believe he's become my muse again. ARGH! Okay, so first in Spanish and then English:
"Lo hecho esta hecho"
En la suite 16
Lo que empieza no termina
Del mini bar al eden
Y en muy mala companía
Era ese sabor en tu piel
A azufre revuelto con miel
Asi que me llene de coraje y me fui a caminar por el lado salvaje
Pense "no me mires asi"
Ya se lo que quieres de mi
Que no hay que ser vidente aquí
Para un mal como tu no hay cuerpo que aguante
Coro:
Lo hecho está hecho
Volvi a tropezar
Con la misma piedra que hubo siempre
Se siente tan bien todo lo que hace mal
Y contigo nunca es suficiente
Como fue
Que paso
Esa noche
Impaciente
Fueron a llamar
La de recepción
Cuando se quejaban de la 17
No puede ser nada normal
Acabar eligiendo tan mal
En materia de hombres soy toda una experta siempre en repetir mis errores
No hay ceguera peor
Que no querer mirar
Cuando te guardabas el anillo dentro del bolsillo y dejarlo pasar
Coro:
Lo hecho está hecho
Volvi a tropezar
Con la misma piedra que hubo siempre
Se siente tan bien todo lo que hace mal
Y contigo nunca es suficiente
Nunca me senti tan fuera de lugar
Nunca tanto se escapo de mi control
Pero todo en este mundo es temporal
Lo eres tu y lo soy yo
Nunca me senti tan fuera de lugar
Nunca tanto se escapo de mi control
Pero todo en este mundo es temporal
Lo eres tu y lo soy yo
En eso no decido yo
Coro:
Lo hecho está hecho
Volvi a tropezar
Con la misma piedra que hubo siempre
Se siente tan bien todo lo que hace mal
Y contigo nunca es suficiente
Se siente tan bien todo lo que hace mal
"Did It Again"
First floor
Room sixteen
Smells like danger
Even better
Set your goals
Bless our souls
I'm in trouble
But it feels like heaven
You were like one of those guys
The kind with a wandering eye
But I said, "Hey what the hell, once in my life I'll take a ride on the wild side"
You were so full of yourself
But damn, were you cute, as well
I packed my bags, I liked your moves
Anyone could tell that it's hard to deny that
Did it again, love
I got it all wrong
But it felt so right
I can't believe it
And all the mistakes
That went on for too long
Wish there was a way
I could delete it
Second night in a row
Back in trouble
I don't get it
Gotta keep it down
It's logical
We ignore it (yes, I know)
its getting better
When it comes to men it's known
That I end up choosing wrong
'Cause I always trip and fall
The same old rock and repeat and go back
How blind a girl can be
To miss you hide your ring
Thought about everything
I'm so naive imagining and all that
Did it again, love
I got it all wrong
But it felt so right
I can't believe it
And all the mistakes
That went on for too long
Wish there was a way
I could delete it
It may seem to you that I am in a place
Where I'm losing the direction of my life
But I'm sure that this is nothing but a phase
"Right back at ya," cause I'll survive...
It may seem to you that I am in a place
Where I'm losing the direction of my life
But I'm sure that this is nothing but a phase
"Right back at ya," cause I'll survive
Did it again, love
I got it all wrong
But it felt so right
I can't believe it
And all the mistakes
That went on for too long
Wish there was a way
I could delete it
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Did it again, love..I got it all wrong but it felt so right
We did it.
And I know that convention and morality says I should regret all of this....my religion, my parents, my friends and all the things I see on talk shows tell me I should regret it, but I don't. I fucking don't.
The memory of it still makes my cheeks flame up hot and I can't shake the savory, wicked flashbacks of Saturday night.
I think what makes encounters like this so deliciously appetizing is the wait...the anticipation is a mother fucker. It makes me feel like I'm swimming in an ocean of yearning, desire and wanting...I want, want, want so bad...and the hours never hurry up...and I'm not paying attention to the movie I'm watching or really listening to what this stupid customer is saying...I'm just waiting and I can't be satisfied at least partly until the moment comes.
Christmas was lovely. I spent Christmas Eve with my family and it was great to be free from Dan for a whole day. I got to open all my presents at midnight and it was just great being a Salvadorian again. I spent Christmas Day with Dan's family and tried to make the best of it...we played some lousy board game until 11 pm...my mind was racing towards Edgar. I didn't want to be with these people with their loud, yapping dogs and annoying little kids. I hate having to censor my language and not being able to drink some alcohol...it's times like these that I really do admire my family. Dan's family wants to be too much like the Waltons, no matter how hip they think they may be.
Did I mention that Dan spent all of Christmas Day and Christmas dinner in ratty sweat pants, un-showered and barefoot? His feet were covered in filth. I wanted to wretch.
Finally, the 26th rolled around: a bright Saturday morning. I got up as late as I could, showered and got dressed. I hung out with Dan's family (again!) and got to see Sherlock Holmes for free, at least. All during the movie, my mind kept drifting back to Ed. Is he going to stand me up? Has he shaven his goatee? What will his lips taste like? It's almost a miracle I didn't rush to the bathroom and masturbate to calm the craving for him. My insides churned. The movie was great, though. It was quite enhanced.
I got my car's oil changed and a free wash. While in the restroom of the auto spa, I text Edgar:
What time is good for you tonight?
I shuttled Dan back and forth between my mom's house in Whittier and the Citadel shopping center.
It has now been a few hours since my initial text. Desperation and an unyielding libido set in. I decided to up the ante:
I hope you didn't forget about me. I've got a bottle of Johnnie Walker and an empty house with your name on it. I want you so fucking bad. What time can we meet up?
I stash my phone in my pocket but not before erasing the last two outbound messages. I need to cover up my tracks and get rid of any damaging evidence. My heart slams so hard. My panties feel drenched.
The crowds at Fry's were ghastly but we killed some time spending my gift card money at the Roxy store. Dan was bored, I could tell, but I didn't care. I secretly shopped for something to wear for Ed: a sexy new top, a cute purse...some sandals...a few thermals. Which one of these shirts would wind up balled up in a heap on the floor of my bedroom? Only time would tell.
As we get in my car to go home, I hear my phone finally vibrate with a text message. I pray to God it's him. And it is.
At dinner, I check my phone again. Edgar has replied with one word:
Where?
I breathe. I type.
Meet meet at the same Starbucks as last time. 9 pm sound good to you?
He quickly replies:
Sure.
I reel in excitement:
Good. See you at 9. Wear cologne again.
I manage to get rid of Dan right after dinner and then it's a race to my house where I tell my mom and cousins I want to get dressed up to go drinking with a few choice girlfriends. I keep things vague so no one suspects too much. My cousin Carmen does my hair and my normally straight as a stick black hair is now an inviting head full of long wavy curls with a cute flip. I smile as I apply my make up. I breeze on my way out the door, everyone remarks that I smell good. I laugh with happiness. It's a good laugh.
The normal 5 minute drive to the Starbucks at Beverly and Norwalk feels excruciating. But as I turn into the driveway of the coffee shop, a White Solara beats me to it. It's Edgar, who else?
I watch him pull up next to my car and tremble as he gets out. He has a slender build, standing at about 5 foot 6 inches, weighing 160 lbs. (so he says) but at that precise moment, he feels like a giant to me. I shiver because of the cold and a little because of fear. He smiles and we embrace in the freezing air. "Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday!” he says and with a kiss, I'm his again. "Same to you!" I exclaim. The fabric of his baby blue short sleeve button up feels so good...he's wearing jeans, a dark blue thermal underneath and black and white Cons, just like me. I take inventory in his clothing because I don't want to skip a single detail.
We hash out the game plan in the parking lot and decide that a drive to Reseda is in order. My apartment is empty and the bottle of JW Blue label awaits us.
I love a man who enjoys a long drive. We race up the 101 North, Los Angeles in the Christmas time looking so beautiful. We talk about everything under the sun: work...family, the holidays, money...the subject inevitably turns to relationships and our situation...I think tonight there is no room for feeling guilty. It's clear we're both here to indulge.
At my apartment, he struggles to keep warm and we make out on the couch in the living room. I take a shot of whisky, Edgar savors his on the rocks. It's not long before we both shake off the nervous chatter again and press our mouths together. I cover his entire face and neck with soft, wet kisses...he strokes my breasts through the thin fabric of my brand new Roxy blouse and looks at me with these intense, dark brown eyes...his eyelashes are so long and gorgeous...I feel like I’m dreaming again. The alcohol swirls in my veins, did I really need to drink that Smirnoff Ice right after the shot of JW? Is this real? I feel dizzy and hot as he presses my back against the counter top and starts whispering to me: "I love how direct you are. I just know you want to pounce on me. That smile of yours...."
I can hardly find an answer for him. I giggle and kiss him profoundly with eyes closed. He runs his fingers through my hair and I stammer in a whisper: "Sorry-sorry, I have so much hair; it probably gets in your way." He grins with those smoldering eyes: "No. I love your beautiful long dark hair." We take breaks from the kissing to sip our drinks. He quickly makes the JW disappear which leaves me speechless...I remember trying to drink it myself and finding it so hard. He remarks on how much he loves the taste, so smoky, you can taste the wood and it kicks like a mule. He looks like a real man with that drink in his hand. With his arms around my waist, I feel like a real woman...finally.
We flirt, nibble and tease each other in the kitchen, pressing pause in our game only to polish off our drinks. I can’t wipe that knowing grin off his face and I feel like my cheeks are permanently suffused with red warmth. I can’t keep my hands off him. Letting him kiss me and caress me between my legs is the only way I can tell this is all real.
I work the nerve to say something when he claims that he’s only just a nerd with a love for history working in a law office, as if that should dissuade me from wanting to be with him. He confesses his love for the T.V. show Scrubs and takes my compliments with a boyish charm that I find irresistible.
“Oh but you’re my type. You’ve always been spot on, with that spiky black hair. Those brown eyes...that mouth...that goatee that makes you look like Cortez…” I trail off and nuzzle close to his ear. “Dime en español” he murmurs. My eyes flutter open and I meet his stare. I swallow hard and find the words: “Ay, pero es que eres, tan, pero tan guapo.” He kisses me deeply and hard before answering: “Y tú eres mi Salvadoreña.” I am his Salvadorian girl, he breathes in Spanish and I believe him, if only for that moment. He has me pinned against the counter top again, like a tiger stalking his prey. I feel his erection against my hip and my hand (as if by its own) strokes it. He tries to lift me up and take me there but I resist and pull away. “Oh no no no, if you want those acrobatics, then let’s go over there” I laugh and point to the bedroom, “And finish that drink, too.” He accepts my challenge and drains the last bit of JW from the glass and takes me by the hand. No turning back now.
It all plays out like a dream…like some pornographic fantasy come true. I start taking off my bracelets and watch, he pulls his shirts off and drops his jeans. He notices Dan’s messy side of the room, while mine is spotless and orderly. I shrug, “That’s us in a nutshell.” But the best part is the fact that Dan and I have separate beds. We get naked and jump into mine. ROUND ONE: He has a nice body, slim and without a single blemish. His hands roam all over my body, settling at last in the spot between my legs. He finds my clit almost instantly and I’m so, so ready for him. It takes every single part of me to focus as I slip my tongue in his mouth, but he won’t let me think. He’s rubbing that stubborn little spot and it’s making me tremble uncontrollably. All that messing around in the kitchen and that big swig of Johnnie Walker has left me primed and ready to go. My pussy feels wet and hot and I know he’s having an easy time bringing me close to orgasm. But it can’t end so quickly. I want him to go first before I can. It doesn’t matter what my brain wants. His mouth takes turns suckling each of my breasts and I’m helpless, “Easy, easy….” I gasp but it’s useless. All my thoughts are hazy and coming in fragments, I’m losing every little bit of control to him. My body is telling him everything I want and he’s doing it. “How does it feel?” I moan as I look into his gorgeous brown eyes but I don’t need him to answer. My head is buzzing with heat and passion. I’m shaking. I plead for him to stop but my mouth and my hands and my dripping pussy say keep going: “I’m going to come all over your hand!” I cry but it’s too late. And he whispers he doesn’t care as I give in and let the wave come over me. “Oh God!” is all I can say when words finally don’t escape me. I hold onto him as he takes me again and again, each orgasm making me feel like I'm falling deeper and deeper under his spell. He is relentless and I beg for more, at one point asking him to tell me when he wants me to come. My only request is that he look me right in the eyes when I finally do succumb to the hot, intoxicating orgasm.
He has little time to celebrate my climaxes before I hastily grab a condom. ROUND TWO: He rips open the package and slips it on. Seconds later, I’m on top and riding him savagely. I love the look on his face. He’s fair skinned but now he’s redder than God knows what. It’s his turn now to suffer in ecstasy. His cock slips out a couple of times but we’re able to get him to fit right back in, nice and tight. It’s heaven and I can’t believe it’s real. I’m going to wake up soon, right? He slaps my ass and that only makes my hips undulate faster. I buck and throw my head back in wanton pleasure. I freeze when I feel that familiar feeling creep closer. I want to come again so bad. He looks so good laying there underneath me, his mouth straining to reach mine. My long hair cascades over us as we meet in an ardent kiss. We switch and he gets on top (with a brief pause to wait out the cramp in his right leg!). He slips in easily again and fucks me like a pro. My nails claw into his back as he thrusts me closer to another hot, shimmering orgasm. I hear him groan as my lips find the spot between his ear and neck. I can smell the cologne I asked him to wear. That just propels me even closer. I rub my hands over his arms as he holds himself up to fuck me; the muscles in his biceps are taut and strained. His face is red, wet with perspiration and knotted in sweet agony. I know that face. I know he’s going to come. I manage to choke out a barrage of filthy obscenities as the feeling takes over me. “Oh God, I’m going to come soon. Are you coming, too baby?” I say through gritted teeth. He reaches down to reward me with several feverish kisses and shakes his head urgently. Oh that sweet, torrential agony. I hook my left leg over his right shoulder and wrap my right leg around him. This tightens the sensation. We both struggle against one another, finally reaching that delicious release. “Oh fuck! Oh Edgar! Oh God! Oh Ed-Eddie!” I feel it wash over me again, my vagina contracting viciously on his dick. “Yeah, say my name!” he groans and I answer back with several expletives and his name over and over. He closes his eyes and collapses on me. My arms instantly wrap around his torso and hold him close. He buries his head on my shoulder and I sigh. I know he’s exhausted and so am I. We lay there for a bit, still connected. My hair is spread all over the pillow. I can feel the sweat covering my forehead. I want to stay like this forever but inevitably he has to pull out (my least favorite feeling in the world!) and dispose of the condom.
We cuddle in bed and get under my thick blankets to fend off the cold. I forget to turn the heating on…oh well! We talk and trade fervent kisses. I trace the scar above his left eyebrow with my index finger and ask him what happened. He sighs and says it’s the “one that got away.” Apparently, he slipped in a school bathroom and slammed his forehead on the edge of a urinal. But his parents didn’t bother to give it a second thought and to this day he regrets not seeking some sort of legal action. “Working in a law office and knowing what I know now, we could’ve made some serious money” he laughs. I tell him it’s a cute scar. “Chicks dig scars” he jokes and I reply with “And bones heal and the United States of America has the best doctor-to-daredevil ration in the world!” There’s nothing sexier than two people who can quote the Simpsons in bed.
We let our hands roam all over each other again. “Just give me a few minutes, I know I can get ready for another round” he says and I can hardly believe it. “You can come again?” I ask. He nods his head and gives me a smile. A short refractory period in a 25 year old man...fascinating!
I sit up on my elbow as he palms my breasts: “So I guess you’re not some three pump-”
“Chump?” He cuts in with a look of amusement on his face.
I laugh, “I was going to say champ but that works, too.”
We kiss some more and chat about how stupid we were not to do this sooner. I try to keep the trash talking about Dan to a minimum. I know Edgar still harbors some feelings of resentment towards Dan because of all their playground rivalry back in middle school. Dan teased Ed because he was smaller (still is) and made fun of him when he got pantsed by another group of boys. Guys just can’t seem to let that shit go, huh? I sometimes wonder if Ed is seeking revenge on Dan by hooking up with me. I try and take my mind off of it. I know Ed wishes he could always have me like this and it bothers him that Dan thinks so little of me at times. “If I was him, I’d rush to get home just so I could fuck you every single night.” It’s the raging hard-on talking. I know it. I giggle and kiss my way down his chest and across his flat stomach. I kiss his sides, ribs and revel in the soft skin of his belly. I smile in smug satisfaction at my discovery. He’s hard again and ready for me. ROUND THREE: I instantly grab his cock and begin jerking him off. I’ve never actually been good at this and I feel clumsy. I know he senses it and helps me along. I blush and tell him I’m no good. We all know what I’m really gifted at: I take a deep breath, exhale and slip his cock in my mouth. I suck all the way to the root and inch by inch, he fills my throat. I can feel the involuntary tears start to come as I deep throat him. Oh but it’s good. He groans and reaches for me in desperation. He won’t last long now. I suckle him, my tongue running up the underside of his shaft, my lips caressing the head. He’s uncircumcised; I know...but it only really matters when he comes. I moan all over his dick, hoping he can feel the vibrations. He twists in that familiar way guys do when they’re going to erupt. It’s like he’s swallowed glass or something. I give him a muffled, “Almost?” and he shakes his head, “Yes, yes, almost there.” I suck and suck with all my might, my lips feel numb, I’m getting lightheaded. “Just a little bit more, almost, almost…” he struggles to say. I can’t stop now. I go faster and harder until I hear him gasp. Immediately my mouth is filled with a warm, salty liquid: semen. I moan in satisfaction and lick it all up. I rest my head on his chest and we bask in the post-coital glow. We struggle to keep our feet warm but they feel like blocks of ice. I blame my distaste for socks during sex, he blames his poor circulation. He remarks that if we go for another around, it will be quite hard to pry him out of bed and we might have to spend the night. But before we can get too cozy with the idea of sleeping in each other’s arms until morning, I feel a sharp pain in my vagina. I know what it is already: tons of air trapped in there because of all the thrusting. That’s our cue to start getting dressed. It’s a sad thing to do but it’s almost 2 am and we have a long drive home.
I re-make the bed and straighten out my sheets, Ed volunteers to wash the cups (thank you!) and we take out the trash with the condoms in it. It’s like nobody was ever here.
The drive home is nice. He puts the heater on and I feel sleepy almost instantly. We talk about music and family. He looks over at me and says I look content and satisfied. I stretch like a lazy cat and tell him that I am. We let our hands touch. “We can’t kid ourselves; there’s going to be a next time, isn’t there?” I ask. He nods, “I can’t keep saying there won’t be...I know it’s not true. Not after this.”
We reach Whittier and I find my car, again, thankfully not towed or impounded at the Starbucks. It’s been 5 hours since I was last here. Time flies.
“You know how to reach me,” he says as he leans over to kiss me sweetly.
“I know. But I don’t want to crowd your shit. I’ll find you,” I say and he smiles.
“Thank you, thank you, and thank you!” I whisper quickly as we kiss again and again. Saying goodbye to Ed is never an easy thing. I slip out the passenger side but not before pausing to look at him. I dare to say what I know he’s thinking:
“This could be every day of your life.”
He looks up at me and grips the steering wheel. He nods in agreement. I can tell the remark has registered somewhere in the confines of his mind. Among all the card games with the fellas, the law school applications, family engagements and work day commutes: my comment is now staked there in things for him to think about. He could really have it all with me. And it pains me to even consider it. I know the best revenge Dan could have on me is the dissolution of any real relationship with Edgar, or worse yet: falling in love with Ed and then having my heart broken.
It intrigues me and at the same time frightens me to remember a quote Ed gave me from Camus about how the best kind of love story is the one where the other person dies. Maybe happy endings aren’t for everybody.
We text each other the next day, remarking how sore we both are from the sex. The soreness in my abs, arms and legs are magnificent reminders, if only temporary, of what the body is capable of. I wish my heart would just stay out of it and not start to creep in, because after that, there is no way back.
And I know that convention and morality says I should regret all of this....my religion, my parents, my friends and all the things I see on talk shows tell me I should regret it, but I don't. I fucking don't.
The memory of it still makes my cheeks flame up hot and I can't shake the savory, wicked flashbacks of Saturday night.
I think what makes encounters like this so deliciously appetizing is the wait...the anticipation is a mother fucker. It makes me feel like I'm swimming in an ocean of yearning, desire and wanting...I want, want, want so bad...and the hours never hurry up...and I'm not paying attention to the movie I'm watching or really listening to what this stupid customer is saying...I'm just waiting and I can't be satisfied at least partly until the moment comes.
Christmas was lovely. I spent Christmas Eve with my family and it was great to be free from Dan for a whole day. I got to open all my presents at midnight and it was just great being a Salvadorian again. I spent Christmas Day with Dan's family and tried to make the best of it...we played some lousy board game until 11 pm...my mind was racing towards Edgar. I didn't want to be with these people with their loud, yapping dogs and annoying little kids. I hate having to censor my language and not being able to drink some alcohol...it's times like these that I really do admire my family. Dan's family wants to be too much like the Waltons, no matter how hip they think they may be.
Did I mention that Dan spent all of Christmas Day and Christmas dinner in ratty sweat pants, un-showered and barefoot? His feet were covered in filth. I wanted to wretch.
Finally, the 26th rolled around: a bright Saturday morning. I got up as late as I could, showered and got dressed. I hung out with Dan's family (again!) and got to see Sherlock Holmes for free, at least. All during the movie, my mind kept drifting back to Ed. Is he going to stand me up? Has he shaven his goatee? What will his lips taste like? It's almost a miracle I didn't rush to the bathroom and masturbate to calm the craving for him. My insides churned. The movie was great, though. It was quite enhanced.
I got my car's oil changed and a free wash. While in the restroom of the auto spa, I text Edgar:
What time is good for you tonight?
I shuttled Dan back and forth between my mom's house in Whittier and the Citadel shopping center.
It has now been a few hours since my initial text. Desperation and an unyielding libido set in. I decided to up the ante:
I hope you didn't forget about me. I've got a bottle of Johnnie Walker and an empty house with your name on it. I want you so fucking bad. What time can we meet up?
I stash my phone in my pocket but not before erasing the last two outbound messages. I need to cover up my tracks and get rid of any damaging evidence. My heart slams so hard. My panties feel drenched.
The crowds at Fry's were ghastly but we killed some time spending my gift card money at the Roxy store. Dan was bored, I could tell, but I didn't care. I secretly shopped for something to wear for Ed: a sexy new top, a cute purse...some sandals...a few thermals. Which one of these shirts would wind up balled up in a heap on the floor of my bedroom? Only time would tell.
As we get in my car to go home, I hear my phone finally vibrate with a text message. I pray to God it's him. And it is.
At dinner, I check my phone again. Edgar has replied with one word:
Where?
I breathe. I type.
Meet meet at the same Starbucks as last time. 9 pm sound good to you?
He quickly replies:
Sure.
I reel in excitement:
Good. See you at 9. Wear cologne again.
I manage to get rid of Dan right after dinner and then it's a race to my house where I tell my mom and cousins I want to get dressed up to go drinking with a few choice girlfriends. I keep things vague so no one suspects too much. My cousin Carmen does my hair and my normally straight as a stick black hair is now an inviting head full of long wavy curls with a cute flip. I smile as I apply my make up. I breeze on my way out the door, everyone remarks that I smell good. I laugh with happiness. It's a good laugh.
The normal 5 minute drive to the Starbucks at Beverly and Norwalk feels excruciating. But as I turn into the driveway of the coffee shop, a White Solara beats me to it. It's Edgar, who else?
I watch him pull up next to my car and tremble as he gets out. He has a slender build, standing at about 5 foot 6 inches, weighing 160 lbs. (so he says) but at that precise moment, he feels like a giant to me. I shiver because of the cold and a little because of fear. He smiles and we embrace in the freezing air. "Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday!” he says and with a kiss, I'm his again. "Same to you!" I exclaim. The fabric of his baby blue short sleeve button up feels so good...he's wearing jeans, a dark blue thermal underneath and black and white Cons, just like me. I take inventory in his clothing because I don't want to skip a single detail.
We hash out the game plan in the parking lot and decide that a drive to Reseda is in order. My apartment is empty and the bottle of JW Blue label awaits us.
I love a man who enjoys a long drive. We race up the 101 North, Los Angeles in the Christmas time looking so beautiful. We talk about everything under the sun: work...family, the holidays, money...the subject inevitably turns to relationships and our situation...I think tonight there is no room for feeling guilty. It's clear we're both here to indulge.
At my apartment, he struggles to keep warm and we make out on the couch in the living room. I take a shot of whisky, Edgar savors his on the rocks. It's not long before we both shake off the nervous chatter again and press our mouths together. I cover his entire face and neck with soft, wet kisses...he strokes my breasts through the thin fabric of my brand new Roxy blouse and looks at me with these intense, dark brown eyes...his eyelashes are so long and gorgeous...I feel like I’m dreaming again. The alcohol swirls in my veins, did I really need to drink that Smirnoff Ice right after the shot of JW? Is this real? I feel dizzy and hot as he presses my back against the counter top and starts whispering to me: "I love how direct you are. I just know you want to pounce on me. That smile of yours...."
I can hardly find an answer for him. I giggle and kiss him profoundly with eyes closed. He runs his fingers through my hair and I stammer in a whisper: "Sorry-sorry, I have so much hair; it probably gets in your way." He grins with those smoldering eyes: "No. I love your beautiful long dark hair." We take breaks from the kissing to sip our drinks. He quickly makes the JW disappear which leaves me speechless...I remember trying to drink it myself and finding it so hard. He remarks on how much he loves the taste, so smoky, you can taste the wood and it kicks like a mule. He looks like a real man with that drink in his hand. With his arms around my waist, I feel like a real woman...finally.
We flirt, nibble and tease each other in the kitchen, pressing pause in our game only to polish off our drinks. I can’t wipe that knowing grin off his face and I feel like my cheeks are permanently suffused with red warmth. I can’t keep my hands off him. Letting him kiss me and caress me between my legs is the only way I can tell this is all real.
I work the nerve to say something when he claims that he’s only just a nerd with a love for history working in a law office, as if that should dissuade me from wanting to be with him. He confesses his love for the T.V. show Scrubs and takes my compliments with a boyish charm that I find irresistible.
“Oh but you’re my type. You’ve always been spot on, with that spiky black hair. Those brown eyes...that mouth...that goatee that makes you look like Cortez…” I trail off and nuzzle close to his ear. “Dime en español” he murmurs. My eyes flutter open and I meet his stare. I swallow hard and find the words: “Ay, pero es que eres, tan, pero tan guapo.” He kisses me deeply and hard before answering: “Y tú eres mi Salvadoreña.” I am his Salvadorian girl, he breathes in Spanish and I believe him, if only for that moment. He has me pinned against the counter top again, like a tiger stalking his prey. I feel his erection against my hip and my hand (as if by its own) strokes it. He tries to lift me up and take me there but I resist and pull away. “Oh no no no, if you want those acrobatics, then let’s go over there” I laugh and point to the bedroom, “And finish that drink, too.” He accepts my challenge and drains the last bit of JW from the glass and takes me by the hand. No turning back now.
It all plays out like a dream…like some pornographic fantasy come true. I start taking off my bracelets and watch, he pulls his shirts off and drops his jeans. He notices Dan’s messy side of the room, while mine is spotless and orderly. I shrug, “That’s us in a nutshell.” But the best part is the fact that Dan and I have separate beds. We get naked and jump into mine. ROUND ONE: He has a nice body, slim and without a single blemish. His hands roam all over my body, settling at last in the spot between my legs. He finds my clit almost instantly and I’m so, so ready for him. It takes every single part of me to focus as I slip my tongue in his mouth, but he won’t let me think. He’s rubbing that stubborn little spot and it’s making me tremble uncontrollably. All that messing around in the kitchen and that big swig of Johnnie Walker has left me primed and ready to go. My pussy feels wet and hot and I know he’s having an easy time bringing me close to orgasm. But it can’t end so quickly. I want him to go first before I can. It doesn’t matter what my brain wants. His mouth takes turns suckling each of my breasts and I’m helpless, “Easy, easy….” I gasp but it’s useless. All my thoughts are hazy and coming in fragments, I’m losing every little bit of control to him. My body is telling him everything I want and he’s doing it. “How does it feel?” I moan as I look into his gorgeous brown eyes but I don’t need him to answer. My head is buzzing with heat and passion. I’m shaking. I plead for him to stop but my mouth and my hands and my dripping pussy say keep going: “I’m going to come all over your hand!” I cry but it’s too late. And he whispers he doesn’t care as I give in and let the wave come over me. “Oh God!” is all I can say when words finally don’t escape me. I hold onto him as he takes me again and again, each orgasm making me feel like I'm falling deeper and deeper under his spell. He is relentless and I beg for more, at one point asking him to tell me when he wants me to come. My only request is that he look me right in the eyes when I finally do succumb to the hot, intoxicating orgasm.
He has little time to celebrate my climaxes before I hastily grab a condom. ROUND TWO: He rips open the package and slips it on. Seconds later, I’m on top and riding him savagely. I love the look on his face. He’s fair skinned but now he’s redder than God knows what. It’s his turn now to suffer in ecstasy. His cock slips out a couple of times but we’re able to get him to fit right back in, nice and tight. It’s heaven and I can’t believe it’s real. I’m going to wake up soon, right? He slaps my ass and that only makes my hips undulate faster. I buck and throw my head back in wanton pleasure. I freeze when I feel that familiar feeling creep closer. I want to come again so bad. He looks so good laying there underneath me, his mouth straining to reach mine. My long hair cascades over us as we meet in an ardent kiss. We switch and he gets on top (with a brief pause to wait out the cramp in his right leg!). He slips in easily again and fucks me like a pro. My nails claw into his back as he thrusts me closer to another hot, shimmering orgasm. I hear him groan as my lips find the spot between his ear and neck. I can smell the cologne I asked him to wear. That just propels me even closer. I rub my hands over his arms as he holds himself up to fuck me; the muscles in his biceps are taut and strained. His face is red, wet with perspiration and knotted in sweet agony. I know that face. I know he’s going to come. I manage to choke out a barrage of filthy obscenities as the feeling takes over me. “Oh God, I’m going to come soon. Are you coming, too baby?” I say through gritted teeth. He reaches down to reward me with several feverish kisses and shakes his head urgently. Oh that sweet, torrential agony. I hook my left leg over his right shoulder and wrap my right leg around him. This tightens the sensation. We both struggle against one another, finally reaching that delicious release. “Oh fuck! Oh Edgar! Oh God! Oh Ed-Eddie!” I feel it wash over me again, my vagina contracting viciously on his dick. “Yeah, say my name!” he groans and I answer back with several expletives and his name over and over. He closes his eyes and collapses on me. My arms instantly wrap around his torso and hold him close. He buries his head on my shoulder and I sigh. I know he’s exhausted and so am I. We lay there for a bit, still connected. My hair is spread all over the pillow. I can feel the sweat covering my forehead. I want to stay like this forever but inevitably he has to pull out (my least favorite feeling in the world!) and dispose of the condom.
We cuddle in bed and get under my thick blankets to fend off the cold. I forget to turn the heating on…oh well! We talk and trade fervent kisses. I trace the scar above his left eyebrow with my index finger and ask him what happened. He sighs and says it’s the “one that got away.” Apparently, he slipped in a school bathroom and slammed his forehead on the edge of a urinal. But his parents didn’t bother to give it a second thought and to this day he regrets not seeking some sort of legal action. “Working in a law office and knowing what I know now, we could’ve made some serious money” he laughs. I tell him it’s a cute scar. “Chicks dig scars” he jokes and I reply with “And bones heal and the United States of America has the best doctor-to-daredevil ration in the world!” There’s nothing sexier than two people who can quote the Simpsons in bed.
We let our hands roam all over each other again. “Just give me a few minutes, I know I can get ready for another round” he says and I can hardly believe it. “You can come again?” I ask. He nods his head and gives me a smile. A short refractory period in a 25 year old man...fascinating!
I sit up on my elbow as he palms my breasts: “So I guess you’re not some three pump-”
“Chump?” He cuts in with a look of amusement on his face.
I laugh, “I was going to say champ but that works, too.”
We kiss some more and chat about how stupid we were not to do this sooner. I try to keep the trash talking about Dan to a minimum. I know Edgar still harbors some feelings of resentment towards Dan because of all their playground rivalry back in middle school. Dan teased Ed because he was smaller (still is) and made fun of him when he got pantsed by another group of boys. Guys just can’t seem to let that shit go, huh? I sometimes wonder if Ed is seeking revenge on Dan by hooking up with me. I try and take my mind off of it. I know Ed wishes he could always have me like this and it bothers him that Dan thinks so little of me at times. “If I was him, I’d rush to get home just so I could fuck you every single night.” It’s the raging hard-on talking. I know it. I giggle and kiss my way down his chest and across his flat stomach. I kiss his sides, ribs and revel in the soft skin of his belly. I smile in smug satisfaction at my discovery. He’s hard again and ready for me. ROUND THREE: I instantly grab his cock and begin jerking him off. I’ve never actually been good at this and I feel clumsy. I know he senses it and helps me along. I blush and tell him I’m no good. We all know what I’m really gifted at: I take a deep breath, exhale and slip his cock in my mouth. I suck all the way to the root and inch by inch, he fills my throat. I can feel the involuntary tears start to come as I deep throat him. Oh but it’s good. He groans and reaches for me in desperation. He won’t last long now. I suckle him, my tongue running up the underside of his shaft, my lips caressing the head. He’s uncircumcised; I know...but it only really matters when he comes. I moan all over his dick, hoping he can feel the vibrations. He twists in that familiar way guys do when they’re going to erupt. It’s like he’s swallowed glass or something. I give him a muffled, “Almost?” and he shakes his head, “Yes, yes, almost there.” I suck and suck with all my might, my lips feel numb, I’m getting lightheaded. “Just a little bit more, almost, almost…” he struggles to say. I can’t stop now. I go faster and harder until I hear him gasp. Immediately my mouth is filled with a warm, salty liquid: semen. I moan in satisfaction and lick it all up. I rest my head on his chest and we bask in the post-coital glow. We struggle to keep our feet warm but they feel like blocks of ice. I blame my distaste for socks during sex, he blames his poor circulation. He remarks that if we go for another around, it will be quite hard to pry him out of bed and we might have to spend the night. But before we can get too cozy with the idea of sleeping in each other’s arms until morning, I feel a sharp pain in my vagina. I know what it is already: tons of air trapped in there because of all the thrusting. That’s our cue to start getting dressed. It’s a sad thing to do but it’s almost 2 am and we have a long drive home.
I re-make the bed and straighten out my sheets, Ed volunteers to wash the cups (thank you!) and we take out the trash with the condoms in it. It’s like nobody was ever here.
The drive home is nice. He puts the heater on and I feel sleepy almost instantly. We talk about music and family. He looks over at me and says I look content and satisfied. I stretch like a lazy cat and tell him that I am. We let our hands touch. “We can’t kid ourselves; there’s going to be a next time, isn’t there?” I ask. He nods, “I can’t keep saying there won’t be...I know it’s not true. Not after this.”
We reach Whittier and I find my car, again, thankfully not towed or impounded at the Starbucks. It’s been 5 hours since I was last here. Time flies.
“You know how to reach me,” he says as he leans over to kiss me sweetly.
“I know. But I don’t want to crowd your shit. I’ll find you,” I say and he smiles.
“Thank you, thank you, and thank you!” I whisper quickly as we kiss again and again. Saying goodbye to Ed is never an easy thing. I slip out the passenger side but not before pausing to look at him. I dare to say what I know he’s thinking:
“This could be every day of your life.”
He looks up at me and grips the steering wheel. He nods in agreement. I can tell the remark has registered somewhere in the confines of his mind. Among all the card games with the fellas, the law school applications, family engagements and work day commutes: my comment is now staked there in things for him to think about. He could really have it all with me. And it pains me to even consider it. I know the best revenge Dan could have on me is the dissolution of any real relationship with Edgar, or worse yet: falling in love with Ed and then having my heart broken.
It intrigues me and at the same time frightens me to remember a quote Ed gave me from Camus about how the best kind of love story is the one where the other person dies. Maybe happy endings aren’t for everybody.
We text each other the next day, remarking how sore we both are from the sex. The soreness in my abs, arms and legs are magnificent reminders, if only temporary, of what the body is capable of. I wish my heart would just stay out of it and not start to creep in, because after that, there is no way back.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
because if it ain't love, it ain't enough to leave a happy home
Happy 26th birthday to me.
I'm more excited about the after-Christmas potential hook up with Ed than I am about going to dinner with Dan tonight.
I feel like I should be happier in the inside, to match the smile I've painted on my face today...but I just can't make it happen this time. I can't get Ed out of my mind and he's polluting my birthday...along with different sections of my heart.
Everyone's so happy because of Christmas and I am, too...but knowing that I am slowly falling out of love with Dan is soul-crushing. I feel helpless...like I'm on some runaway train that's going to crash at any second.
If we break up at the end of this lease, I can already feel the sting and the backlash...I feel like our friends and family are a TV audience and Dan and I are this awesome couple, think Ross and Rachel on Friends...we're destined to be fan favorites and nobody wants to see us part...but we have to. I can't keep this up for the rest of my life and get marriage, kids and mortgages involved. I have to go.
This is all my fault. I know that come December 26th, Ed will find a way to cancel on me and I'll get stuck with a $160 bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and a broken heart. I know he's a means to an end...I just know that he has no love in his heart for me, only lust.
You can't make a clean break with lust.
So all I can do to reconcile that hole in my life is to fill it up with more and more hormones, sex and regrets. I want to fuck Edgar until I feel right again.
I'm more excited about the after-Christmas potential hook up with Ed than I am about going to dinner with Dan tonight.
I feel like I should be happier in the inside, to match the smile I've painted on my face today...but I just can't make it happen this time. I can't get Ed out of my mind and he's polluting my birthday...along with different sections of my heart.
Everyone's so happy because of Christmas and I am, too...but knowing that I am slowly falling out of love with Dan is soul-crushing. I feel helpless...like I'm on some runaway train that's going to crash at any second.
If we break up at the end of this lease, I can already feel the sting and the backlash...I feel like our friends and family are a TV audience and Dan and I are this awesome couple, think Ross and Rachel on Friends...we're destined to be fan favorites and nobody wants to see us part...but we have to. I can't keep this up for the rest of my life and get marriage, kids and mortgages involved. I have to go.
This is all my fault. I know that come December 26th, Ed will find a way to cancel on me and I'll get stuck with a $160 bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and a broken heart. I know he's a means to an end...I just know that he has no love in his heart for me, only lust.
You can't make a clean break with lust.
So all I can do to reconcile that hole in my life is to fill it up with more and more hormones, sex and regrets. I want to fuck Edgar until I feel right again.
Monday, December 21, 2009
But I just have one last question... will it be my heart or will it be his?
Every day since I last saw Edgar, I am consumed with enormous amounts of guilt. I cannot seem to shake any of it and every day I am plagued with the sensation that sooner or later, I will get caught.
I am fucked either way, whether I am caught now or later...
If Dan finds out now, I am stuck with him until the lease is over. I don't know whether he'd kick me out of the apartment or leave me stuck with the rent. Probably the latter, which would mean I'd have to scramble to try and find a roommate in time. There's no way I'd ever look good in that situation. I'd be a total rat.
In the meantime, I am left with the oppressive weight of this secret on my conscience. I can't tear my mind away from it and it ravages every free thought I have in my head. I'm finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything else...I get distracted. I now understand why people go mad with guilt. All I want is for it be over, even if that means that Dan would hate me and my friends and family would all be disappointed in me. I'd turn into Public Enemy #1 amongst our circle...but hey, at least I'd be a free woman.
When I'm not dreading the inevitable, I try and put a positive spin on what this would mean for me and Ed. There is no "we" presently...it's all just dreams and fantasies of mine. I daydream on my way home from work about falling in love again....what if Ed suddenly decided that I was the one? Would he stay in SoCal and go to law school in Costa Mesa...would he get over himself and ask me to be his girlfriend? What if we finally had a normal relationship and got married...I'd marry a lawyer and everything would be great.
But it won't happen. Stories like this don't end happily. You can't turn a ho into a housewife and you can't turn a horny single guy into husband material overnight. It's not meant for us...he and I are not a "we"...we're too independent, we're too jealous, we're too fucked in the head. We are not right. How could we ever trust each other and build a foundation for a loving relationship on what began as loose morals, lies, betrayal and hedonism?
I tell myself to stay away from him.
If he contacts me, I should rebuke him.
I starve for attention, I pine for a new touch...I hunger for something real.
He texts me randomly on Sunday while I'm Christmas shopping with my mom and my sister. I feel my cheeks flame up with excitement, embarrassment, shame and delight.
Edgar: happy b day
me: Nice try. It's on Tuesday.
Edgar: At least I am early.
me: True. You beat everyone else. Know what I want for my bday/Christmas?
Edgar: What???
me: You, me, a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and my bed. Make yourself available the night of the 26th and it'll happen.
Edgar: Wow...
me: I figured I've never gotten you anything for Christmas...you down?
Edgar: It's what I wanted.
me: Alright, let's call each other then. See you on the 26th.
Edgar: Yes.
I put my phone away and instantly feel sea sick. This is what a junkie must feel like...a drug addict always looking for a bigger score, a bigger high...falling deeper and deeper into destruction.
The desire to sleep with him again is irresistible. It's so, so, so bad....and that's what makes it so intoxicating. Having the forbidden...the more I know it's wrong the more appealing it is.
We come home and I accidentally slam my hand into my mouth, causing my bottom lip to bleed. Dan jokes it's because I must have done something wrong.
If only he knew what I was planning.
I am fucked either way, whether I am caught now or later...
If Dan finds out now, I am stuck with him until the lease is over. I don't know whether he'd kick me out of the apartment or leave me stuck with the rent. Probably the latter, which would mean I'd have to scramble to try and find a roommate in time. There's no way I'd ever look good in that situation. I'd be a total rat.
In the meantime, I am left with the oppressive weight of this secret on my conscience. I can't tear my mind away from it and it ravages every free thought I have in my head. I'm finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything else...I get distracted. I now understand why people go mad with guilt. All I want is for it be over, even if that means that Dan would hate me and my friends and family would all be disappointed in me. I'd turn into Public Enemy #1 amongst our circle...but hey, at least I'd be a free woman.
When I'm not dreading the inevitable, I try and put a positive spin on what this would mean for me and Ed. There is no "we" presently...it's all just dreams and fantasies of mine. I daydream on my way home from work about falling in love again....what if Ed suddenly decided that I was the one? Would he stay in SoCal and go to law school in Costa Mesa...would he get over himself and ask me to be his girlfriend? What if we finally had a normal relationship and got married...I'd marry a lawyer and everything would be great.
But it won't happen. Stories like this don't end happily. You can't turn a ho into a housewife and you can't turn a horny single guy into husband material overnight. It's not meant for us...he and I are not a "we"...we're too independent, we're too jealous, we're too fucked in the head. We are not right. How could we ever trust each other and build a foundation for a loving relationship on what began as loose morals, lies, betrayal and hedonism?
I tell myself to stay away from him.
If he contacts me, I should rebuke him.
I starve for attention, I pine for a new touch...I hunger for something real.
He texts me randomly on Sunday while I'm Christmas shopping with my mom and my sister. I feel my cheeks flame up with excitement, embarrassment, shame and delight.
Edgar: happy b day
me: Nice try. It's on Tuesday.
Edgar: At least I am early.
me: True. You beat everyone else. Know what I want for my bday/Christmas?
Edgar: What???
me: You, me, a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and my bed. Make yourself available the night of the 26th and it'll happen.
Edgar: Wow...
me: I figured I've never gotten you anything for Christmas...you down?
Edgar: It's what I wanted.
me: Alright, let's call each other then. See you on the 26th.
Edgar: Yes.
I put my phone away and instantly feel sea sick. This is what a junkie must feel like...a drug addict always looking for a bigger score, a bigger high...falling deeper and deeper into destruction.
The desire to sleep with him again is irresistible. It's so, so, so bad....and that's what makes it so intoxicating. Having the forbidden...the more I know it's wrong the more appealing it is.
We come home and I accidentally slam my hand into my mouth, causing my bottom lip to bleed. Dan jokes it's because I must have done something wrong.
If only he knew what I was planning.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
mistakes that you do mean.....
I thought I could stop, erase this stupid journal and move on...but I can't.
Distraction is key: Dan and I had a housewarming party...our main focus was to keep our friends happy and the alcohol flowing...nobody stayed past midnight...I was miserably sick and exhausted by the end. The party was a bust and we had tons of leftover alcohol...well, that might be a plus.
There are no cute pictures of he and I posing in the new place...he made drinks and I played Beatles Rockband. I don't think I ever want to have a party in that stupid apartment again.
November was especially hard, what with the Thanksgiving holiday reminding me of how I no longer want Danny to be a part of my family nor I a part of his.
I was so relieved when he suggested we drive over to our respective parents' homes on Wednesday night...I couldn't wait to just leave him at his parents house and go back to my family in Whittier. It felt comforting...I felt at peace. I felt free!!
I fought the urge to text Edgar...I wanted to prove to myself that he was no good and just in it for the blow jobs...I secretly hoped there'd be more distractions for me....
No distractions came. Friday night after turkey, I muster the courage/vile intentions and text Edgar. Short and sweet:
me: I'm in Whittier right now. I want to see you tomorrow night for coffee. Let's call it an exercise in restraint.
I stuff the phone back in my pocket and try to concentrate on anything else...the T.V., checking my e-mail, hearing the sound of my family talk...distract me, please!
My phone chirps. I gulp. I know it's him.
Edgar: Sure, can't wait.
My head throbs, my heart slams in my chest...my stomach churns in anticipation and a little horror...we hammer out the details. Tomorrow night, 10 pm.
The next day I have to wake up at 8 am in order to meet up with Dan at his parents house...his co-worker Jon has agreed to take us to Reseda so he and Dan can find extra work at a Christmas tree lot and also squeeze in a trip to the bank and pay our rent. Problem is: his friend was not able to give us a ride due to a misunderstanding with dear ol' Dan.
I am stuck having to drive Dan back out to Reseda, eat crappy McDonald's food for breakfast, force to sit through a bank rep try to convince me to get a new credit card (I refuse) and take a $447.50 chunk out of my bank account.
And in the end, they had no work for Dan or Jon. We went out there for nothing. We can't even pay the rent because the landlord is on vacation till Monday. Oh joy! I spend the rest of the morning shuttling Dan between our apartment and Fry's. He tries to return some computer junk and we end making two trips because he forgot some pieces that came with it. I am annoyed but try not to show. My mind keeps wandering to what Edgar will look like...what will he smell like? Will he be cool about it? Why am I not done with him? WHY THE FUCK DID I START THIS SHIT WITH HIM AGAIN?!?
I decide on the long commute back to Whittier that I won't cancel on Edgar. I drop off Dan at his parents house and tell him I'll see him tomorrow Sunday. My nerves are on edge but I've perfected the calm and cool vibe.
It seems like the hours crawl until 10 pm. But eventually it's 9:40 pm and I'm starting to get ready...makeup, hair, earrings, cute top that shows off my cleavage (is it bad I had Dan pick it out, unbeknown to him?)...I fire a text telling Ed to meet me at the Starbucks nearby at 10 sharp. Seconds later...
Edgar: Wow, precise
I smile to myself. I see nothing's changed.
Of course I arrive at Starbucks early...I'm there by 9:59, looking for any sort of distraction. I sit under the hot lights of the coffee shop and dig through my bag, hoping there's something in there I can read or scribble on...I find my planner and start filling in random events, deadlines, etc. I glance up hoping he'll be in soon but nothing...a few couples sit near me: a couple of Mexican 20-somethings talk about nothing in particular...a geriatric white couple read their respective books, with the woman promptly falling asleep leaving her husband to try and snap a picture of her on his phone. I smile. Can they tell what I am about to do? Can they tell I'm a dirty, no-good, rotten scumbag cheater?
I feel hot. I imagine everyone there, including the baristas, are staring at me with scorn. I take my scarf off, my jacket too. I adjust my blouse and fiddle with the beautiful Coach wallet Dan gave me last year. My heart slams to a stop when I hear, "Hey there!" and see Ed standing there in front of me, dressed in a dark gray button up shirt and jeans....he's grown a goatee and wears black long sleeve thermals under his shirt. He looks so fucking hot. "Hi!" I squeak. We sit down and talk for a few minutes, never bothering to buy a cup of coffee.
"How's married life?" he asks. I blush and insist that I am not married. He knows, I know...things are not good. Life is not good. Or else, we wouldn't be here. I ask him if he wants to get out of here, he suggests we go grab a beer and the race is on.
We wind up shuffling off to The 6740, a little pub in Uptown Whittier. He asks me what I want and upon discovering they serve no hard alcohol (I really don't drink beer), I concede and ask for a Newcastle...he decides on a Stella Artois...the bartender waits on payment, Ed asks if I have any cash on me...I visibly roll my eyes and grab my ATM card...it was loud in the bar, I have no idea if he asked that I spot him on his end of the tab or go Dutch...nonetheless, I am not pleased and fork over 13 bucks plus 2 for tip. Yeah, I paid for both of our drinks and promptly asked the nerdy hipster bartender to close the tab out. I feel cheap. Serves me right.
We grab a table by the door and chat each other up. No awkward pauses the whole night...he downs his Stella and I struggle with my Newcastle...I really, really don't like beer. But it helps me keep a smile on my face as I look into his deep brown eyes. I forget it all and concentrate on my posture, adjusting my cleavage and flirting...this is the shit you forget to do when you're in a steady relationship. My single girl tendencies return. We laugh together and boy does it feel good. We high-five every time we both agree on something or find a thing in common...I giggle loudly and claim my praise for this bar because they keep playing Smiths song...he smiles so sweetly, under that black beard of his...he looks like I'd imagine Cortez did. He, fair skinned with a dark goatee...and me, his dark-skinned Malinali...yes, I am the back-stabber, disloyal betrayer. I am his Malinche.
We stay there drinking our beers until the staff kicks us out at midnight...we stumble into the cold Whittier air and make our way to his warm car. I love the feel of being in his car....his trusty two-door white Solara, it's like I never left. I remember all the times I've pleasured him in the front seat and the time we had sex in the backseat. I can't wipe the perverted grin off my face.
He takes me on his usual tour of Downtown Los Angeles...it's amusing to hear him be my tour guide, interlacing his commentary with blush-worthy compliments about my personality and anatomy. L.A. history is one of his passions. We race past the US Bank and City Hall, the buildings of the L.A. city skyline dotted with cute red and green Christmas lights. We hold hands as he speed along the 101 freeway, stopping only to mutter a cuss word or two at bad motorists who cut him off. I don't want to leave him.
He lets me pick the music off his iPod. I ask if he has any Peter Murphy and sure enough he has my favorite song: "Cuts You Up." This is enough to make me want to devour him. We listen to "Modern Man" by Bad Religion, he can't contain his approval of my selection...we then discuss the severity of the situation. We aren't the first to cheat and we won't be the last...but in our story, there is no happily ever after. I tell him my resignation, he insists I try to get out of the lease and become single again. "For what?" I ponder secretly in my head, "It's not like you'll be salvation when I get out."
We stop at the Ralphs in Monterey Park so we can use the restroom. I shiver. I am only a mere distance from Dan's family's house. Is he sleeping? Is he wondering how I am?
At the end of the night, we have solved nothing. I can't get out of my lease until the summer and Ed won't commit to a real relationship. He plans on attending law school in the fall...I vow to return to Whittier and break things off with Dan. I need to be single and stop lying. I can't keep cheating. All of this seems like galaxies away...
Eventually, we park on Bexley in Whittier, behind Sorensen Park. Our usual spot (and at one time, my usual with Dan) for clandestine encounters...he puts the car in park and reaches for my hand, "So much for the exercise in restraint." I agree and we kiss. And kiss. And kiss. He murmurs in my ear, "You smell so good." A pang of excitement warms my body. I kiss his neck, his face, his shoulder blade. Off come the top layers of clothing. Then comes the underwear and bra. He fastens his mouth on my breasts, I reach for his cock. I trace my tongue across his right ear, he rubs my aching pussy through my jeans. Pretty soon I'm sucking him off while "Fascination Street" by the Cure softly plays in the background. His phone rings but I don't stop and he doesn't answer. A few seconds later, he breathlessly sighs, "Now" and I feel him come in my mouth.
After we straighten up and take a few breaths, we talk some more...again, getting really nowhere except further into the seriousness of our situation. He says he won't be a good boyfriend, he's too jealous...I reply that I can't be a good girlfriend since obviously I'm not trust-worthy...the only conclusion we can come to is that, despite how fucked we both really are, this is the best relationship either one of us have ever really had. It's because we only focus on the fun, none of the real heavy stuff that makes people fight and stray away.
He kisses me longingly as we say goodnight. Next time, next time...I will fuck him...because I feel like a drug addict, always trying to get to a bigger and bigger high. I don't know why we chase each other around so much only to lose each other again and again for months at a time.
I come back to real life. I sleep, I eat, I talk, I drive around...I see Dan and it's like I'm sleepwalking until the next time I see Ed. LIAR LIAR LIAR my head pounds as I eat dinner with Dan. He's a really good cook, that Daniel. Why did I have to be this way and why can't I stop?
Distraction is key: Dan and I had a housewarming party...our main focus was to keep our friends happy and the alcohol flowing...nobody stayed past midnight...I was miserably sick and exhausted by the end. The party was a bust and we had tons of leftover alcohol...well, that might be a plus.
There are no cute pictures of he and I posing in the new place...he made drinks and I played Beatles Rockband. I don't think I ever want to have a party in that stupid apartment again.
November was especially hard, what with the Thanksgiving holiday reminding me of how I no longer want Danny to be a part of my family nor I a part of his.
I was so relieved when he suggested we drive over to our respective parents' homes on Wednesday night...I couldn't wait to just leave him at his parents house and go back to my family in Whittier. It felt comforting...I felt at peace. I felt free!!
I fought the urge to text Edgar...I wanted to prove to myself that he was no good and just in it for the blow jobs...I secretly hoped there'd be more distractions for me....
No distractions came. Friday night after turkey, I muster the courage/vile intentions and text Edgar. Short and sweet:
me: I'm in Whittier right now. I want to see you tomorrow night for coffee. Let's call it an exercise in restraint.
I stuff the phone back in my pocket and try to concentrate on anything else...the T.V., checking my e-mail, hearing the sound of my family talk...distract me, please!
My phone chirps. I gulp. I know it's him.
Edgar: Sure, can't wait.
My head throbs, my heart slams in my chest...my stomach churns in anticipation and a little horror...we hammer out the details. Tomorrow night, 10 pm.
The next day I have to wake up at 8 am in order to meet up with Dan at his parents house...his co-worker Jon has agreed to take us to Reseda so he and Dan can find extra work at a Christmas tree lot and also squeeze in a trip to the bank and pay our rent. Problem is: his friend was not able to give us a ride due to a misunderstanding with dear ol' Dan.
I am stuck having to drive Dan back out to Reseda, eat crappy McDonald's food for breakfast, force to sit through a bank rep try to convince me to get a new credit card (I refuse) and take a $447.50 chunk out of my bank account.
And in the end, they had no work for Dan or Jon. We went out there for nothing. We can't even pay the rent because the landlord is on vacation till Monday. Oh joy! I spend the rest of the morning shuttling Dan between our apartment and Fry's. He tries to return some computer junk and we end making two trips because he forgot some pieces that came with it. I am annoyed but try not to show. My mind keeps wandering to what Edgar will look like...what will he smell like? Will he be cool about it? Why am I not done with him? WHY THE FUCK DID I START THIS SHIT WITH HIM AGAIN?!?
I decide on the long commute back to Whittier that I won't cancel on Edgar. I drop off Dan at his parents house and tell him I'll see him tomorrow Sunday. My nerves are on edge but I've perfected the calm and cool vibe.
It seems like the hours crawl until 10 pm. But eventually it's 9:40 pm and I'm starting to get ready...makeup, hair, earrings, cute top that shows off my cleavage (is it bad I had Dan pick it out, unbeknown to him?)...I fire a text telling Ed to meet me at the Starbucks nearby at 10 sharp. Seconds later...
Edgar: Wow, precise
I smile to myself. I see nothing's changed.
Of course I arrive at Starbucks early...I'm there by 9:59, looking for any sort of distraction. I sit under the hot lights of the coffee shop and dig through my bag, hoping there's something in there I can read or scribble on...I find my planner and start filling in random events, deadlines, etc. I glance up hoping he'll be in soon but nothing...a few couples sit near me: a couple of Mexican 20-somethings talk about nothing in particular...a geriatric white couple read their respective books, with the woman promptly falling asleep leaving her husband to try and snap a picture of her on his phone. I smile. Can they tell what I am about to do? Can they tell I'm a dirty, no-good, rotten scumbag cheater?
I feel hot. I imagine everyone there, including the baristas, are staring at me with scorn. I take my scarf off, my jacket too. I adjust my blouse and fiddle with the beautiful Coach wallet Dan gave me last year. My heart slams to a stop when I hear, "Hey there!" and see Ed standing there in front of me, dressed in a dark gray button up shirt and jeans....he's grown a goatee and wears black long sleeve thermals under his shirt. He looks so fucking hot. "Hi!" I squeak. We sit down and talk for a few minutes, never bothering to buy a cup of coffee.
"How's married life?" he asks. I blush and insist that I am not married. He knows, I know...things are not good. Life is not good. Or else, we wouldn't be here. I ask him if he wants to get out of here, he suggests we go grab a beer and the race is on.
We wind up shuffling off to The 6740, a little pub in Uptown Whittier. He asks me what I want and upon discovering they serve no hard alcohol (I really don't drink beer), I concede and ask for a Newcastle...he decides on a Stella Artois...the bartender waits on payment, Ed asks if I have any cash on me...I visibly roll my eyes and grab my ATM card...it was loud in the bar, I have no idea if he asked that I spot him on his end of the tab or go Dutch...nonetheless, I am not pleased and fork over 13 bucks plus 2 for tip. Yeah, I paid for both of our drinks and promptly asked the nerdy hipster bartender to close the tab out. I feel cheap. Serves me right.
We grab a table by the door and chat each other up. No awkward pauses the whole night...he downs his Stella and I struggle with my Newcastle...I really, really don't like beer. But it helps me keep a smile on my face as I look into his deep brown eyes. I forget it all and concentrate on my posture, adjusting my cleavage and flirting...this is the shit you forget to do when you're in a steady relationship. My single girl tendencies return. We laugh together and boy does it feel good. We high-five every time we both agree on something or find a thing in common...I giggle loudly and claim my praise for this bar because they keep playing Smiths song...he smiles so sweetly, under that black beard of his...he looks like I'd imagine Cortez did. He, fair skinned with a dark goatee...and me, his dark-skinned Malinali...yes, I am the back-stabber, disloyal betrayer. I am his Malinche.
We stay there drinking our beers until the staff kicks us out at midnight...we stumble into the cold Whittier air and make our way to his warm car. I love the feel of being in his car....his trusty two-door white Solara, it's like I never left. I remember all the times I've pleasured him in the front seat and the time we had sex in the backseat. I can't wipe the perverted grin off my face.
He takes me on his usual tour of Downtown Los Angeles...it's amusing to hear him be my tour guide, interlacing his commentary with blush-worthy compliments about my personality and anatomy. L.A. history is one of his passions. We race past the US Bank and City Hall, the buildings of the L.A. city skyline dotted with cute red and green Christmas lights. We hold hands as he speed along the 101 freeway, stopping only to mutter a cuss word or two at bad motorists who cut him off. I don't want to leave him.
He lets me pick the music off his iPod. I ask if he has any Peter Murphy and sure enough he has my favorite song: "Cuts You Up." This is enough to make me want to devour him. We listen to "Modern Man" by Bad Religion, he can't contain his approval of my selection...we then discuss the severity of the situation. We aren't the first to cheat and we won't be the last...but in our story, there is no happily ever after. I tell him my resignation, he insists I try to get out of the lease and become single again. "For what?" I ponder secretly in my head, "It's not like you'll be salvation when I get out."
We stop at the Ralphs in Monterey Park so we can use the restroom. I shiver. I am only a mere distance from Dan's family's house. Is he sleeping? Is he wondering how I am?
At the end of the night, we have solved nothing. I can't get out of my lease until the summer and Ed won't commit to a real relationship. He plans on attending law school in the fall...I vow to return to Whittier and break things off with Dan. I need to be single and stop lying. I can't keep cheating. All of this seems like galaxies away...
Eventually, we park on Bexley in Whittier, behind Sorensen Park. Our usual spot (and at one time, my usual with Dan) for clandestine encounters...he puts the car in park and reaches for my hand, "So much for the exercise in restraint." I agree and we kiss. And kiss. And kiss. He murmurs in my ear, "You smell so good." A pang of excitement warms my body. I kiss his neck, his face, his shoulder blade. Off come the top layers of clothing. Then comes the underwear and bra. He fastens his mouth on my breasts, I reach for his cock. I trace my tongue across his right ear, he rubs my aching pussy through my jeans. Pretty soon I'm sucking him off while "Fascination Street" by the Cure softly plays in the background. His phone rings but I don't stop and he doesn't answer. A few seconds later, he breathlessly sighs, "Now" and I feel him come in my mouth.
After we straighten up and take a few breaths, we talk some more...again, getting really nowhere except further into the seriousness of our situation. He says he won't be a good boyfriend, he's too jealous...I reply that I can't be a good girlfriend since obviously I'm not trust-worthy...the only conclusion we can come to is that, despite how fucked we both really are, this is the best relationship either one of us have ever really had. It's because we only focus on the fun, none of the real heavy stuff that makes people fight and stray away.
He kisses me longingly as we say goodnight. Next time, next time...I will fuck him...because I feel like a drug addict, always trying to get to a bigger and bigger high. I don't know why we chase each other around so much only to lose each other again and again for months at a time.
I come back to real life. I sleep, I eat, I talk, I drive around...I see Dan and it's like I'm sleepwalking until the next time I see Ed. LIAR LIAR LIAR my head pounds as I eat dinner with Dan. He's a really good cook, that Daniel. Why did I have to be this way and why can't I stop?
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