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Posts Tagged ‘smooching’

I saw you come into the bar and give the bouncer the hugest hug. I love it when men are affectionate with each other, so I noticed you instantly. You had scruff and a flannel shirt and the best dance moves. I was watching you, but we never spoke or danced together.

Apparently you noticed me noticing you. You told me later that’s why you asked for my number.

We texted a bunch here and there but never got around to hanging out until months later.

We finally went out for an epically long date, though I wasn’t sure it was a date the entire time. You are witty and fun and we got along, despite the fact you are super religious.

We awkwardly half kissed goodbye in a pretty non-sexual way. I’ve been told so many times that I come on too strong, so I was sort of letting you take the lead in this situation. I assumed you wouldn’t contact me ever again.

But two weeks later, we hung out again. I went to your house and we had relatively awkward sex. Certainly not the worst, but not the best either.

And that was it. I think if I texted you, you would politely invite me to go out dancing. But I think if I didn’t text you, I’d never hear from you again.

I cannot figure out what just happened, even a little.

Maybe you just aren’t that into me.

But we seemed to get along, and you kept pursuing me. The next day you told me it was fun and we vaguely referred to future hang out times. I feel like if you just wanted to hook up, you would have approached it differently.

It makes me inclined to think that maybe you just aren’t that into ladies.

But maybe that’s just because I’m used to boys who are feminists.

Maybe you think I’m too fat.

You are really into working out.

Maybe it’s that we became facebook friends and now you think I’m whorish.

But probably you just aren’t that into me.

For what it’s worth, I’d totally hang out with you more if you wanted to figure it out.

Or we could just become dance buddies, which I suspect is what you wanted all along.

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We were roommates. You are my favorite person to snuggle with in the entire world. I loved coming home from work at 2am and you’d be on the couch watching infomercials or PBS and I’d just curl up next to you on the couch for a good snuggle. Perfection.

There has never been anything between us.

You came to town and needed a place to stay. Naturally you could just sleep in my bed. I had work in the morning, you went out. I gave you the keys. You came home at 4am.

You took off all your clothes, wet with rain from the bike ride home, and left them outside my door. You got in my bed saying you were fucked up on coke & super drunk. You half slept and half chatted with me until you sleepily started making out with me.

I know you didn’t want to cheat, so I wanted to protect you from yourself. I know we would never date.

But the thing is, I would totally make out with you. Why not? It wouldn’t ruin anything and we wouldn’t fall for each other.

I couldn’t let you decide that drunk, so I told you I had to go to work and you fell asleep.

I really wonder if you remember. We will never discuss it. I hope you don’t feel rejected, because in that sense, I would never reject you. I would do you dead sober.

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Dear J.

We met when I was in the seventh grade, and you were an eighth-grader. That was twenty years ago. There was always something between us; we were intense, you a Pisces, me a Scorpio. Ain’t it the truth. We talked, we laughed, we flirted, and I was scared. I didn’t know what to do with my body there in its wheelchair, didn’t know how to feel or be pretty in your eyes. But you were a kind high school boy, and said truly meaningful things like, “I really like when you wear that sweater, it makes your boobs look really good.” I am pretty sure we loved each other, in the sweetest, most longing kind of way. Time went by; we went on one date, to the movies to see Claire and Leo kill themselves for love, and you held my hand for the first time on the way home. It took another whole year for our first kiss, even after everything. I have never felt more special.

More time went by, we decided we were not for each other, met, dated, and screwed other people. But it was always there, that chance we had never taken, the secret refuge and promise of nostalgia. You always said you wanted to be married and a dad by the time you were 26, and you were. You are a great dad, even though you and his mom got divorced. Through it all we would touch base sometimes. We always knew the other one was out there, something good, something sweet, somehow ours. You used to call me long distance from overseas when you were in the service and you hated it.

More years went by, and I would hear about you, or see you on Facebook, and there was still that old pull. I asked you, out of the blue, to go out of town with me, and you wanted to, but had just started a new job, and couldn’t get away. But you wanted to, you said so, and I believed you.

You got a new phone this summer and texted me from your new number. We had maybe not really talked in ten years or so. You finally admitted that you had unresolved feelings for me, how much you wished we had taken bigger steps in our relationship, and how you thought of me so much. You said if we had gone out of town you would have taken your chance to make love,with me, and love and love and love with me. I asked you if you realized you are the person that other than my family has been in my personal interior life the longest, and wasn’t it great to know we still had each other in some way? You said you did, and yes, it was, and like me, you were glad and thankful.

We made plans to see each other shortly after that, when you were going to be in ____, an hour away, for a week-long work conference. We were going to meet here, at my house, alone and finally adults, on a Friday night. I cleaned the house from top to bottom and put on makeup. And all that day, you did not answer my calls or my texts. You did not come. You did not call or text, or make any contact with me. No excuses, no stories, nothing. I was sure it was because something happened with your son, or to you. You would never do that to me. Not the boy I knew, with those beautiful deep brown eyes. The one I had known for so long, and who maybe loved previous teenage me. I preferred to imagine you in some emergency, and was prepared to give you enough time to get in touch.

Weeks went by. No word. Casually, I saw a comment you posted on someone’s FB. With a sense of disbelief, I clicked on your name, because it meant that clearly you were right there where you had always been, and not forgivably run off the road, in a ditch and then in traction. And I saw your status, saying how happy and in love you were, and I saw your new girlfriend.

I just don’t understand. Did you decide it wasn’t worth it, that the chemistry was not enough, that out twenty-year history was not worth a returned phone call, or a straight answer? I will never know for sure, because I will never ask you, and because it doesn’t really matter. You aren’t who I thought you were. You are not the man you say you strive to be.

You wouldn’t believe it if I told you, but I’m not really angry anymore. I’m not hurt that you treated me the way you did this summer. I am very hurt, though (and you deserve to know and hear this) that you did not respect me or everything that had been between us. I am sad that I feel now that I never really knew you at all, and that when I look back on all those sweet, fond, innocent, exciting, charged, tender, funny, laughing, sexy, patient, stolen moments, they are tarnished now, and kind of empty. You have stolen away the brightness and warmth that you yourself gave me, and that I had made a part of myself for so long.

Goodbye. You made this choice. I don’t need to know why. But I hope you stay gone. I won’t try to find you.

A.

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i don’t know if it’s better to keep it to myself or say it out loud, but i feel like we’ve already crossed this line in a million tiny ways that what the fuck.

i know you obviously have a bazillion and ten things going on and certainly don’t need extra confusion, but i just feel like it’s only fair that i am totally clear that i would make out with you in a second. not just like when we talked about it before and i acted all casual about it, like, yeah, i would do that again if you are up for it. but more like, i just want to. of course being friends with you is far more important than making out and i value your friendship so fucking much it’s ridiculous. so i don’t want to jeopardize that and i feel confident enough in our friendship that i don’t think this email will, regardless of how you take it. and please know me well enough to know that it also doesn’t matter and won’t impact me or us if you just say um, no. or if you disregard this entirely.

so that’s quite enough embarrassment for one email.

don’t ignore me at school tomorrow.

*editors note: this does not qualify as an “unsent letter.” sent it word for fucking word. i’m just a glutton for public self-shaming, apparently.

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You are the only considerably older man who is legitimately attracted to me. In a pretty sure you’d take me in the back and fuck me kind of way.
At first I thought you had taken a sort of fatherly interest in me and my life and my potential future accomplishments.
Then I got a little older and you took a maybe exaggerated interest.
I have the feeling you were always the sort of man who got what you wanted.
Don’t get me wrong, flirting with you is fine, if you think that the friendly chatting and laughing we occasionally do is flirting.
And if I was a different person I just might take you in the back and fuck you.
But here is the thing. Even though he’s married, I would still much rather fuck your son. Even though he’s married, I’m pretty sure he would be absolutely heartbroken, disgusted, horrified, devastated if I did fuck you.
I don’t actually want to fuck you, so it’s not a problem. I don’t get off on the idea of doing an older man. I’m not particularly attracted to you. I’m not particularly unattracted to you either. Someone might argue this is one of those life experiences you are supposed to go for.
You did call me a vixen that one time.
Is that supposed to make me feel good? Or feel guilty that I somehow made you think I was being flirtatious with a man who is old enough to be my father. Who’s son I have a thing for.
Shudder.

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The saddest things you said to me:

“You can contact me if there is an emergency.”

&

“We tried this for three months longer than anyone else would have.”

If you hadn’t said those things, I would have called you by now.

Sometimes I really have no idea why we broke up.

I just feel like I could call you and say “come over” and things would be the same and we would laugh and smile and make out.

You were perfectly perfect in every way. I just wasn’t sure how much you loved me.

I guess those 2 sentences answer it for me.

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Dear P,

Your taste…remains in my mouth.
Your face…embossed in my eyelids.
Your scent…lingers through my brain.

My wicked sensations from yesterday still throbs between my loins….

Our stolen moments come in between seconds…

And this guilt irks my every breath.

Let me have peace
let me breathe guilt-lessly again.

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