valentine redux (final)

It was only one month after that night that the two of them got together.

It just kind of happened, he told me far afterwards. Just a week or so ago.

I cringed, hoping he would not continue. He did not. It is sad that I had to ask, that he could not tell me in passing, the next time I asked him what’s new. He said he had wanted to tell me in person. In person? To do what? To watch my face change? In person? Can you believe he doesn’t realize what little dignity that would have left me with?

Can you believe too that I found a frozen, sad smile on my face when he said it? Can you believe I was almost happy for him? I know he was in love before I asked him anyways. The ex who told me he would never get over me. I knew deep down he was lying to himself. I knew at the time that he was still too afraid to give in to his own recovery. He finally proved me right.

The success is bittersweet, at best. Right then, I remembered how we first started, the rush. I thought of him starting again and it twisted like lime. I thought of him like this again, and I must have brushed against some glimmer of his repressed excitement, some possibility of a happy future. Because strangest thing, I smiled. I smiled and it hurt.

Yes, I know, I said. It always does.

She tells me things still, the way she always did.

I want to get married soon, she tells me.

I don’t know what to do for Valentine’s.

You find someone when you least expect it.

I know he is important to you.

I hope this will not affect us much

I wanted you to bring it up first because I was afraid you would hate me.

I tell her no, I don’t, though it would be simpler to. I tell her I’m just lonely.

She knows that it’s hard for me. I am so deep in this daytime drama I have spun myself into with us three, needlessly, inevitably. It is just that I do not do well with rules, limitations, distances. My choice. The world of typed chat makes this damningly easier, allows all of us to blurt these truths to each other.

I tell her, I wish he wasn’t my ex, so I could be properly happy for you. I know how much she has cared about him, wanted him. She has told me as much.

At least I’m not that bitch girlfriend, she says. My girlfriends tell me, how can you stand her even talking to your man? But I’m secure about him. I trust him.

I notice she doesn’t say, I trust you. She doesn’t know about his birthday night, but she’s heard of another close time from both sides. She didn’t like me much then but she figured out that it was between me and him and it goes both ways. She too knows how these things go.

She has struggled so hard to see this from my point of view. I respect her for trying. I know she accepts me because she accepts him. I know how much pain she has had in her life and how much she deserves a guy who will be decent to her. I know too how much she is like me sometimes, the parts of me that I happen to like.

I realize how hard it must be to have me around now at all. I do appreciate but I wish she wouldn’t speak of her man and that she didn’t have to exist and I didn’t have to know her. Still I cannot bring myself to any kind of hate. I just smile. Adjust, I think to myself. Adjust, adjust, adjust, whatever way works for you.

I think that I will walk away from both of them for now, to breathe. I don’t really care what anyone thinks, who else I have to stop seeing to do it, and how increasingly lonely I will have to be for a while to achieve this break. Well, I care, but there is no other way I can take.

I tell you instead, weak but brief, because I cannot be bothered to feign cheerfulness and can’t be bothered to lie about my lack of cheer either. Also... because I want to tell you.

You tell me too that he will always be important to me. It is important, you type to me in your characteristic broken bursts of speech, pausing quickly in between, to stay positive about him... so you don’t feel empty... dealing with exes is tough.. complicated.. but it will empower you....help you see yourself more clearly- a woman who established herself in the context of a relationship but then grew beyond it

I tell you little, yet you use your experience to orate like a Hallmark card, like a TV psychologist, like a self-help book. It seems banal, yet somehow it comes across sincere. I feel strangely understood. I thank you and I joke that this is why I let you do all the talking. (I wish I could give you comfort like this.)

.....and his moving on comes likely in part from the strength of character you shared and gave to him...

Strength. Right. Looking back though, I have shown moments of strength against my moments of weakness. He has too. We have done our best. I think of the times I wanted to scream how much I missed him, I think of how I wanted to support him and couldn’t and left him to her instead. Asked her how he was doing. At least I never asked for him back, even when every fiber of me just wanted to crawl back into this. I never said, let’s try this again, even at my most lonely. I knew I could never pull through with it. And I told him always the only trite thing I could think of saying: we are going to be okay.

Ugh. This is my sappy valentine address.

I’m waiting for the relief to kick in. I think to myself it is only one last time. Everything before this was just training. One last time to be stupid about this, to pretend the nightmare times over this past year will end and to pretend his face smiling next to hers in a photo, their heads nearly touching, is something I can wake up from. So I can find him once again close, lying peaceful under the crook of his arm. Find us again taking turns licking my thin cum off his fingers, like scientists comparing curious notes, sitting on opposite ends of the library because we can’t concentrate when in each other’s view, wiping our tears, writing each other sugary emails, walking through that park across that icy bridge to his car, hiding behind the shelving in my lab with his cock in my mouth. Knowing we have each other, in this mesh of sex and love, whenever, always.

I tell myself one last time to curl up under blankets and cry. No regrets, just cry.

And actually, yeah, it's not too bad at all.

You are kind not to laugh at me. You know I’m new at this.

If anyone knows why Blogger swallows my spaces and displays code from time to time.. lemme know, will ya? Thanks.

valentine redux (part II)

We went back to the hotel room at the end of the night, me, my ex, her and another friend. We had planned the stay because none of us were going to drive like this, and it was cheaper than cab fare home. Foolish perhaps.

We were all exhausted. I was half-blind by then. First to reach the bathroom, I hummed and focused on taking off my shirt, my pants, my bra. I fumbled into my flannel pajamas. I felt the strange contrast: bundled up so cozy and safe, with this ragged raw need still speeding through me. I stepped out, took off my bright red necklace, lay it on the dresser and crashed onto the hotel bed, mumbling a goodnight to all. My horniness tirelessly glowed inside my tired body as my eyes drifted closed. I felt wistful, this something inside I couldn’t throw aside, couldn’t give away, couldn’t possibly keep. I was already falling asleep...

He crashed next to me. She crashed next to him. My other friend crashed on the couch. The plan had been that my ex would sleep on the floor and us girls would get the bed. But we were all too tired to notice.

I woke up to his hands on my breasts. Or it is the next thing I remember. I think he may have been stroking my legs before but I can’t fully recall. His hands were undeniably grabbing my breasts though, underneath my flannels. His fingers were hungry, the way they always seem to me. He was squeezing urgently, trying to take in all of the feel. I was pushed past the size of his palms that night, swollen and ready.

I was responding groggily, sighing, trying to make sense of what was occurring, but not really wanting to. I knew I should feel taken advantage of. I was just wet. I didn’t care. Maybe because I knew him, I felt no danger. I didn’t care that we were no longer together. I didn’t care that I was only barely maintaining consciousness. Truth is, I wanted him to do whatever the hell he wanted to me. I needed to be right there for him, be his desire’s slut- or maybe my own. It felt right to be underneath his fingers, just like that, with no conflict. All for him.

I pushed my ass back and tried to be quiet.

He pushed down my bottoms and panties at the same time, without question. I lifted up my hips so he could do it.

She was right there on the bed with us. His girlfriend she may not have been then, but all three of us knew that she liked him enough to be hurt by this. And I actually liked her quite a bit too. I did not want to ruin our friendship. I knew he didn’t want to either. But we couldn’t stop.

Too bad he wanted to fuck me. I felt only a tiny flicker of pride. I meant no harm, I just wanted. Still so bad. We knew it was bad, I could feel it in the pound of my ears. We knew this shouldn’t be happening. We knew it would.

The risk we were taking was just exciting us further. My ass was bare underneath the shared blankets, the flannel wrapped around the bottom of my thighs. He pushed his index finger in to my cunt, without hesitation. I parted my legs slightly to accommodate him. I was drowsily and wonderfully wet, savoring this blurry dream. Everything so dark and heavy and waiting to be broken.

He began to push awkwardly, hurting me despite my wetness, his nails scraping onto my walls. I moved slowly backwards onto him. I placed my hands on my clit and found his fingers there too, and we pushed like this together, buzzing achingly on me.

This was not enough for him. He wanted to do more. He couldn’t stop. I could feel with a thrill just how much he had pent up inside.

He placed his knuckle on my asshole and pushed, not really going in, just pushed.

Then he pushed, he coaxed, and he whispered in my ear. Which was strange because he never used to whisper in my ear when we were together. He rarely spoke in bed as far as I can remember. But he whispered in my ear right then, so quietly, so viciously. Yes, in your ass, you always liked it. I did. Did he think I cared? That tight burn. He was hurting me and I was glad for the numb of the alcohol. I wanted it, I pushed back even more so that he could really stick it in. God I felt so used and filled, I just wanted him to go on and on and on.

I couldn’t take it anymore. The mind fuck was overwhelming. I came quietly, without warning, holding my edge of the blanket to my body and burying my shattered head into it, curling my neck down and sighing.

He did not seem to notice, though my whole body was limp. I realized suddenly his fingers rubbing ineffectually against my clit, the feeling like flopping rubber, annoying, not allowing me to take my orgasm in.

I thought of you right then. I hadn’t until that point, but with this one slip, and with the urgency released, I was aching for you all of a sudden. I wished for a moment that I had cum instead under your hands. I know, I know it was horrid, but now that I had cum, my heartbeat still racing, I wanted nothing of him. I did not want to fuck him at all. I wanted your cock inside me, now. I imagined the dirty changing beat, the stretch, the build.

God, maybe I had just used him. I did not care right then.

His fingers were still doing their strange and familiar shuffle. I wanted to cum again. I was hot and twisted again, now that I had thought of you. I did not feel like what he was doing was going to work. I held his hand and tried to control his rhythm, but he was having none of it. If anything it was making him jerkier. I just wanted to cum again, ruthless. I flipped finally onto my stomach, keeping his hand underneath and grabbing onto it so that it was still. I ground quietly and slowly onto his fingers, using my weight. He tried to move again, throwing my build off. I stopped again, cruel, waited until he was still to start moving again.

He understood finally. He stayed motionless, snuggling half his body closer onto me and he waited, puffing slightly. I closed my eyes, sunk my face into the pillow and ground slowly. And ground and ground myself to incineration, the burn spreading onto his fist. I knew it was coming, and I knew this time he would not miss it. I clenched and shuddered hard against his hand. I tried hard not to scream out and still an mmgh escaped.

She stirred, huffed, did not wake up.

Her stirring worried me and my interest was dropping per second. I was shivering lazily from my cum, heart pounding. Clarity struck again and I realized I was stuck in this bed now with my ex and the erection I knew he had. I felt I should reciprocate. I tried to tell myself he had done little. I still felt I should do something. I touched first. He felt good, hard and throbbing under my palm, but I just wanted to run away. I readjusted my pajamas and slipped my head under the blankets.

I tried for a moment, angling my neck and parting my lips on his shaft, feeling the heat. But I realized quickly that I really didn’t care anymore. I was bored already. Screw it, I thought, I don’t owe him a thing, I didn’t ask him to fucking touch me. I had been willing to just sleep.

My cock-sucking lacks at best but now, drunk, my head throbbing, dizzy, I felt despicable, motivated only out of pity, trying not to move the blanket too much so she would not see. It was about unsexy as could be, even with him pulsing eagerly in my mouth. The smell anyways always slightly off. All I could think of-- now that I had cum, twice too-- was how she would take it if she saw us now. While he could have easily feigned sleep before, there was no other way of explaining why my head should be where it is now. What would she see? The bitch posing as her friend, seducing him, him giving in to me? Who gets the blame?, I wanted to ask her, fighting her already in my head, defending myself, like she had found out already. Which one of us should have had more control? Me, because I had chosen to end it? Me, because I’m the girl? Me, whether I was the one to start or the one to respond? Me, because I shouldn’t have had so much to drink? Me, because I shouldn’t be here in this room at all? Whom will you forgive first? Will you?

Now I cared about her and didn’t care about him. I hadn’t asked for this damn it. Had I?

I resurfaced from out of the blankets slowly.

I’m sorry, I whispered in his ear. I can’t. She’s.. going to see.

And I’m tired and drunk, I admitted.

I was firm, though I knew him well, knew he wouldn’t dream of pushing. We both knew, anyways, the double bind we were both in, with her on the bed.

It’s okay, he said. I know.

We paused, breathing.

He got up to go to the washroom. I knew it was for relief from the blood pounding in his cock, the cum aching in his balls and I felt a twinge of guilt again. Only a twinge though. I blurringly pictured him over the toilet seat, viciously jerking until it spurted viscous from his head, the way I’ve seen often. It was a detached image, neither hot not repulsive, just a distant memory, bobbing in and out of my spinning sleepy head. It seemed a long time before I heard him washing his hands.

He lay back down on his back between me and her. I turned towards him and looked at his profile. The flashing lights from the downtown buildings outside bounced off his ample nose and lips, navy in the dark. He turned towards me. I knew I must have that same apology in my eyes. We were resigned, brought again to what had long passed in the face of how little this had just been.

We could not even feel bitter. I rested my forehead on his shoulder, unable to look at him any longer. I was cold so I pulled the blankets behind my neck. He reached for my arm and squeezed. I’m going to sleep now, I whispered to him, tender and final. Yeah, he said. Me too. Tired.

I turned my back to him and closed my eyes to sleep, trying to forget, trying to feel some kind of regret.

valentine redux (part I)

There are moments that I know I should regret, if nothing but for their sheer stupidity, but I can’t.

I think of my red necklace when I think of that night. The way it sparkled right at my throat like blood.

It was my ex’s birthday and I was horny. Premenstrually so. In translation, insanely so. I remember my dark jeans and my crispy white buttoned shirt cinched right at my waist with a wide black belt. Black bra. One could catch glimpses of it, slight hint of recurring waves of modest cleavage, every now and then as I danced.

I didn’t know he was looking at me. Actually, honestly, I felt like everyone was. I knew this couldn’t be true. I bared hardly any skin, other than the occasionally forming plunge of my shirt. There was that crimson at my naked throat I suppose. But I am not the skilled, seductive dancer type, let’s get real.

Inside though was that feeling again. I was stalking. I was feeding off every glance. Yes, closer, yes, the more I felt them, the more they felt me, they more I felt them. I was growing inside like this, just this lust accruing through the night. Everybody was a body, and every eye wanted a fuck.

He told me later, what was funny was even my brother was trying to rub up on you. I knew. So were his friends. I wouldn’t do it to him, though. Not with them. I laughed, smiled at them all, moved away politely.

I didn’t know he had noticed. He hardly looked my way. He was dancing on the other side with his girl friend who was not his girlfriend, not then. He and I were not ignoring each other. Our paths were simply not intersecting.

The setup. Looking at it now, I guess it was perfect.

I got up on the crowded platform for the third time of the night, my blood rich and skinny with tequila by then. The man behind me had been on the platform the whole night. He placed his dark hands around my waist, pulling my back gently to him. I liked him. I had watched him dance. I could tell somehow that he was there for the music, the way he moved his frame to a private beat in his head. I hesitated and then pushed back against him. We were together for a moment like this, two complete strangers. I had guessed him correctly. His hands, they did not roam, they did not demand more. He simply moved, so that I had to move the same way. My back was warm against him. In my sideways glance I could see him mouthing the words, and I laughed and sang along too. He loosened his arms a little wider to let me move more freely. I liked the non-committal look on his face, still inside his head, I was just a body for him to feel it more, to move against. I liked too that he left it to me, that I could push more if I wanted, turn around and press to him, angle my hips a little more towards his swaying body. I could feel that he might respond, if I wanted. This choice was his tease in my mind. It made me hot.

He told me later, saw you dancing with that random guy too. I did not know he noticed.

I did not really dare to go much farther with this stranger. With a last smile at him, I stepped down to go get another drink. The man gave a slight nod towards me, never skipping a beat. He simply moved to dance in another direction, as I had expected.

Do you think my ex was relieved at my choice?