His birthday was a few days ago. I waited for this day to come around so I would have an excuse to say hello to B for the first time in months and months. Finally, I could reassure myself that he hadn’t had a heart attack and died… and I could breathe again for a little while. The number that I have wasn’t in service any longer (I knew he had moved). It wasn’t too difficult to find the email address though and I allowed myself to feel my heart race as I wrote a short, but sweet birthday wish.
Out of almost a decade long friendship (just short of 1/4 of my life), what I remember the most is the beginning and the end. This middle part is fuzzy. I don’t know how often we slept together after that first time…. often enough to keep me hooked and yet not enough to make me think there was ever going to be anything more than what it was. I remember at least a hundred times he would sleep in my bed after sneaking in, not wanting to sleep in his car or with whomever he was with. Probably more than half those nights, I would have to be satisfied with just snuggling, whether I felt his hard-on or not. It depended upon who he was dating at the time and what stage he was at with them.
It never mattered whom I was dating. I had it somehow warped in my head that being intimate with B didn’t count…. simply because it was B.
That is, it never mattered until W.
I eventually did start dating. I will admit that I held out hope that B would wake up after that first time we had sex and see that his best friend — the one he could talk about everything with and who he seemed to enjoy occasionally fucking (even if he was drunk 99.9% of those times) … that like in the show Cheers or Moonlighting or in one of my many Harlequin romance novels — he would see ME. But he didn’t, so I started to slowly open myself up to other possibilities. Someone to be with until B saw us as something more than Friends With Benefits.
He never did though. So, before W, there was C and then the married guy (FM), the cook (S), and the pool hustler (JM). Each of them deserving of their own stories on their own posts. Eventually I want to share about them, because without them — I would never have healed as much as I did from JP. But that is for another day.
Fast forwarding past them for now, B was working with the construction crew that was doing some work at his girlfriend’s house (the one with my name). I was in between boyfriends and the two of them would gang up on me to meet their friend W*. She would swoon that he looked just like a particular movie star I crushed on and how much I would like him.
I didn’t want to meet him.
I was fine being alone. I was fine with the amount of time B & I were spending together despite his deepening relationship. Our being intimate on occasion had dwindled down to almost nothing. He was getting so serious with the girlfriend. In one of the first times since the moment we had met, I didn’t care about what B wanted.
I think B had issues with being by himself which probably was the reason for a good part of our friendship, over anything he felt for me. If he had to go somewhere or do something, I was brought along…. always a willing participant. I was always ready to sneak out after midnight to walk and talk and breathe in the night-blooming jasmine. I was always willing to go for long drives to nowhere while the radio blared John Cougar’s (before he added in the Mellencamp) Little Pink Houses or some Don Henley. So, when he came by and said we had to go pick something up, I didn’t question anything.
We went into the *downtown* section of the area where we lived. It wasn’t my favorite place, especially as we got closer to the apartment complex where JP tried to throw me off the balcony. I breathed a small sigh of relief as we turned instead into some townhouses where I knew one of his girlfriend’s friends lived. I asked if that was our destination and he only said no as he pulled into a parking space.
He knocked at the door and it opened while I was fidgeting with my jean mini-skirt. When I looked up, there he was: W. My breath caught and as cliché as it sounds, time stood still for me. It was probably mere seconds that passed, but … it felt like some force had grabbed my stomach and pulled on a cord that was directly attached to my private parts. B and his girlfriend had been wrong, he didn’t look like that movie star. He was so much more beautiful. He was tall — almost as tall as my dad. He was muscular without being overly so… he might have spoken something but all the world had melted away expect for that feeling in the pit of my tummy that seemed to reach out and grab upwards to my heart and downwards to the depths of my pussy.
All the world had melted away, even B. And that was a first.
B had faded away into the background as soon as my eyes met with W’s that first time.
He had us come into the living room where there were a bunch of people hanging out. He handed me a beer and I sat on the floor in front of the coffee table. He and B went upstairs to *do some business*. This was the late ’80s and down here, it seemed that everyone bought drugs, transported drugs or sold drugs. I was continuously the odd duck out for not wanting to do anything that wouldn’t allow me to have complete control over myself. My life and my mind afforded me so little control that I refused to do anything that would add to that.
They talked over me, all these guys. A couple of more people came in and out. W would take them upstairs and then they would leave again. The *Little Miss Goody Two Shoes* that was in me didn’t seem to care about those things. Every time he looked at me or spoke to me, that feeling inside would grow larger and larger and I became more frightened of this intense reaction.
Then, hopefully without anyone seeing, I shoved the bottle cap from his beer in my purse as a souvenir and peeled the label off the bottle slowly because I didn’t know what to do with my hands. By the time I created I nice pile on his table, he shifted over on the couch to sit behind me, telling me that I needed to relax and lighten up a bit. He said that I looked too serious and he started to rub my shoulders.
He touched me.
Now cynical me would say he was just a guy hitting on a girl.
That me… back then, that girl was completely floored that someone was attempting to comfort me. No one ever did things like that to me. I was the caretaker. I was the one that always worked to take care of others. Unless it had something to do with cleaning, I was the one that my friends went to for advice, to cry on and take care of things. I couldn’t remember anyone outside my family caring about my comfort.
It was probably a meaningless gesture or flirtation to most, but to me – it was a big deal.
B got impatient or annoyed and said we had to go. W walked us to the door, but after B stepped outside, he turned to me and asked for my number.
And my mind went blank. I couldn’t remember my phone number. Then I got panicked, because there was no way someone this beautiful was into me. B must have pushed him into this. He felt sorry for me or something, so B set this up out of pity. I told him that B knew how to get in touch me if needed.
I scrambled away as quickly as I could and jumped in the car. I drew my knees up and tried to make myself into an inconspicuous ball of invisible nothingness.
Not realizing that by sitting like that, I gave W a perfect view of my white bikini underwear while the guys talked for a few minutes longer.
And that’s the part that he remembers…. thinking I had flashed him on purpose.
He eventually did call. I don’t remember if I gave him the number or if B did. He called and we talked for hours until it became more. But that comes later.
I did keep that beer bottle cap up until my first marriage. DH1 caught me looking at it one day, crying and so I tried to be a good wife by throwing it away.
Back to the present… B did email back, so I know he is still kicking. You may think it is strange that I would choose to finally write about W instead of reminiscing about B, but as the story continues, you’ll see how the dynamics evolve and why I rarely think about one without thinking about the other.
I had also sent a note to W because there was no way that I could get through writing this without reaching out to reassure myself that he too, was still there. He responded as well. I keep waiting for the day that I find out that he has fallen in love with someone the way I fell in love with him all those years ago. Wondering if only then, I’ll be able to let him fully go and find closure.
I kind of think that is more wishful thinking than the hope I hold onto for *someday*…. that however minuscule the chances of me having one or both of them in my life in any form other than on the fringes … those would still be better odds than me ever finding the strength to properly let them go and allow for closure.
You can read from the beginning:
My Abortion at 16
And the saga will eventually continue.
Love from Sage