Monday, June 15, 2009
It may seem lately that most of my recollections and thoughts on previous and current lovers is mostly sex without emotion. That's completely untrue. As Stace discovered last month, I really do love everyone I sleep with, everyone I am friends with, everyone I work with. It's hard not to love an individual for their individuality, even if it is persistently and consistently a negative person.
But there were those past lovers of mine who I loved intimately, and not just in terms of their individual passions. I prefer to call this love adoration rather than love. For me, love has 13 implementations or categories, and I call none of them "love" other than in the generic term.
My first adoration was Mitch. She was the one that got away, if you will.
I had a good friend, Jewels. We were really close, although Jewels was 3 years my senior, I was 17. Jewels had a crush on me and I never realized it. To this day, I can never tell when someone has a crush on me, until they admit it years after it's too late to do anything about it. We hung out constantly, and we'd talk on the phone for hours.
One night, I called her house and a gal answered. She didn't sound attractive. We talked for over 2 hours about random literary items, including jokes we both thought were funny. When Jewels finally snagged the phone from Mitch's hand, she told me to not do that. I had no idea.
I saw Jewels that weekend, and inquired about Mitch. "She's fat." How fat? "Fat enough." Oh.
A few days later, Mitch called me on my phone. This was before Caller*ID, so I had assumed Jewels gave her my number. I later discovered she stole it from Jewelz' daytimer. Quality. Mitch and I spoke on the phone for hours for 2 weeks. Not every day, but at least a few times a week. I never wanted to meet her, because of my superficial lack of respect for large women (in terms of dating, not necessarily for friendship).
Many weeks later, after our phone calls had subsided for who-knows-what reason, I was at the local movie theater meeting Jewelz and a bunch of her gal-pals. Immediately I ended up talking to the prettiest, tallest gal there (of course). We spoke for about 20 minutes when the gal goes "Waitaminute, you're not Sane, are you? Jewelz' friend?" Ummm, yeah, what did she say about me? "Nothing. I'm Mitch!"
Flabbergasted. That's what I was. I went from a sly, confident 17 year old into a blubbering, salivating idiot. She laughed. "What's wrong?" Ummmmm, you're not fat. Note: I never say "umm." Ever.
"Who said I was fat, Jewelz?" Yes. "She has a crush on you I think." Oh. It made sense, really it did, but I denied the crush for many years. So Mitch and I talked, deciding to skip the movie that everyone was seeing and see an artsy flick starting in 20 minutes. Jewelz was NOT happy, but she let it go.
We had our movie date, and after the date we went for coffee. I walked her home (she lived in my parent's home town) after we shared a cab to that coffee shop. At her door, she looked at me longingly so I kissed her. She practically melted in my hands.
That spring, I asked if she wanted to go out more often, and she jumped at the chance. Mitch was the prettiest gal I had ever dated, and possibly to this day the prettiest gal I had ever seen. Over time, we shared our lives with each other. She was a model who actually traveled for shoots. She finished high school through tutors, and was pursuing a slow college degree in management so she could start her own model management company.
And she was adorable. I fell for her hard, not because of her looks, but because of her person. When we'd talk on the phone, I still pictured her as a slothy, unattractive, overweight gal. In person, she blew my mind with her muscular but feminine frame. She towered over me in heels, and neither of us minded.
We kissed, often. We held hands, constantly. I met her parents and they loved me to death. At 18, I started my direction to do the job that I do, traveling the world in search of customers. Her parents were in the airline industry, so they traveled as well, and we shared stories of odd airports and odd cities and odd customs.
Around 2 months into dating, she took her shirt off for the first time. I almost came in my pants her body was so perfect and gorgeous. When I went for her bra hooks, she pushed my body back for a moment and looked at me and then admitted it: "I'm a virgin." Uhhhh, no you aren't. "Yes I am." Uh oh.
So I refrained from removing her bra, and continued to just kiss her. The bra came off, eventually, and it was when I had learned that letting a woman lead by her showing HER desire is a good thing. It's not a hard and fast rule, but it's a rule that keeps women wet and wanting me constantly, and not just in bed. Mitch admitted to me that she would've had sex with me that night she wanted me so badly. We didn't fuck, but we did spoon naked. It was lovely, and my adoration for her grew.
She traveled, often, for work. She'd bring to my house photo shoots and final products. I never really had a problem with her career: models have a short-lived job life, and many end up falling away from good incomes quickly in life. She pursued college so she'd have a reason for the hard life of traveling for photoshoots, being a puppet and a doll.
I was the first person she gave head to. It took some training. She had her first orgasm with me (first other than her own) and she delved into masturbating more on my request. She loved my body, she worshiped my odd face and my short height. She adored the fact that I adored her over her mind and her passions and not her body or her face. To be honest, I am superficial, but I am more attracted to passions than looks. There are many, many gorgeous women who I wouldn't even kiss, because they have no goals, no passions, no desires.
But still, there was no sex. I had decided to do things correctly...
Continued in the next part.