He’s got something over you and every time you see him that cranberries song plays. You’re such a fool for him, but when he reappears it’s like magic. You’re amazed, angered, curious and slightly to your own disgust, excited. I don’t know if every woman has one, but he exists somewhere out there.
He may be a royal douchebag, an ass or plainly a jerk. But I always come back. I wonder whats wrong with me and I resolve to never answer his texts or to only have curt and short conversations when he calls. Coyly thinking I’m playing out some cat and mouse game when I’m really a gazelle and he a starving Lion.
So what about him makes me so weak? Could it be his charisma, good looks, articulate manner or because he makes my panties disintegrate? Your guess is as good as mine.
it’s 11:39 PM and I’m eating a donut in bed. Not just any kind of donut, but jelly filled and it’s warm from the microwave. All of these yummy factors are only amplified by the fact that I’m high.
Now you may think it’s disgusting or that I’m a big fat bitch, but you’re wrong. I’m only a bit chubby. Either way I don’t care because this donut is delicious. It’s warm and sweet and doughy, kind of like the men I end up dating.
It was the first thing that hit him. Her almond eyes, the sultry sensual way she looked over the rim of her martini glass at him. Drawing his eyes down to her pouty full lips and then to her overflowing and sumptuous cleavage. She could seduce the hardest of men and make him melt into her hands. Molding him into what she desired without his knowledge. And from those lips came desires even he could not fathom. Dreams of fulfilling every wish she had and in turn he knew he would be rewarded with the greatest of pleasures.
The civil type where we would sit down at the dinner table at 7:30 and eat together. We would talk about our day as a family, share jokes and laugh. But we don’t do that anymore because we can’t function as a family. Everyone here is filled with regret and resentment, both of which do not make good dinner companions. So we all eat in our separate rooms; my father in the living room, my mom in her bedroom and my brother and I, when we can tolerate each other eat in the kitchen. It’s become a habit and unfortunately doesn’t look as though it will be changing.
Lately the rite aid near my house has come to consider me as the saddest alcoholic. For the past week I’ve come in to buy discount liquor and paired it with something sad such as : tampons, cat food, bridal magazines and candy.
I almost had a moment of comic relief as I thought of giving the cute checkout guy my number and telling him to call me in a week while subtly eying my purchase of super plus tampons. As usual though I wimped out.
He came home after closing the bar. His body tense and tired he tiptoed to bed anticipating the sweet surrender of sleep. It was then that he saw her in bed naked due to the heat, the light from the street illuminating the small curvature of her back. He imagined then his fingertips brushing her soft supple hip, stroking the nape of her neck as he kissed her gently. He longed for the first moan of her waking body, to see her pretty face smile at him. Suddenly his revery was broken by the sound of her voice calling him to come to bed.
He had been kept up by the thought of her. Scenes flashing before his eyes of her sly half smile, her curls falling over her eye. Lana Turner reincarnated. Her syrupy sweet laugh haunted his mind, as did her fingertips upon his shoulder. Where had she come from and where did she go? He would never know, but the memory of her had powers of their own.