During the winter right before my wife left me I reconnected with a high school sweetheart at my wifes work of all places. My wife worked as a barista at a locally owned and operated cafe in her small city where I met her as a teenager. Where I also met this woman, we’ll call her Sylvie.
Sylvie and I originally met at the catholic school I had been attending there in that small city. I was only attending it because it had superior academics believe it or not and all my friends went there. Sylvie and I shared a home room and morning advanced English class. I sat directly behind her and I used to tease her. But not in the mean spirited, rude and pugnacious way that most ignorant male teenagers do. In a legitimately cute and forgivable, charming, misunderstood genius, witty and broody kind of way. I sold this really well by being a total smart-ass and well liked by the teacher, who would call upon me whenever he needed an answer to prove a point. The kind of answer that tells the class ‘you see? this stuff isn’t impossible to grasp, one of your peers is following along, you should be able to get this too!’ Yeah… I was that guy.
So I was sitting pretty, literally. Soon enough she was joining me after school to hang out on the couch at my mother’s music store which I worked at. There was one problem, she had a boyfriend. He was short and had a stupid nickname to reflect that fact. I’m not normally an overly judgmental man but he was beneath her. He was controlling and stifling, he had very little to offer (not that I had much, I was 16 or 17), wasn’t terribly clever and hung around with go nowhere, violent losers. I understand the appeal, I had and have been similar at various points in my life due to bipolar. Alas, I clean myself up and move on, knowing that there is better out there for me. I was angsty and broody. I was artistic and idealistic. I liked to drink red wine and write poetry. I fancied myself a renaissance revivalist (I was a pretentious and ambitious little shit). I had all kinds of appeal to a teenage girl. I was actually good friends with my future wife around this time and she was very similar to me in these regards, except she never outgrew these things…
So one afternoon fading into evening on the couch at the front of my mother’s music store I am making my move, about to kiss this gorgeous girl still wearing her school uniform. Suddenly BAM! A huge explosion of noise right beside my head. Sure enough, her boyfriend is outside watching us just about to share a kiss. She gushes apologies and dashes telling me to lock the door when she leaves. They go without a hassle but I do lock the door anyway only because this is my mother’s store and I don’t want anything to get ruined or have the police involved. It burns me up inside that I was cheated out of the sweetness of her lips. My blood is boiling at the thought of her touch and how it doesn’t belong to me. My stomach is rolling over imagining her with that repugnant squirm of a man. I wonder then as I will wonder several thousand times before and since why such amazing women choose literally the MOST pathetic, disgusting, useless and in all other ways horrible men. It is a recurrent theme. There is no such thing as perfect, if there was I’m not it, but even with bipolar I’m vastly better than most. It seems like most women are TRYING to find the biggest loser that they can. No joke. Anyway, this is neither here nor there. I’ve been that loser for at least a half dozen or more women so I shouldn’t talk.
For a short time she avoids me. I don’t see her in home room. I hear rumours about how he hit her and make vows about how I will bury him in the woods. A week goes by and she returns. Apparently she was only sick it just so happens that it was really poor timing (I personally suspect that this was around when she had an abortion). She is single upon her return and seems sad but resigned. At first she doesn’t seem herself but after a time she opens up. We become quite attached rather quickly. I’m an anxious horny teenaged boy but not totally insensitive so I don’t push too hard for sex. I suspect it’s this lack of killer instinct, this adherence to empathy and compassion that is the reason that I haven’t quite made it to triple digits. I used to think I wasn’t very attractive, apparently it’s my self-sabotaging behaviour more than anything that drives women away. I’m too nice and not pushy enough at times. I’ve since learned to put my needs ahead of my manners when the situation requires. I can thank Bukowski for this. So I take it way too easy, we make rude jokes and I get the feeling that she is more sexually charged than I am. Good to go. Eventually I do push it. She tells me that she doesn’t want to. Oh, okay. All that sex talk and jokes about blowjobs was just that, talk and jokes. Okay, I’m a teenager so I am a little confused but I’m respectful so I back off.
I have to move back to my hometown, a slightly larger city about an hour away. Ouch. I have no license and no car. This is relationship death for teenagers. We manage to keep it going for a time. I visit by train and she even talks her parents in letting me stay at her house so long as I sleep downstairs. The next day her family goes to run errands. She brings me up to show me her room. She sits me on her bed and starts kissing me. She tells me that she isn’t wearing a bra. I immediately check to see if she is just teasing me. Nope. She slides her legs under her blankets and her skirt comes flying out a second later. I am erect. She invites me to join her on the condition that I lose my pants. I take the deal. I touch her through her panties. I still remember every detail of her. Now here’s the thing, I’m not an endowed man, I am average. Like, perfectly so. Yet she was tight. I had difficulty getting situated and once I was due to being a teenager and so excited I think it took me about 2 minutes and I’m being generous. So tight. I marvel at it because it made no sense. She wasn’t new to this, I wasn’t large and still it was like pushing a sausage through a fruit loop. I would be pleased with this if I hadn’t been looking forward to a session.
I know that you are thinking, how good can a teenager be in the sack? Well, funny that you are first asking that question to yourself in your own head, but second that I heard it and am now going to answer it. Right around this time I had recently been in a relationship with another girl my own age and we used to have mutually satisfying marathon sessions. We would frequently have sex wherein I wouldn’t even need to recock after an orgasm. Often lasting several hours at a go. So to have this disappointing short session with Sylvie was embarrassing, yet she seemed to expect it. It occurred to me later that maybe this is what all of her sexual experiences had been to this point.
We had a similar situation at my place in my hometown when she came to visit me. Shortly after this due to the distance we slowly tapered off and dissolved completely shattering my heart. I really loved this girl. I had written poetry about her. I was a lovesick little puppy, it took me 9 months to recover from the loss of her.
Almost 20 years later I’m married and sitting in my wifes place of work enjoying a mocha latte, when I look across a narrow aisle from my plush leather chair to the couch. Thereupon, sitting with a girlfriend is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Drinking a tea that my wife just delivered to her.
“Yes? Oh, but… Dysphorian?!” Her face flushes immediately and her eyes light up, she cannot hide the fact that she is excited to see me.
We speak only momentarily but I get her business card and gather that she is recently separated. It makes no difference to me at the time. I’m married and quite happily so at that particular time, I’m just so blown away to see her after such a long absence. My heart has a room set aside for her with a candle lit in vigil for her.
My wife leaves me and a few weeks after that when I come to pick up my stuff I ask Sylvie to have lunch with me. She does but she shoots me down very hard and in the most firm and polite way. She leaves me with the impression that I will never talk to her again. We become friends on facebook I suspect so that I can torture myself later. Her reason for denying me is that she doesn’t want to be inappropriate with regards to my wife, seeing as we just separated she feels as though it is disrespectful. I see her point and conceed, kind of… But I counter that she did leave an emotionally distraught bipolar depressive a week after a valentines upon which he spoiled his wife, even wrote her a poem… She thinks this is cute yet sticks to her guns and I am glad she did really. I was being bipolar and seeking validation through sex.
Summertime rolls around and I find myself staying with some friends in that very same small city once again. I get to messaging her on facebook about how I would like to see her and bring her a tea. She agrees, I do. When I arrive with the tea she is puttering around cleaning and preparing to go to the cottage that night. She is wearing a low cut flowing top and tights. Her legs, cleavage and ass are all beautifully on display and looking almost exactly the same as in high school, in fact, she might actually look better. At first the conversation is slow and awkward. Sooner or later we come around to the fact that I am very attracted to her and she to me. We discuss vaguely the possibility of us and she makes it clear that we can’t have a relationship. Still I get the feeling that it doesn’t end there so I mention that I am not local. Nobody knows that I am here so they don’t need to know about our business. I make a metaphor about how if you have a craving for a food item you just go the grocery and buy it and nobody cares. She understands. The whole time I am helping her clean things in her kitchen. Eventually I tell her that I just need to go and that it was good to see her cutting my visit short abruptly. I make sure that this seems obvious.
About an hour later I text her something to the effect of: “I’m sorry, I had to go. I think you knew exactly where our conversation was going and you were so sexy that I just wanted to take you right there on the kitchen table. I figured with your sons upstairs that would have been inappropriate.”
She replies: “LOL yeah, I’m glad you showed some restraint. I will be at the cottage tonight by the fire, why not join me there when the boys go to bed?”
Game on. I pack some drinks and she sends me directions. It’s very late when she finally gives me the go ahead. When I get settled by the fire I drink at least two beers, we walk down to the water and back to the fire. We talk. I feel like an awkward teenager again. It takes me more than an hour to make my move but when I do… It isn’t fireworks, it’s more like an ordinance stockpile and a pyrotechnics load being lit up all at once. In the conflagration we manage to bust a hole clean through to hell and the fires of that unholy pit smother the rest of the universe so that there is nothing left but us and we are the two hottest, most powerful deities remaining, floating in a void of our own. Her body is a stradivarius and I am a concert violinist. Her mouth is the sweetest, softest thing I have ever tasted, her tongue dancing in concert with mine, flitting about my own lips and alighting momentarily on her own at just the right times. If kissing was a sport this woman would make the olympics.
Eventually I ask the question, where do we go to have sex? The boys are in the one room cabin. She points into the dark and says one beautiful word: trampoline. I love that word, because it starts with tramp and ends in a good time no matter what you do with it. Unless you’re the poor sap who hurts himself. Sadly…
This is where the story gets terrible. I had only recently started taking most of my meds so an erection seriously wasn’t in the cards… Pathetic. I put extra effort into going down and foreplay but I think she was upset and self-conscious about my utter refusal to get erect, thinking that perhaps it had to do with her, maybe her stretch marks? I can say that it certainly did not have anything to do with her. She was lovely.
Things got very awkward after that. I bailed the heck out of there. I tried to apologize through facebook messenger, she accepted but I got the impression she was being polite. After that I tried commenting on the odd things on her wall to stay mildly relevant but would be met with mild hostility so I backed off.
Until today our conversation begins in reply to a wall post where she began redressing me publicly for stating that there are plenty of men that she overlooks (it was one of those picture posts about there not being good men, blah, blah, blah…):
Dysphorian: Why do I upset you so much? I actually know a fair few things but that isn’t what I am getting at. My point here is really that there are excellent men who crawl on broken glass to please you, if only you let them in. Yet you antagonize them.
Sylvie: I’m a Gemini lol
Dysphorian: And I regret nothing more than not being there to put my face in your crotch and then make you crepes
Dysphorian: You’ll have to be more specific. It’s true what I say. I really feel horrible about my last horrible kick at the cat… My medication screwed me over. But you know what I think of you and that I would love nothing more than to pamper you.
Kissing you is one of the best feelings I’ve ever had.
Sylvie: Oh Dysphorian ,,,,, never worry about that … And that’s a good line how many times have you used that one ;))
Dysphorian: Sylvie, do I seem like the line type to you? Really? I just told you I would like to put my face in your crotch… Sometimes I am refined and sometimes I am blunt. I use what comes to me. You know that you are my great white buffalo. You have a very special place in my heart. Besides which you are just plain sexy as fuck. I still dream about you kissing me over your shoulder by the fire. That was particularly exciting.
Sylvie: White buffalo? Lol really
Dysphorian: You have seen Hot Tub Time Machine yes?
Sylvie: Omg yes. Magical things happen and hot tubs LOL.\
Dysphorian: You’re the one that got away, you’re my great white buffalo
But in that movie that white buffalo was actually a bum ass
Dysphorian: She turned out to be a bitch, yes… but that doesn’t mean that’s what they all are
Sylvie: Lol I know
I’m a fucking nightmare lmao
Dysphorian: How so?
Sylvie: Noooo just an angel
Dysphorian: what are you doing sunday through tuesday?
Sylvie: Hanging out with my kids
Dysphorian: you should create some space for us to make out.
orrrrr… have coffee…?
Sylvie: Make out ? You know I like to fuck Dysphorian.
Dysphorian: Ah, okay, then it’s settled.
Sylvie: Or I guess coffee. Less mess
Dysphorian: worst case coffee, best case sexy times… set a day and time.
Sylvie: When r u around ?
Dysphorian: From sunday noonish to wednesday morning
so monday and tuesday nights are best
Sylvie: Okay we will have to see it would have to be after 8 PM
Dysphorian: I’m totally okay with that.