0 comments/ 15901 views/ 1 favorites Defining Moment By: BabyGirlAddy (All events, though based on actual occurrences, are NOT exact recounts of what happened. Any and all things that have happened occurred over 4 years ago, and though my memory is excruciatingly sharp, it is also not *perfect*. Any dialogue is strictly paraphrased, and not quoted verbatim.) Some people think that a defining moment is exactly what it sounds like - something big, something monumental that takes you by surprise whether you've seen it coming for a while or not. Some people assume those moments will always hit with the strength of a CAT 5 hurricane - sweeping in, taking everything over, and leaving a long trail of destruction in its wake. But it's never like that. Those moments are like slow leaks - drip-dripping so slightly but steadily. Each drop leading that much closer to a flood that will slowly sweep through you, drowning you bit by bit, though you'd never realize it until the last possible moment. When there's absolutely nothing more you can do about it. It never really comes suddenly. It just feels like it. It was like that for me. Small moments coalescing through the years to eventually overwhelm and flood me in one, small moment. Something so miniscule that, for a moment, I almost thought I imagined it all. From the beginning, there was something there that just drew me in and held me. A sharp jolt of emotion and feeling sent me reeling back, as though a fish caught on the line unable to break free. The hook digging constantly deeper and deeper - embedding itself into my tender flesh the more I fought. Finally, with the last struggles of one who has fought too long, too hard; for something too unattainable, I felt my body growing tired. My mind followed suit eventually, giving in to that last deep breath of freedom and relinquishing control to the external source pulling me just that much closer to something I'd feared all my life. In that moment, it occurred to me that no matter how long I denied the inevitable, no matter how much *desire* there was to break free; eventually - you're just that: a fish in the water, awaiting a certain fate that will occur regardless of how much you push it back. Absolute fate waits for no one, and whether by hook and line or by simply time itself; eventually... that day will come. In that tiny, miniscule moment, I realized something that I'd been denying for years. I love him. But I digress. I suppose the best place to start is, simply, at the beginning: __________________________________ It was really a very slow day, as many days working in retail go. Customers come in, you put on the bright happy face, fix their problems, wish them a nice day... lather, rinse, repeat. It's a very tedious job, retail. But as I'm sure everyone has experienced at least once, there are always a few days when something happens; and, for that short time, you don't mind your job. As my body began its excruciatingly monotonous task of wrapping gifts (by that point I could run on autopilot through the day and never truly pay much attention to what I was doing), I smiled brightly at the customer before me, and engaged myself in the trivial conversation they had started. It was always the same conversation, pretty much, during the holiday season. "I see you got a lot of shopping done." "Oh yes, and I've only touched the tip of the ice burg..." "You must have a lot of people to shop for…” "Well my son just recently got married, so news this year…” "Ahhh…” A sage nod of the head, expressing my understanding as though I knew exactly what the customer meant. My hands continued working as my mind drifted off to other places - places where the clock didn't move SO FRIGGIN' SLOW!!! Just a couple more hours and I'd be done for the day... mmm cigarette break when I get home... nice hot cup of Earl Grey tea.... maybe a bit of personal time with that foot massager my feet have been screaming for all day.... "...ven't even got the tree up yet if you can believe it." Cue laugh and wry look of understanding in... 5, 4, 3, 2.... "Oh I know what you mean! Everything's just so hectic this time of year." "Oh, definitely. And the traffic around here! I thought I'd never get a parking spot…” "Yeah traffic has definitely gotten worse around here through the years." "Oh yes! I remember when..." One more present... I discreetly glance at the line of waiting people, calculating a guesstimate of how many more customers we'd have between myself and my two other co-workers. Elves, as I'd come to call us in the privacy of my own mind. Gift-wrap did have its moments at times. I glanced very surreptitiously at the clock. An hour and a half exactly left.... "Oh thank you so much! I really love that ya'll still do gift-wrap - so many other stores stopped doing it, and I just hate wrapping presents when there's so much else to do..." "Oh it's no problem. That's what we're here for." "You have a nice day!" "Oh, you too!" Cue big smile... keep it on for the next customer.... "Hi, how may I help you?" I sighed internally as I geared up for another repetitive conversation - they did vary, of course, but even after just a week they do tend to repeat themselves quite often. My hands still moved on autopilot, my mind still drifted to all the wonderful things awaiting my return home, and my mouth continued working out of sync with my brain. Somehow, however, I managed to hear a slight incongruence in the flow of the conversation as another voice bled through fantasy #45 - the lovely Earl and I having a nice quiet cuddle on the couch. "Excuse me, is Sabrina in?" I looked up from my task and Time... Just... Stopped. My heart felt like it had just exploded in my chest and my pulse was pounding in my ears. Every nerve in my body went haywire, I felt. Small jolts still ran through me as I composed myself in record time. "Yes she is. I'll call her right now and if you don't mind waiting a few minutes, I'm sure she'll be out to see you shortly." "Okay." Hair... eyes... my GODDESS that Mouth! Ooo... niiiiiiiice ass, too. Is it hot in here...? "Have a nice day!" I belatedly spouted after handing the most recent customer her wrapped packages. I caught her as she was walking away, however. I put on another bright smile for the next customer as my supervisor interviewed who'd I'd come to call The Hotness. A guy in gift-wrap? That's weird... Wait. Hot Guy's being INTERVIEWED?! As in... work here interviewed???? Oh hell am I ever screwed... "Have a nice day, ma'am!" "You too!" The smile on my face felt more like something between a grimace and the tension you can only really get in those moments when you want to both laugh and scream simultaneously... "Hi! How may I help you?" Mmm screwed... god it's been forever... I mean the Earl's just great, and that foot massage seriously has my name all over it, but.... "I'm sorry; we're out of the gold bows. Would you like to see how red or green might look?" "Sure! Actually I think the red might look better anyways." "Okay, ma'am, I'll be right back!" Addy!! For goddess' sake just WORK already! I mean the chances of him working in gift-wrap... Did you SEE that mouth? Well, yeah... Well...!! Okay, okay, definitely thinking naughty thoughts... You're at WORK, woman! Compose yourself! I'm TRYING!!! I almost grimaced as the whine in my head annoyed even myself... and almost giggled out loud as I got the faint image of a devil-me and angel-me sitting on either shoulder during my internal debate. I picked up the bows from the shelf and moved to take them to the service desk. Oops. That's not red... And that's not green, either... DAMNIT!! Pull it together! Putting down the silver and blue bows I'd mistakenly picked up and hastily grabbing the *right* colours this time, I moved *again* to take them to the service desk. "Oh the red just looks lovely… I think I'll take that." "Do you want it fluffed now or would you prefer to fluff it at home? Some people don't like them getting squished..." "Oh fluffed now is fine, they'll just get squished before I can fluff them at home anyways." The jovial laugh of the customer I was helping helped quiet the noise in my head slightly, and thankfully it stayed quiet for the remainder of my shift. __________________________________________ After that particularly confusing first meeting, I grew progressively *worse*, if you could believe it. Most times when a person is around something that affects them so strongly for so long, it eventually has a somewhat anaesthetizing effect. The longer you're exposed to it, the more capable you are of controlling your reaction to it; and thusly, the less it affects you. This, however, was not the case with Hot Guy. Eventually my supervisor introduced us, and I found out that Mr. Hotness was, indeed, going to be working in the gift-wrap department during the holiday season. My initial reaction was, of course, supreme glee that not only would I have extra ogling time allotted, but that working in such close proximity, I could actually get to know the object of my recent affections. (And I use the term "affections" quite loosely at this juncture.) Then the most important part of that realization hit me square between the eyes: working in such close proximity. I realized then, though obviously to a much lesser degree than what it developed into, that I would never really be able to *work* again. And so... I spent my days occasionally talking to him, finding different topics; different excuses to speak with him; and feeling more jittery by the day than I would had I suddenly developed a taste for the evils of coffee and drank ten cups in one sitting. Simply looking at him sent jolts of electricity through my body - being near him was a matter in and of itself. I started wearing somewhat more revealing clothes. Of course, it was still appropriate to work in, but specifically designed for two reasons: to perhaps attract some attention of my own and to alleviate some of the intense heat I physically felt when simply standing beside him. He was a piece of work, most definitely. Shoulder-length, dyed hair that seemed a bit too stuck between blonde and brunette to truly qualify as either; though one could tell by the small amount of roots showing that his natural colour was a deep chocolate brown. It layered in waves around his face, and I was actually somewhat jealous of the natural volume it possessed. His eyes were hazel, and quirked up just ever-so-slightly in the corners, giving him a somewhat more exotic appearance than your everyday hunk-of-manly-goodness. His mouth was small and thin, but plump and quite inviting. Overall, his facial features gave him a somewhat masculine, but pixy-ish look. As though, if one could base personality from facial features, he was a strong, yet mischievous sort of person. The angles of his face, though softly rounded and somewhat feminine, gave the impression that he was a well-rounded creature of both subtlety and strength in equal measure. His nose, though very slightly crooked (and only really noticed if you're as short as I and the view up one's nose is quite frequently the case), turned up just a bit at the tip. He was definitely quite an attractive creature: only five feet and perhaps eight or nine inches in height and all of one-hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet... but he carried about him a *presence*. Charisma is perhaps the word. There was just something about him that drew me to him. The word sexy came to mind quite a bit when I looked at him... and look at him I did quite a bit. My talks with him during our working hours became somewhat frequent, though not by any means truly distracting from our job. Obviously he'd not had much experience in "professional" gift wrapping, and so I wound up teaching him a few tricks - one of which was how to fold a robe. He was obviously having a bit of a time of it, so I folded it and boxed it for him. I remember quite clearly his response to my helping him, mainly because it both piqued my interest and sent butterflies on an uproar in my stomach. "You'll make a man a good wife someday." Of course, it was his way of saying I had a knack for the more mundane things which women throughout history have been stereotyped for; however, I didn't really mind the stereotype. It was a very good compliment, indeed, and shockingly didn't seem at all suggestive (somewhat to my dismay.) Another particularly memorable moment was a day when he had a headache... I never knew watching someone take pain pills could appear so erotic until I saw the shape of that perfect mouth of his wrap around the straw to his drink... One day I finally decided, against my extremely shy nature, mind you, to take the plunge and give him my phone number. I spent the better part of the entire day thinking of ways to do so: practicing how I would word it, what my body language would be, the tone of voice I'd use; and, finally, nearing the end of my shift, I wrote down on a name card with my phone number that he "seemed interesting" and I "wished to get to know him better." Then promptly convinced my co-worker to give it to him after I'd left. Addy, thy name is coward. _____________________________ Cowardly or not, to my own surprise and intense pleasure, he did call. I've heard quite frequently that the "usual waiting period" is around 3 or so days... but it had yet to be quite 2 days when my phone rang and, lo and behold, I heard his voice on the other end. Hands shaking, I began what was probably a very awkward conversation starter. We wound up talking for the better part of 2 or 3 hours - mostly about nothing at all, really. I'd already known from our work-talks that he had a daughter, which dissipated my interest slightly due to me being but 17 years old at the time with no designs on having a family so soon - let alone a ready-made one getting involved with him. I also assumed he was married, and yes, I checked for a ring... After finding out he wasn't married, however, that small hope of perhaps having a chance with someone who, because of my own past, I assumed was miles out of my "league" and whom I was definitely not good enough for, sprung up slightly again. Talking to him on the phone, I felt somewhat akin to a ping-pong ball, however, when I found out that he *did* have a girlfriend, though not his daughter's mother, and then that their relationship was "shaky." At that point, I'd been bounced around so many different and varying emotions in such a small amount of time that I really was willing to settle for just getting to know him. I wasn't sure whether or not I really wanted to attempt to "get" him, due to various different circumstances in both my own life and his , and I definitely wasn't sure whether or not any attentions of mine would even be welcome. I'm the kind of person that my attention bounces around constantly and very rarely ever sticks on one thing. However, when it does stick... it *really* sticks. I have a very addictive personality. Things I like, I *really* like: bordering on obsession. Of course, this usually applies to mainly musical interests, movies, television shows, and the like... but it's been known to happen with people, too. My first real "boyfriend" was like that. I saw him and was drawn to him implicitly, spoke to him and we immediately took a DISlike to each other, and then through circumstance and fate, I gradually grew to love him in a somewhat short time span. Though it took much longer for him to feel the same, he did eventually love me in return - only to have that taken away when I realized that I was devoting so much of myself to HIM, that I wasn't giving anything to myself. Given that at that point in my life, I was locked up and miserable every day of my life due to that lifestyle, I couldn't afford that luxury; and had to force myself to break up with him. At the time, it was possibly the hardest moment of my life. In retrospect, it still is, although I honestly cannot see how it could have happened any other way. Because of this and many occurrences in my much further removed past, however, I am a very shy and quite introverted person. I do not go out of my way to meet people, and when I do I rarely open up enough to really talk to them other than casual conversation. I skitter around more lurid topics, and tend to be very nervous around new people. Even people I've known for some time have received this reaction, although given time and an increased level of comfort, I do and will eventually open up and allow people to see "the real me." Growing up, I was a very shy, nervous girl who tried her best not to intrude in many people's lives. In school, I was the "ugly, fat girl", although most people ignored me as opposed to pointing out my obvious faults. I was also, however, a brilliant student. The rate at which I absorbed information astounded my teachers so much that, upon entering third grade, they put me in advanced classes. I think this also had some bearing on my classmates' obvious disdain for me, however, at the time I buried my intense desire to "fit in", and concentrated on schoolwork and trying my best to be the "honour student." For me, education and intelligence has always ranked very highly on my list of priorities as far as what kind of person I've always wanted to be went. Because of this, however, I wound up spending perhaps ninety percent plus of my time reading, writing, and engrossing myself in other worlds where the fantasies seemed much more appealing than real life. At five years of age, my grandfather committed suicide, and though it hit me extremely hard, it also forced me to open my eyes to the world around me much younger than many normally do. From that age on, I had also been forced by my existing parents (my mother and grandmother) to attend counseling. This continued well into my late teens. By the age of eleven, I had grown into my body a bit more. I really wouldn't say I was "skinny" by any means, and truly did not have enough curves yet to be "filled out" or even "voluptuous"; however, I wasn't really considered the "fat girl" anymore. Although, even though I had attended O.M. (Odyssey of the Mind - a program which encouraged children to learn about a particular subject [Impressionistic period artwork was my group's subject], and write and act out a play designed to further that subject. I really do hope the program still exists - it was a wonderfully involving learning tool.), the school's Chess Team, various different special projects the school put together (such as designing and creating small wetland ponds within the school's landscape, and different large-scale art projects such as a "tree" sculpture featuring many of the student's likenesses captured in plaster, portraying the varying races, features, and ages of the students attending the school in tandem), and the school's Step Team (aka small-league middle school cheerleading), I was still the person most people ignored and was fast becoming extremely depressed. I would read well into the wee hours of the morning, and in turn be just simply too exhausted to have any interest in going to school the next day. I've never really been much of a morning person, (and that's putting it lightly…), but the occurrence became increasingly frequent and in turn, the school wound up calling D.S.S. to report me for truancy. At first, I didn't really *miss* school so much as I was late for it, but once I found out they were counting it tantamount to, I just didn't go at all and slept through the better part of two to three weeks. Defining Moment I was admitted to a behavioral health clinic for a ten day evaluation, and under the impression I would go home afterwards, my "good behavior" and apparent sanity resulted in my being discharged two days early. I had also found out that, where everyone else, including my parents, had told me I was going home, my cousin informed me that I was to be sent to another placement. By this point I was just simply so tired of everyone else meddling in my life and in my head that I couldn't feel much more than extreme anger at everyone around me. All I wanted was to stay on the A/B honour roll, graduate school someday, be left alone to lead my own life and follow my dreams, and live my life in quiet solitude - perhaps finding a "special someone" along the way. But that was not possible for me when everyone else felt it their business to intrude upon my life and force me to "talk about my feelings" with total strangers. Because of this overwhelming situation and my entirely too angry demeanor (I've never been, by far, the most patient of people, and I do have many faults as far as my temper goes. This comes from my entirely too belligerent, headstrong, and independent personality. For all I was the wallflower amidst my peers, I've also always been a very determined girl around adults. I also didn't take very well to unexplained authority, and by this I mean that "because I said so" just never has cut it with me), I wound up cursing the judge right out at my first court date, and being sent to juvenile detention for contempt of court. After another placement, two added charges of assault and battery, three MORE placements, being stabbed in the neck by my roommate, entirely too many scenic and perfect memories of pain (both others' and my own, emotional and physical), and what seemed a lifetime's worth of sleepless nights, fighting for what I felt were my rights as a human being despite my age, and a lot of self-righteous adults later... I'd gone from that shy, wallflower of a girl to a brass, crude, balls-to-the-wall, intelligent, and entirely too lived-through woman - in the span of four years. Which is why, just slightly over a year after finally coming home and adjusting to the welcome *privilege* of being able to piss without asking permission, I was not only gaining confidence but also walking a tight rope with it, as well. Being locked up, and moving from place to place, you eventually learn to "toughen up", act strong, and pretend you can actually fight in order to get some sort of respect from the people around you. Regardless of what KIND of placement you are in, or what AGE you and your peers may be, this fact is true universally. If you are bad before you go in, you get worse; and, if you aren't bad before you go in, you will be by the time you get out - it's that simple. The very placements designed to "help" children are more often likely to destroy any sense of self in the process, and very often hinder the growth process as opposed to help it. You get "real" more quickly - you realize the wrongs in the world and how to fight them - but you never truly learn what's right unless you can get past your misgivings and the life around you and realize that you're looking, not at what life should be, but exactly what it SHOULDN'T be. This same process happens with children who have been abused in their lives - usually they wind up either abusing their own children, or being steadfastedly against it. It all depends on what kind of a person you are to start out with, what kind of person you can allow yourself to grow to be, and how much pressure you can take before you give up. Thankfully, my belligerent, headstrong, and independent personality helped me get not only myself, but many of the friends I made in those places through an experience which I would NEVER wish on even my worst enemy. Somewhere along the way, I had grown, yes, but also had grown very weary of life. I felt as though I had 50 years of life lived within a 17 year old body. I never really did make many friends after coming home until I met HIM, because I just simply couldn't relate to most people my own age or near it who HADN'T had the kind of life experience that kind of maturity springs from. So, in turn, I've told you that bit of my past in order to better explain just *how* out of character it was for me to approach him, let alone continue to do so. By that point in my life, I had lived entirely too much as far as personal things went - yet in the same situation, *because* of the same situation... I had not lived at all. Being locked up doesn't *prepare* you for life - it prepares you for pain, makes you grow, yes. But when you're out and of age, there are suddenly things in the world - frighteningly new and scary things - that every teenager must go through growing up. Bills. A social life. A job. Responsibility. Career choices. Only, instead of dealing with such things at a slightly younger age, being suddenly forced into this "real world" situation at a much later age than normal makes a person just that much LESS capable of truly handling it. Everything, upon getting out into the "real world" as we called it then, is new, and very, very scary. With no previous experience in such things, all the knowledge in the world couldn't help me with what I felt was this urgent NEED to prove myself. When I got out, I felt like I needed to assimilate myself into this "real world", get a job, pay bills, move out, and finish home schooling. I tried taking on entirely too much at once, however. Which is why, although he must have seen me as somewhat of a self-sufficient, welcome change from what his girlfriend at that point was, I was really just on my way to being completely broken. I was desperate for some change in the mediocrity of life - something to distract me from the feelings overwhelming me - something to build more confidence with. I was also very tired of being alone, after having broken up with my first boyfriend two years prior. My first relationship lasted two years total, and after finally having someone in my life to cherish, I didn't take well to being alone again. Seeing and meeting him, however... not only did it seem to be exactly what I needed right then, it was also just this entirely overpowering, overwhelming sensation - and I hadn't felt that passionate about much since I'd been "out". He wasn't just a refreshing change, by any means. I wish no one to get that misconception. He was that, and much more. I think he was in much the same predicament, too - being overwhelmed with the on goings of life and love - because after knowing each other not even quite a month yet, I was practically living with him and his girlfriend for another three to four months after, and he and I wound up making what, to him was a self-proclaimed mistake, but to me was almost a life-altering experience. ___________________________________________________ As previously established, I've never really been a truly confident person when it comes to personal things, with the exception of being locked up. After being stabbed by my roommate, I suddenly and drastically changed from a pliant, soft, weak girl into a sarcastic, cynical, bitch of a woman. I took shit from NO ONE. I protected my own - which I considered to be, although not my first female "relationship", my first female love. She was one hell of a woman... a goddess in her own right. Still is, in my mind, to this day. However, a lot of that confidence wavered when it came to this new, strange world I found myself in - the unfamiliar environment of freedom. I awoke each day expecting the harsh light and grating voices of staff members that weren't there anymore, and breathing a sigh of relief when I realized that I wasn't on a home visit - I really was HOME. FOR GOOD. It took me months before I could really sleep the whole night through without feeling like a guest in my own home. That same confidence, however, was returning - bit by bit - around HIM. He brought out the best (and worst) in me. I could almost be myself around him, without worrying about the daily trivialities that had plagued my mind before. My days were consumed with looking at him, talking to him, and, of course, "bonding" with his girlfriend. (In retrospect, I suppose it might have been much better had I not attempted to assuage his girlfriend's suspicions by bonding with her as I did. At the time, I simply didn't want the drama. There were certain aspects of being locked up that I missed - drama, however, was not one of them. I'd already had about as much as I could stand.) So, to my thinking, spending more time with his girlfriend than I did with him seemed like a good idea at the time. (It wasn't, by the way. Overprotective and bossy girlfriends and addicted women with crushes just don't mix, apparently. ) Eventually, though, what seemed to me like a hopeless cause eventually turned into something much more. His loneliness and the rapidly declining situation in which he'd found himself at the time eventually began to get to him, I think. He began talking to me more and more about his feelings and problems when his girlfriend was at work. And although however cynical and uncaring I CAN be, I am, by nature, a very giving person. Because of this, I listened, and tried to stay objective. Yet in reality; in my mind… I was really just hoping they'd break up already so I could perhaps have a chance. Being locked up does have a few advantages. One of which is being forced to be around so many people that, simply by paying attention to what goes on around you, you learn to pick up body language, what people DON'T say, and read in between the lines. You learn what makes people tick. What their motives are when they make an action - what their motives lead to when they DON'T make an action. With that knowledge came a certain power - the ability to read more into some of his actions than was probably correct. Because of those assumptions, I began to form the idea that perhaps my attentions MIGHT be welcome. And so I would subtly do things to give the impression than any move HE made would be welcome. I would never have the balls, quite frankly (and metaphorically…), to make a "first move" myself, really. BUT - manipulation, I had learned well; and, whether by my own subconscious and conscious mind projecting my emotions or whether by sheer luck itself, he took the initiative. ________________________________________ Huh. So this is what a bar is like. Not really all that special, actually.... I'd been to some new, and sometimes strange to me, places since I'd been visiting him and his girlfriend so often - practically living with them. I only really went home to get cigarettes and occasionally my herbal teas and food. Her aunt owned the bar we were in at the time, and though I was underage, she allowed it for a limited time since they were there and they were my ride. "So you've never done karaoke?" "Nope." Some guy that was sitting at the bar beside me apparently ran the karaoke events there, and was telling me all about the process of it. To be honest, it was more entertaining than watching my "crush" and his girlfriend spend time together, so I participated quite avidly in the conversation. I also noticed that his girlfriend's stepfather was very drunk and heading towards drunker. It was quite amusing. "Yeah I download a lot of the songs offline - you'd be amazed at how many karaoke versions of songs you can find. Everything gets listed in this book, and then people pick out which one they want to do. It's a lot of work, but I love it." "Seems like an interesting thing, though, music. I love music." "What kind of music do you like?" Although the man wasn't particularly UNattractive... he was at least twice as old as my current crush was and he was 25 to my by then 18. However, he seemed genuine in his interest in staying strictly platonic, so I continued the conversation quite naturally with no hesitations or worrying about being hit on. "Mostly rock... rap, too. R&B.... well, everything actually." I said with a slight laugh. He returned the laugh in kind and nodded emphatically, as though he knew exactly what I meant. "Same here, that's…” "Eclectic tastes." "Exactly." He was actually quite pleasant to talk to, really, but I could see the bar winding down for closing time and actually regretted for a moment that I didn't inquire as to an email address I could perhaps use to conversate with him again. It's rare to find someone so relaxed and easy-going that doesn't hit on you every time you turn around during a conversation - in a bar, no less. However, that time came and went... and went... and went some more. Closing time had already come and gone, and my "crush" and his girlfriend were staying behind a bit until her aunt cleaned up for the night. His girlfriend's stepfather and two girls were still in the bar, as well; very clearly entirely too drunk to ensure safe passage home on their own. His girlfriend offered to drive them; however, there was not enough room in the car for my "crush", his girlfriend, her step dad, the two girls, and myself. My "crush" and I opted to stay behind whilst she drove them home, since they didn't live very far away; and as they pulled out of the parking lot, we settled in on the steps outside the front door of the bar. Most of the conversation from that point was very bland, and I don't really remember it until a certain point. "I wanted to kiss you." Merr.... "When?" "The other day, when you were doing my nails. I wanted to kiss you." By merely the word "kiss" I was already completely flabbergasted. Making assumptions based on someone's actions and actually seeing the fruition of those self-same assumptions are two different things entirely, and I felt as though my entire world had suddenly gone all topsy-turvy on me in the mere fraction of a second it took for those words to form in his head and breeze so easily from his suddenly, enticingly.. irresistible lips. Ever had one of those moments? Where, in a split-second, your line of vision narrows down to one particular thing, and everything else around it seems somewhat blurry? Besides being high, I mean. It was tantamount to, however. I was totally, inexplicably high on the thought of those lips touching my own. If I had thought about it too much, I think I might have fainted dead away right there. "Why didn't you?" Yes... WHY?! WHY WHY WHY?!!?! Goddess... why... "Because I didn't know when she would be home. I didn't want her to walk in or something." And then, for me... the gravity of the situation hit. Not only did my crush FINALLY express interest in me other than merely a friend or confidant... but he was taken. He had a *girlfriend* already. I have a very logical brain, and when that realization hit, I immediately began racing through every single alternative outcome this whole situation could have at the end. I concluded that either he and I were going to get together, without his girlfriend's knowledge, and be together until they broke up and after; we were going to get together behind her back and get caught someday; we were going to constantly tip-toe around each other until our brains bled out from the constant tension; or I would not have much time with him left, and wouldn't be spending nearly as much time, if any, at his house. "Well what about now?" Did I just say that...? "They'll be back in a little bit. Not now." And so, the FIRST of many moments to come happened, and a sequence of events was begun that I honestly don't think, even in retrospect, could have honestly been altered in any way. ____________________________________ Have you ever had an addiction? To anything, really. Coffee, cigarettes, carbonated sodas, candy - maybe perhaps a song or a TV show, or hell, in this day and age - drugs, alcohol. You know that really, REALLY long wait that seems to take absolutely FOREVER in-between fixes? Yeah, that. It was only, in actuality, one day in between that conversation on the steps of his girlfriend's aunt's bar, and our next "incident", but the day after the next seemed... to take... forever. It was like walking around with a constant tension in my body, an almost living, breathing thrum of anticipation and excitement - of anxiety and frustration. Impatience. And it's a vicious circle of thought, too. "I wanted to kiss you." "...the other day." "not now." "... want to kiss you" "kiss you" "kiss.... I want to kiss you...." Even now, just typing this, it's echoing in my head with perfect clarity and it's still just as annoying as that first time some four years ago. However, the restlessness soon came to a close when, the next day... everything we'd been tip-toeing around came to a head. ________________________________ "The other night, you said you wanted to kiss me." "Yeah. What about it?" "Dunna, was just thinking about it." Yes, I have all the balls in the world, don't I? "I don't think you'd actually do it." "What?" "Kissing me. I don't think you'll do it." "Why do you think that?" "Because you haven't yet." "Maybe I'm waiting for the right time." NOW!!! Damnit. I've always been so impatient at times. But honestly... who wouldn't be?! He was lying down on the longer couch, and I was sitting perched near the edge of the loveseat (the irony was not lost on me, either); and every three seconds all I could hear in my own head was... "... want to kiss you." It was excruciatingly awkward. You watch romantic movies, and there's always the tension... and the two people tip-toe, and there's the anxiety and frustration... then finally, it all culminates into this beautifully scenic Scarlett O'Hara moment where one minute, everything is almost normal, and the next... the two people are practically inhaling each other in this TORRID kiss that just makes you want to snuggle up on the couch with a cozy blanket and a big tub of ice cream and pout, bitch, and whine about not having a man like THAT anytime soon. But real life isn't like that. At least, that was the impression I was getting at that particular moment. I glanced over at him. We talked. I glanced at the floor. We talked some more. I shifted to get more comfortable on my 3-inch self-designated perch on the edge of the loveseat and almost assed out on the floor in the process. We talked some more. Finally, I *had* to get up. There was just too much energy floating around in my body to sit still any longer, and he chose that moment to spout out the sentence that damned us both for nearly a year after. "Come over here." He patted the spot in front of him, sliding back-to-back with the couch to make room. I just looked at him inquiringly and wondering... Merr..? "Huh?" "Come sit over here." "Uh... okay..." Suspicious by nature, I automatically thought something was up. Didn't know what, but something was *definitely* brewing in that beautiful little head of his. However, it was also an opportunity to be closer to him... so, of course I didn't object. I sat down. No, really. That's pretty much all there was to it. I just... sat down. ... We talked some more. Eventually the ever-so-mature "I don't think you'll do it" talk became infectious... and *I* wound up kissing *him*. Let me tell you, there has NEVER been another moment so painstakingly awkward or clumsy in my life. I leaned over... barely touched his lips with mine.... felt like I was about to pass out and could just barely keep myself from falling on him bracing myself on my arms they were shaking so badly... then did it again... Defining Moment Wow. It was hardly anything more than the tiniest of kisses, really. But... wow. It was the feeling it evoked more than the actual kiss itself that affected me so. I couldn't really wrap my mind around the fact that I was *touching his mouth*, if that makes sense. It's like caressing the most forbidden fruit. Sweet fruit. Once more I kissed him, out on his back porch a bit later. And after that... he offered to help me up from the loveseat as I sat there once more, and once I'd gotten my footing all I heard was the sharp intake of his breath in one split-second harsh sound before my entire body went on the fritz. Every nerve just jangled around and jumped for joy; partied hard and totally exploded on me in the span of the two seconds it took my body to hit the loveseat and his to land on mine while his lips were wreaking total havoc on my senses caressing my mouth in the most... TUMULTUOUS kiss I've ever experienced. It wasn't the lewd, all-out tonguing one would expect that kind of kiss to be, either. It was simple, but sudden, unexpected, rash - the clash of his mouth against mine and suddenly I was being smushed into the cushions of the loveseat by the wonderful weight of his body - the feeling of both of which I seared into my memory as a picturesque moment in time, frozen for all eternity and filed away in my head for later viewing. It was, however, that first, initial sharp intake of his breath that I remember the most vividly. For some reason, it just fried my synapses, it was that erotic. I still have no clue to this day why. Some time after that, we gravitated once more to what I'd come to term "his" couch. (As opposed to the loveseat, which I normally slept on while spending the night.) The *most* memorable of any moment I've ever had with him, aside from that initial sharp intake of breath... was that moment on his couch. He lay down and scooted back a bit, asked me to lie in front of him, and we simply lay there talking for a bit. "I used to do this with her." "Used to?" "We don't anymore. I don't know why." I lay there, beyond tense, attempting to both nurture the warmth I felt just simply being held by someone and avoid really *touching* his body. It was almost... I'm not entirely sure how to describe it, really. It was as though I just simply didn't know exactly how far this "thing" with us was going to go, I didn't know if any further contact would be welcome... we'd already kissed, and we were laying together with his arm around me… but there's a very slight difference, despite more popular belief, between intimacy and, well.. INTIMACY. I was so unsure of myself, as the tension constantly coiled within my body reminded me. I could feel the warmth of his breath as we talked on the back of my hair, whispering against it and ever so lightly disturbing the strands. My body felt so restless, so much energy coiled within like a snake awaiting the perfect moment to strike. I shifted slightly, and my backside accidentally brushed against his front... "Watch out for the merchandise…” He said it jokingly, but a flood of heat rushed over me as, for some reason, I only *just then* realized that he had… parts. Interlocking… parts. I'd always concentrated so much on the lithe form of his body, the graceful line of his back. On the elegance of his hands and the moist softness of his mouth. I'd never truly stopped to consider what all he had tucked beneath his clothes, to be honest. I think my brain actually did go completely blank for a moment... I noticed with no small amount of pleasure that he was playing with my hair. The feeling that evoked was somewhat stuck between being totally overwhelmed by the sexual tension he was creating within me simply by being in such close proximity, and a flood of comfort accompanied by a warmth spreading through what seemed very near to the core of my being. Maternal instinct, perhaps - that feeling of comfort and just... everything *natural* in the world coalescing into an emotion that seems to almost nestle quietly but insistently within one's belly, close to the womb. Not necessarily a feeling of procreation or even anything to do with children - but everything to do with being a *woman* and feeling desired, wanted; worthy of such simple affection. It felt almost like... coming home. And so, in typical (yet not always rare...) Addy-form, I decided to goad him on, wanting to stretch that moment out just a little bit longer. "Don't tease unless you aim to please..." "Not teasing. This would be teasing." I think every firework in the universe seemed to go off in my head as I felt him gently pulling my hair back to expose my entirely too sensitive neck to the softness of his lips. *Nothing* existed in my world at that moment except the tiny, fluttering brushes of his mouth against my skin. And when my focus seemed to come into view again, I was laying half-under him, his mouth on mine, and his hands moving over my torso - though above the waist… He caressed and kneaded my breasts gently and the shock of the action was enough to send me into a near-catatonic state, although I'm sure that what I was feeling was entirely secluded within my own body and mind. Surely if he'd have known the affect he had on me... I suppose now would be the best time to truly explore these events "behind the scenes" so to speak. Describing the actions, the feelings they evoked… that is certainly a large portion of what eventually came to be my undoing. But the truly spectacular parts in between have been left somewhere in my memory and have escaped the pages along the way. I had, of course, had sex before. (And no, that's not where this is leading quite yet…) And although I got *very*, *very* lucky in that my first time with a man had been with a person whom, I'd not only had a long term relationship with (very long term in teen years... my first boyfriend lasted 2 years), but whom I'd also been very much *in* love with, it did not quite meet up to my expectations, as many "first times" are wont to do. It was pleasant, but only so. There was no true passion, no real fire. I did not expect, by any means, some grandiose notion of "true love" or some climactic climb of sweaty bodies, harsh breaths, and/or exploding universes. Yet, it was not only none of those, but also just no… feeling. Physically. To be quite honest, I'd feared for many years since that I was perhaps simply frigid and incapable of feeling true attraction to a person in the physical sense. My body reacted clinically - prepared itself. But there was just - nothing. For the longest time, I honestly doubted it truly existed. So, when I tell you, in vivid description, what feelings were riotously running through me in response to this one man... you should know the true scope of what exactly I mean. I am a very passionate person by nature. I believe in many things, and my beliefs and moral codes are the foundation of how I live my life. My emotions do not rule my mind, but my mind is most definitely governed by them in somewhat of a democracy. I am very instinctual. What my mind does not know, my "gut feeling" and emotional reaction in tandem with what those same emotions trigger as a physical reaction, will ultimately make up for despite any current logic on the situation at hand. This same character trait - and, at times, flaw - has enabled me to get into and out of many a debatable situation. "Fight or flight" instinct, I've heard it called. I also feel *very* strongly. Very rarely do I ever feel simply one emotion at a time. When I am angry, I am usually also frustrated, irritated, depressed, hurt, among many other possible combinations. When I love, it's forever. I never *stop* loving a person, although that love does change with the circumstances. (Many of my exes and friends I've cared for, I would die for. I still love them *very*, very much. However… there is a difference between loving a person and being *in* love, and although one may stop being *in* love with another, in my world view, that does not mean they necessarily must stop loving them.) When I feel attraction, it is wholeheartedly and every part of my being is thrown into it. It's how I work, how I tick - how I live. Everything within me goes into what I am passionate about. So, for me to feel hardly anything during sex was, indeed, extremely confusing for me; however, it was also simply the way things had been since the beginning for me, and so I learned to simply live with it and didn't really expect anything different. I guess he proved me wrong in that aspect. I had never, have not, and possibly may not again - feel the overwhelming response my own body had to him. Because of this, however, it also led to many complications along the way on my part that perhaps could have been handled much better than I handled them at the time. Something so unfamiliar to me was very real, very scary, and very addictive simultaneously. The only thing giving me *any* kind of self control was my own hesitancy and low self-esteem. I held back then, not only because I was unfamiliar with what I was feeling, but also because I was just too unsure of my own desirability. This created quite a paradox within me as I gained confidence around him, however. I will admit that I had very, very little control. What little I did have, however, was not from any true guilt or remorse for what we were doing. He was also a special sort of person. I've always been attracted to people who stand out for one reason or another, even if I don't yet know *why* they stand out. My first boyfriend just drew me into him, for no other reason than he simply did. I could, and have, never pinpoint(ed) what exactly it was about him that attracted me so. But this "crush" of mine… he was different from what is considered the "norm". (I am highly abnormal myself, so I'm not particularly fond of what may be "socially acceptable" - life is just too damn short to worry about pleasing everyone else and never yourself.) He wrestled. He traveled with the fair. He was a transsexual. Many do not completely comprehend the difference between a "cross dresser" and a "transsexual" person - and to be quite honest, I'm slightly fuzzy on it myself. I will, however, attempt a short description. Cross dressers, from my own experiences, anyway, simply enjoy dressing in the clothes of the opposite gender. Perhaps they enjoy the "taboo" of it - the feeling of being "naughty" or perhaps it's the dark, secretive nature of it that is appealing. Transsexuals, however, (again… my own opinion) are different in as much as that although they *do* dress in the clothing of the opposite gender, they *also* have the desire to BE the opposite gender. Some people do this because they are unhappy in their lives as they are and wish a change. Not all transsexuals are created equal in some aspects, and this is why, during the "Sexual Reassignment" process, many are required to enter into counseling prior to any surgery performed. Many people simply see it as an "out" of sorts - a vent for things going on in their lives, and do not always completely go through with the reassignment process in lieu of changing their minds or simple hesitancy of such a drastic change from what they've been all of their natural lives. Most, though, simply feel as though they were born into the wrong gender. They feel as though the body they are in just does not "fit" with what they, in their minds and hearts, truly feel it should. Many people misconstrue this and many others feel the need to bring religion into this foray - but the simple truth of the matter is that a person such as this can live their lives as "socially acceptable" and NEVER truly feel as though they really belong in the skin they're in, or they can change that and begin to live a much more mentally stable and healthy lifestyle of their choosing. It all comes down to one very simple concept, and that is that regardless of what gender a person may be, or religion they may be - everyone has the right to be and feel truly comfortable with themselves. Some people have low self-esteems, others have a lot of problems in their life - these are emotional issues that one must resolve with time and support. Feeling as though you are not welcome within your own body, however, can be changed nowadays. If this is what a person feels they need in order to resolve and preserve their own self image, my personal opinion is that they should be able to do whatever they wish in order to accomplish that goal. It is just simply no one else's business. Which is why, with as many social issues as there are surrounding this particular subject, I was quite shocked that he told me quite upfront that he *was* part of the transgender community and desired to be a woman not even a week after meeting him. Many people realize *quite* well, that such a thing is socially frowned upon. What he did in telling me was quite possibly the hardest and, forgive the pun, balls-iest thing I've yet to see done, even to this day. I am bisexual, by the way. To me, not only was I impressed that he would simply come out like that with it, but also that he seemed to be the best of *both* worlds for me. A man with the mental and emotional capacity of a female - and someday - the body of one as well. Some may call me insane... but that just made him that much *more* appealing to me. Everything about him drew me to him - his personality, his lifestyle, his attitude, and his physical appearance. He was just this incredibly beautiful, all-around, insanely majestic person. Everyone, of course, has their faults and downfalls. I suppose that from the beginning I should have realized more was going on as far as my own feelings were concerned than sheer physical lust from the fact that I was quite willing to accept any and all flaws he may have had upon meeting him; however, lust is exactly what I felt it was at the time and for a long time after. I had never met anyone quite like him, really. Because of this, I just had absolutely no idea how to deal with the feelings running so rampantly within myself. Many of them I got confused with other, similar emotions. Others I simply just didn't even realize I had until much, much later. But for then, in that moment with him on the couch, I was honestly just simply content to melt away into the cushions and let him take the wheel. _________________________________________ After that moment, and a few other occurrences that same day, we seemed to develop a pattern of sorts. Every other day, we'd have an "incident". I think this was mainly based upon his girlfriend's work schedule, as well. And so the "tradition" continued when, the day after next, his girlfriend went to work and I, being the manipulative biotch I am, decided to make up some excuse for asking his girlfriend to lend me one of her nightgowns to sleep in. (I did, of course, have plenty of my clothes at hand.) It was not by far the "sexy" attire many would assume, however. It was simply more... convenient... than pants. Just in case. That day, and many others in a fairly routine schedule (every other day), we would always wind up making out on the couch. Kissing, caressing, touching. And each time we did this, we would go just a slight bit further. I could obviously tell it was building up to something, however, that "something" still made me a bit nervous. I was nervous for several reasons, really. The most prominent reason was that my own body's response to him was just so much stronger than anything I'd ever really experienced before. By the bit of back story I've already given you, dear reader, I think that by this point you do grasp just how unusual and… *exciting* it was for me. And, of course, as previously mentioned - it was also very addictive. I knew at the time that what we were doing - being "together" (even if only physically) behind his girlfriend's back - was wrong. I consciously knew that even by my OWN moral code, what I was allowing to happen - even participating in - was wrong. But at that point, I did not care. To me, it was a liberating experience that, despite my better intentions, I just could *not* give up quite yet. I have forced myself to both do… and NOT do - many things in my life. At that point, however... I just simply wanted that moment for myself. I saw an opportunity to experience something - and someone - so vividly brilliant that I just couldn't make myself even truly *want* to stop. I got caught up in a maelstrom of emotions and *feeling* - this beautiful, wonderfully INTENSE feeling… that I couldn't for the life of me force myself to care about the obviously impending repercussions of my actions. I knew it was coming, but he just made me feel so intensely *ALIVE* and I did not want to give that up just yet. __________________________________________ To make an incredibly long story slightly shorter (and less graphic…), we did eventually reach the climax (quite literally) of all of our previous actions one day. And at this particular juncture, although I shall skip the sordid detail, I do wish to elaborate on the experience a bit. Sex with him was... okay. It was very slightly disappointing that first time, I have to truthfully admit. It wasn't by any means "bad" - it was just... okay. Most of the reason for it being so is that I was just entirely too nervous, although whether or not it was obvious to him I have no clue. Anxious, perhaps might be a better word. Everything: every kiss, every touch: had been just so exhilarating up to that point that I suppose I'd simply built it up too much in my head to the point that, not only was I afraid that I was frigid - I was also afraid that I just wouldn't be good enough for him. Sex is also a very personal thing to me. Many people have it often and without care - not even really truly considering what they're doing, just concentrating on the feeling of it, the physical sensations. I've had many people tell me that I put too much into it - that I expect too much from it - and/or that I just think too much. All of which have been accurate, though not simultaneously, at some point or another. But the simple fact is that sex IS a personal thing: not only for me, but in general. For a female, you're allowing someone else INSIDE of your body. For a male, you're putting a part of yourself INSIDE someone else. When you stop to really consider that: sex suddenly becomes both more exciting and almost frightening simultaneously. Because I think this way, however... I've been told before that I live in a fairy tale world. Where sex should be perfect and what happens in movies is real. This both is, and is not the case. Sex SHOULD be more than it is for many people. I truly believe that. Yet I also realize that it often isn't. I do not live in a fairy tale world, despite more popular belief. I do tend to live in somewhat of *my own* world, but reality is featured quite often in my world more so than many would give me credit for. It is just simply that, where others may see reality as a harsh, cruel world: where poverty occurs often, unhappiness is "normal", wars begin, last, and end with nothing but death, and children are no longer the joy of our existence; they are a way of holding one's beloved to them, a bargaining chip in court, or a cheque every month in the mail: I see clovers. I do realize, of course, that to many people this does NOT make sense. Especially if you do not know me in person. I love clovers. I love their texture, their shape - their deep, rich colour. Their flowers make excellent tea. I also find a lot of four, five - at times up to nine-leaf clovers. I find so many because of how I see the world around me. I see colours, shapes, and the reflections of light both natural and ambient. I see patterns and incongruencies. I see LIFE.