Wait For The Right Man

Wait for the right man. That’s what I was supposed to do. I was supposed to save myself for marriage, or at least for a man I loved and was in love with. I didn’t do either of those things. I traded the magical, romantic first time for a stoned and drunk fuck. Oddly enough, I’m not regretful. I don’t feel ashamed that I lost it to a known “player”, and I don’t feel embarrassed over the fact that I sneaked out of his house that morning. We both know what happened, but we’re not going to make a big deal out of it. If we did, we would both get murdered. Him more than me, but I’d get my fair share of an ass kicking. I saw him the very next night and everything was normal. We said our hellos, we hugged, and we flirted. Honestly, if I didn’t feel what I feel on the inside I wouldn’t think anything had happened. But trust me. My body is telling me that something happened. I get these little flashbacks, little clips of us.

Me whispering in his ear. His hand clutching my thigh. My tongue tracing his ear. His hands gripping my breast. Then our faces turned and mouths met. His teeth clashed against mine, and my tongue was trapped in his mouth. I pulled back and sucked his bottom lip with me. His hand slid up my back and grabbed my hair. I moaned. Loud. Then I attacked his mouth again. There was no shame. I didn’t think about the fact that he had a girlfriend back home. I didn’t think about the fact that we intended on hooking up with different people that night. I didn’t even think about how he played Samantha. All I could concentrate on was pushing him back onto the bed and getting closer to his body.

There was a second when I remembered that we were both drunk and stoned, but the moment passed and I was back at it. My hands couldn’t get enough of him, and his hands rested on my ass, grinding me against him. I pulled back and mumbled something about hating my long hair. I don’t remember if he responded, but it doesn’t matter now. Soon I lost my shorts, but still had on my stockings. His shirt was off, and so were his jeans. He got up and asked if I minded him taking off his pants. Of course I didn’t. The damn thing needed to come off. He got off the bed and his jeans were off. When he came back on the bed he was hovering over me. I probably should have felt intimidated, but I bit my lip and accepted his challenge. One of my hands brought his face down to me, while my other hand slid down his back and played with the waist band of his briefs.

Things start to blur from there. I do remember going down on him. I remember falling off the bed, trying to get the condom out of his pants. Then I remember him filling me. I woke up the next morning, makeup all over my face, and my hair looking a mess. I rolled over and saw that he was knocked out, with his arm around me. It took me a second to realize who I was lying with and what had happened that night. When I realized that I needed to get the fuck out of there, I grabbed my jacket, shoes, and socks. I stuffed them in my purse and called for my ride. Like I said, I don’t regret anything. I’m pretty damn happy with the way things happened. If that makes me a hoe, then I guess I’m a hoe. If that makes me a slut, then I’m a slut. If people want to judge that one action- create a whole lifestyle for me based off of one night- then let them. I don’t care. I’m not here to please anyone, no pun intended. If I can live with my decisions, then everyone else should be able to accept me too.


I Can’t and I Won’t.

I’m sorry

That’s what you want to hear from me

I’m sorry

Choking on apologies

My tears staining my face

My sobs cleaning our slate

A new beginning

A forgotten ending

I’m sorry

Is that all I have to say


I can’t

I won’t

Your dick fucked her

My heart hit the earth

Your tongue pushed its way in

I’m left coping with your sins

I can’t and I won’t apologize

One day you will sink beneath your lies

I try to believe

I try to trust

I try to love

But you make it tough

I’ll never be enough


‘Cause I give a fuck

I’m the one who loved

You left me behind

You left me in the dust

And I’m stuck here

Trying to find a way to cope

I’m stuck here


‘Cause you’ve stolen all my hope


Our hands are everywhere at once.  His full weight on top of my body yearning to be touching skin instead of clothing.  He is placing butterfly kisses down my neck, and I try to remember how to inhale and exhale.  Our ragged breaths are drowned out by our racing pulse.  I push my hands under his shirt trying to reach skin, but even as I feel how flawless he is, it is not enough.  I start to lift the shirt up but he nips at my neck, causing me to forget my attempt to remove his shirt.  I arch myself, molding my body to his.  He emits a sound between a moan and a growl, and I place my hands back onto his body.

As I lift my arms a final time, I slide them up to take the offensive material off of his torso.  My fingers feel like ice compared to his scorching body.  I scratch my nails down his back and feel him curve into me.  His shallow puffs of heat coast over my collar bone and drift into my ear.  He somehow gets my bra loosened and sits up to straddle my hips.  I groan from the lack of contact and reach up to bring him back to me.  He smirks and runs his fingers under my back and into the inside of my bra.  I hear three distinct clicks then feel a rush of air between my breasts.  The feel of his warm fingers against my back causes me to lean upwards.  His hands are not just resting against my skin anymore, but they are bringing my body up to meet his.

But we never collide.

“Why do you do this to me,” I whisper to him as he pulls his hands away, causing me to fall back towards the bed.

And that is it.

I lay awake in my bed, panting, with an ache between my legs.  I groan and turn over in my bed, checking to see how much sleep I got tonight.  Two thirty-seven is flashing back at me in red.

Awesome. I slept for a grand total of two hours and seven odd minutes. Lovely.

These dreams, nightmares almost, seem to get worse the longer I go without seeing him.

Random Introduction

There is a beautiful component that comes with heartbreak. It’s something that you can see and feel. You can watch as someone’s face crumbles, as someone’s shoulders droop.  You can watch as someone’s lips tremble as he or she tries to accept the harsh fact that the fairy tale love has come to an end. You see the failed attempt of a fake smile. The visible pain is tormenting. However, I think the internal damage not only lasts longer, but is more exhausting to live with. Could you imagine having to endure a day when your heart feels like it’s been shattered inside your chest? Or a night when you cry and cry in your bed, alone, begging God to explain to you how and why everything went wrong so quickly. Could you imagine convincing yourself to twitch your face into something that society would be appreciative of?

Something that would cause society to think, “Oh, see? The girl is just fine! She’s able to mosey around town, and she’s able to smile! I call that bouncing back with courage!”

Or for a guy, “He is such a man. He just got dumped, but he has the strength to stand up tall and continue on. Such admirable traits.”

            Little does society know that your head is swimming with ill thoughts about yourself, and little do they know that you would rather sink to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean than face another day.

Now, let’s put you in the shoes of the heartbroken. Well, I guess I’ve already done that. You can picture an individual who’s enduring a broken heart, and you can feel the emotional turmoil. Maybe you, yourself, have had a broken heart. Maybe you know exactly what I’m talking about. Maybe you’re nodding you head in silent agreement. I’m glad that you’re able to sympathize with the broken hearted, but that makes me sad  knowing that you endured such a rough experience. Still, I’m glad that you have a visual of this broken person, but, for my sake, let’s pretend that the broken hearted person is a girl.  Actually, I’m going to take it one step further. Let’s pretend that this shattered girl is me. Everything you’re about to read is a completely made-up, creative experiment kind of situation. I’m just explaining this false scenario in case there are people out there who feel like they’re all alone. Did I mention that what you’re about to read has absolutely no truth, no honest foundation? Yeah, completely made up.

It all happened when I turned twenty.  Well, supposedly happened anyways…

Part One

What is your favorite color?  Do you like beer or soda when you watch a ball game?  Would you rather have breakfast in bed or breakfast for dinner?  Who do you look up to?  How many countries have you ventured?  When was the last time you smiled at a stranger?  There is so much I do not know, but I cannot stop thinking about you.  Two days. Forty-Eight hours.  That is all the time we spent together.  It was not even a full weekend, but I cannot get you out of my head!  Everyone teased me, because it was obvious that I had hearts in my eyes whenever I saw you or spoke to you.  I blushed more times than I care to remember, because you would smile at me for no reason.  I guess I know the answer to the last time that you smiled at a stranger.

“What are you smiling at?” I looked down at my sweaty palms, hoping that the perspiration would evaporate. 

            “I can’t just look at you and smile?” Your grin was disarming and jolting.

            “No. No you can’t.  It makes me nervous.”

            You began to laugh and shake your head, “You don’t ever let your guard down, do you?”

            I looked up and, with a blush spreading its way across my cheeks, said, “I have to keep my guard up when I’m with you.”

It is hard to believe that after meeting you for the first time three days ago and only spending forty-eight hours in your presence, you have such a strong hold on me.  It is said that first impressions either make or break a relationship, romantic or platonic, and my first impression of you was overwhelmingly positive.  I have so many questions for you; I want to know you better.  There was something sickeningly sweet about your face and voice.  The scruff of your beard did not make you look rough or older, but it gave you a subtle innocence.  I doubt that you want to be told that you look innocent or younger than you actually are, but that is what I felt when I looked at you.  I know that you are twenty-five, and I know that you graduated from college in 2011.  That is not information that I searched or google’d; your friends openly talked about you to me.

“What’s your deal, girl? How do you know Chad?” A man in his late twenties sat on the wood bench outside the hotel with me.  I had seen him last the previous night, but I could not remember his name.

            I stumbled through my reply, “I- uh.. I met him last night at the bar in the lobby.  He came through with Rich, and they sat down with me.”

            “Oh. So you’re friends with Rich?” His eyes were an alarmingly light green.

            I did not know if knowing Rich was a good thing or a bad thing, so I shrugged my shoulders, “I wouldn’t say that we’re friends; more like… acquaintances.  He seems like a nice guy, though.”

            “You don’t have to pretend like you don’t know him- he’s a good guy.  If you’re Stella, then he’s talked about you before.”

            I sat back against the bench and gave this green-eyed-all-knowing guy a thorough inspection.  His light green eyes were a stark contrast to the hair on his head.  His jet black hair was speckled with white, but not overpoweringly.  Although we were sitting, it was evident that he was at least six feet tall.  The bench seemed to be a bit too small for him, because his legs were stretched out in an almost uncomfortable manner.  He was sitting a few feet away from me, but his arm that was resting on the back of the bench came just past my shoulder.  This man could very easily become intimidating, yet he radiated a feeling of calmness and ease. 

            “Hello, earth to Stella,” he was waving his hand in front of my face with his eyes wide, “Are you in there? Are you not Stella?”

            “No, no. I am Stella. Sorry, I- uh… I zone out a lot.” I blinked several times before I looked back at his face. 

            He had an amused smile on his face, “It’s okay. We all have those moments.”

            I chuckled, “Yeah.”

            “So how do you know Rich?”

            “I actually met him here last year, but I’m sure that you knew that considering you know of me. May I ask your name since you know mine?”

            His smiled and stuck out his hand, “Yes, you may. I’m Brandon.  I’ve been friends with Rich since I was in grade school, and I’ve been buds with Chad since college.  All three of us went to the same college and graduated in 2011. But back to business,” his smile turned into a smirk, “How do you know Chad?”    

            My face turned towards the ground, “I told you. I met him last night at the bar when Rich came.”

            Brandon sat back against the bench and flicked my shoulder, “I know how you met him, but I want to know how you know him. You know, after the ‘hi’s’ and ‘hello’s’.”

            I leaned forward and twisted towards him, folding my legs under me to sit on the bench comfortably, “We talked for a while after Rich went up to get you and some of your other friends.  He seems like a good guy, ” I looked towards the hotel lobby, “We actually talked a lot about missing home.”  I turned back to Brandon and saw his lips had shaped into a grin again, “What?”

            “Oh, nothing.” His boyish grin never left his face.

            It was my turn to flick him on the shoulder, “What are you grinning at?”

            “Ow! You flicked me a hell of a lot harder than I flicked you. I’m just smiling because Chad got that dopey eyed look when we asked him about you.”

            I felt chills run up and down my body. “What? What does that mean?”
His grin softened into a gentle smile, “Girl, stop playing.  Not to seem immature, but you two like-like each other. We have only been here for one night, and it’s clear that you two are attracted to each other.”