Archive | August, 2009

On Mr. Perfect

31 Aug

Dear Perfect,

I really wanted to write you this letter some time ago.  I have had a problem putting these thoughts down on paper.  I still have so many emotions when it comes to you.  So many that assail me at any given time, on any given day.

We met a number of months ago, during an inter-departmental fire training.  You were finalizing your divorce, and I was in the middle of mine.  We were brought together by our mutual bad marriages.  We bonded, and we took things way too fast.  We took everything way too fast.  Feelings, meeting each others kids, intimacy, sharing information.  I don’t regret it, it was right for us at the time.  It was everything we both needed.  You complimented me, took care of me without expecting anything in return.  You told me I treated you better then anyone else ever has, treated your kids better then their mother does.  But I began to notice a change in you.

You started becoming withdrawn.  You didn’t talk to me as much, even though you were still spending a lot of time with me.  Snuggling with me, holding me very tightly.  It was a change.  And the intimacy was different, too.  The last two times we were together sparked the first seeds of doubt in my mind.  The second to the last time it was very angry, like you couldn’t get enough of me.  The last time it was very slow…loving…almost like you were saying goodbye.  And that definitely was the case.

The next day I got a phone call from you while I was at work.  WHILE I WAS AT WORK.  You said you couldn’t handle it anymore.  The feelings, the stress, the deceit.  The deceit?  My heart just dropped, the blood drained from my face.  I hurried up and left the day room, my co-worker’s eyes on my back as I ran out.  What deceit?  I asked.  What are you saying?  That’s when you threw me a curve-ball.

I still love my ex-wife, you said.  I can’t deny it anymore.  I want to try and work things out with her even though our marriage was horrible.  I have been struggling with this for the last week.  Believe me, I didn’t want to do this to you.  I don’t want to give up something great.  But I feel like I have to try.

I was silent, thinking, processing.  Many things raced through my head.  A week?  You have been having these thoughts for a week?  I had been with you twice this week, did that mean anything to you?  Have you been talking to her this last week as well?  How did I get wrapped up in all of this?

I asked you these questions, starting with the one that struck me as most important at the time.  You took me to bed just last night, Perfect.  LAST NIGHT!  What was that, your fucked up way of saying goodbye?

No, you replied.  It wasn’t.  I wasn’t using you, I wasn’t playing you.  I had been seeing you while I was talking to her because I didn’t know what I wanted.

Whoa whoa whoa…you have been seeing both of us at the same time!?  What the fuck, Perfect!  Oh God, please, PLEASE tell me you haven’t been sleeping with both of us.  Oh my God, please…

No, you said.  I haven’t.

How was I to trust that, when you have lied to me about your feelings?  No ‘I love you’s’ were ever exchanged, but we both cared deeply about each other.  At least I thought we did.  I cared deeply about you.  I was falling in love with you, and I didn’t realize it until that point.

What followed were text messages, since I couldn’t bear to hear your voice.  You told me I was amazing.  I was wonderful.  You felt guilty and horrible.  I cried.  I was at work, in front of a bunch of firemen, and I cried.  All I kept asking was why.  Why you felt the need to revisit the past.  If it didn’t work before, why are you doing it again.

You never were able to give me an answer I wanted, or needed to hear.  You just said it is something you felt like you had to do.  And me, being the stupid, understanding, empathetic person I am, got it.  I did.  Divorce sucks.  It’s hard.  And I can’t hold against you the fact you want to try to save your marriage.  I put down my phone, determined to not communicate with you anymore.  I couldn’t handle it any longer.

I called my best friend.  The next morning she showed up at my place with snacks in one hand, and a big bottle of margarita’s in the other.  We spent all day drinking, talking, crying.  It was just what I needed.  I cried myself to sleep, and the next day I woke up feeling much better.  I was well on my way to healing…even went out on a date or two.  And then it happened.  What I was dreading.

A couple of weeks later.  930 in the morning.  My phone rang, and I picked it up to look at it.  I saw your name on my screen.  I paled, my breath caught in my throat.  Perfect.  No mistaking who it was.  Do I answer, do I not?  I wanted to hear your voice, I answered.

Hello.  No answer.  Heeeeellllllooooooo!

Esme? was the quiet response.  Esme, is that you?  Then you broke down, started sobbing.  Ummm…what is going on?

You started talking, and I couldn’t stop you.  Couldn’t get a word in edgewise.  I couldn’t interrupt you, because I wanted to hear what you had to say.  The story was unbelievable.

You and your ex had been spending a lot of time together, talking.  You thought things were going well.  You went to her place to surprise her, to take her out to breakfast, to tell her you were going to reverse the divorce.  The door was locked when you got there.  You used your key, and walked in on your ex-wife banging two guys on the sofa.  From what I understood, you raised all holy hell and ran out.  I was the first person you called.  You told me you messed up, you made a mistake.  You said you were sorry you hurt me, and you realized you were wrong.

I was speechless.  I mean, wow, that sucks.  What a horrible story.  But why was I the person you chose to call?  Why me?  You told me again you were sorry, you messed up.

Perfect, I said, I don’t want to date you.  You hurt me.  You broke my heart.  Ripped it out, stomped on it.  I was crushed, and I am just now coming out of it.  I can’t trust you.  How do I know you won’t do this again?

I know, you said.  I know.

I wished you luck and hung up the phone.  And then I cried.  I cried for you all over again.  Damn you…I was done crying over you.

As the days progressed, you began texting me again, and made the occasional phone call.  Never asking about dating, but just wanting to be friends.  You told me you have never had this connection with anyone else, and you want to work on keeping it.  You said you would earn my trust back, you would do what it takes for us to get there.  I have to admit, I missed talking to you.  I missed your advice.

Against my better judgement, I allowed these exchanges to take place.  I began taking more of your phone calls.  We got back to a place where we were talking every day.  We reached the level of comfort we had before.  Crap.

This is going to be bad…

Love, Esme

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The Last Straw…

31 Aug

Dear 24 year-old Horndog,

OK, I have had it.  Yes, we went out on a date.  I met you during the academy.  You found out I was single, and you asked me out for dinner and drinks.  I thought you were MUCH closer to my age (you definitely look much closer to my age), so I said yes.  I did have a good time, but when I found out you were seven (7) years younger then me, I informed you I was uncomfortable with it.  I told you I am not alright with our age difference.  Almost different generations.  I thought I was clear.  Nothing intimate happened between us, I thanked you for the fun time, and I walked away.

You, apparently, did not take the hint.

I have received numerous text messages from you asking when we can go out again.  I keep politely turning you down.  The last straw, however, was the other night when I received the following text messages. All after midnight.   And I quote:

You:   Hey.  Just wondering what you are doing.

Me:  I am in bed sleeping.

You:  How about I come do you.  I have a boner.

Me:  Pass

Bear with me here.  Some rules when trying to get into bed with a woman.

1. Never, ever, use the word ‘boner’.  The only ones who do are, well, 24 year-olds.

2. Never ask a woman if you can ‘do her’.  Big no-no.

3. Take the damn hint…I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to date you, and I don’t want to fuck you.

Pass.

Love, Esme

My Awakening

30 Aug

Dear Firefighter,

I have so much to thank you for, and you have no clue.  Probably never will, since I would never be brave enough to tell you this in person.  But you are the man that gave me the courage to get up and brush myself off.  The man that showed me it was okay to get back out there.  The man that proved sex is something that can be wonderful and fantastic.

For the previous ten years, I have had a horrible sex life…but I didn’t know it was horrible.  I thought it just wasn’t for me, that I didn’t like it, that it could never feel good.  Never once did I blame my ex-husband for the fact I didn’t have an orgasm.  I just thought I was defective.  I had heard my friends stories, and wistfully thought about the day…but you made that day a reality.

There were many instances that led up to that day.  We had many talks about my impending divorce, about the lack of my sex-life.  I remember one day I was running on the treadmill.  You approached me when I was in mile 2 of my run.  I was red, sweaty.  You stood in front of my treadmill, in my line of sight.  You gave a sexy half-smile (which always drive me crazy) and said to me:

I’m going to lay it on the line for you, Esme.  I feel like I have been throwing myself at you, and you aren’t picking up on it.  I am going to spell it out for you plainly since you have been through a lot.  You need a stiff dick.  You need to get laid, and you need someone to show you how great it can be.  When you are ready for that, come find me.

I stumbled, and caught myself before I fell off the treadmill.  I was speechless.  I stared at you as you turned on your heel and walked out.  Thoughts raced through my mind.  Two kept coming to the forefront:  Could I do this, and when can we do this?

As fate would have it, we were scheduled to work together a couple of weeks later.  And I had forgotten.  I walked into the station and came to a sudden halt.  You hadn’t forgotten.  You were sitting at the table, wearing that killer sexy smile.  Hey Esme, you said.  I’m looking forward to working with you today.

The day progressed, and I jumped every time you said my name or came near me.  My senses were on high alert, my body tingling.  I was ready, and I was waiting.

We finally got the chance later that night.  Only one other person was up with us.  I stood up and walked into the ambulance bay, muttering something about cheking to see if I replaced something.  I went into the bay, stood by the garage door, and tried to calm my racing heart.  I turned as the door to the day room opened, and you emerged on your phone.  You shut your phone, and sauntered over to me.  I was paralyzed, rooted to the spot.  You paused 5 steps from me, and just smiled.  You have to come to me, Esme.  You need to let me know that you want to do this.  I took a hesitant step forward, then another.  Once I was in your arms reach, you swept me into your embrace, your lips swooped down on mine.

Your hands explored my body, touching places that haven’t known pleasure in a long time.  It was all about me.  You let me enjoy every new sensation, let me get lost in the feelings.  At some point we moved into the ambulance so we wouldn’t get caught.  You took your time with me.  When you finally entered me, I thought I died and went to heaven.

As long as it lasted, it was over way to soon.  You helped me get dressed, straighten up my clothes, made sure I was presentable.  You gave me one small kiss on my forehead, smiled, and walked away.

Why is that day seared in my memory?  Because even though it was just a moment in your life, it was my awakening.  You showed me it can be fantastic.  You showed me I am attractive, that someone will want me…even if it is in just a sexual way.  And most important, you made me realize that I am not broken.  It wasn’t me, it was him.

No awkwardness exists between us.  We still work together without a problem, and that evening was never repeated.

I thank you.

Love, Esme

Do These Things Happen Only To Me?

30 Aug

Dear Mr. Hottie,

I got the most interesting call from you yesterday, but let me back-track a little.  Let’s reminisce, shall we?

I met you soon after the date-rapist episode.  I was out with a friend who succeeded in calming me down, getting me to think rationally again.  We were sitting at a local restaurant food chain, drinking appletinis.  She piped up, asked if I felt like going to the bar.  Sure, I replied.  What else do I have going on?  We took separate cars.

When I arrived at Murphy’s, she said someone was going to meet us.  I shrugged my shoulders, expecting to be another female.  Instead, walked in you.  One of the most beautiful specimens I had ever seen.  Blond hair, blue eyes, muscular.  Phenomenal upper body (which I am a sucker for), and a sexy smirk that made me melt.  It looks like you had just stepped out of a surfing magazine.  I couldn’t take my eyes off you.  I was even more surprised when you sat down at our table, and hugged my friend.  Were you real?  You turned that dazzling smile on me and said…something.  I don’t know what.  I was too busy staring at you and your body.

Our friend noticed the attraction between us and excused herself, said she had to go home and see her husband.  We stayed and talked.  Talked about all kinds of things.  We didn’t even noticed the bar had closed, and chairs were flipped up on tables all around us.  You walked me to my car, and asked me out for the following Friday.  The only people who ask me out are ones I have known for a while, ones who enjoy my personality.  But there you were, only knew me for a couple of hours, and you wanted to see me again.  And, you were gorgeous.  I was ecstatic.

Our first date was wonderful.  You complimented me, you paid attention only to me, even though skanks at the bar continually tried to drag you away.  I felt like a million dollars.  We just talked for five hours.  Neither of us, however, could deny the sexual spark that radiated between us.  As we closed down that bar, you asked me what I wanted to do next.  I didn’t know there was a next, I replied.  Sure, you said.  You explained that other bars in the area were still open.  Then you said it.  What I wanted subconcsiously to hear.

“Or, we can just go back to my place.”

“That option.  I like that option the best.”

I couldn’t believe that just came out of my mouth.  I had never, EVER, gone home with anyone on the first date, and I said so.  You smiled that sexy smile, and told me to consider it our second.

What followed was a night of unbelievable passion.  It was, needless to say, amazing and just what I needed.  I couldn’t believe, you, Mr. Hottie, was giving me such intense pleasure.

What amazed me more was the fact you called me the next day.  I was prepared to write you off as a one-night-stand.  But you proved me wrong.  We went out a few more times, then I stopped hearing from you.  Did you realize I wasn’t in the league of your looks?  Got what you needed?  Thought I would never know.

But last night my phone rang.  Just the sound of your voice flooded me with memories of our nights together. You apologized profusely, said you wanted to call but you just couldn’t.  What’s that mean, I asked?  Why couldn’t you call?

“This chick, who I was seeing before I started seeing you, called me a week ago and told me she was pregnant.”

Ouch.  I was speechless.  I was sad.  I was…I don’t know what.  I thanked you for letting me know, and I hung up.  Then one thought passed through my mind…

At least it’s not me!

A Scary Moment

24 Aug

Dear Wanna-be Date-Rapist,

A friend decided to set up, thought we would be compatible.  I said I don’t do blind dates.  She gave me your e-mail address.  I held onto it for a number of months, until another friend of mine talked me into e-mailing you.  She asked me what do I have to lose?

What followed was a 6-month friendship on Yahoo Messenger.  Not an ideal way to get to know someone, but it worked.  I got to know somethings about you, you got to know somethings about me.  You started bringing up sex, which originally didn’t bother me.  I did let you know I don’t sleep with people on the first date.  You said you were just fine with that, it showed integrity.  I didn’t give it another thought.

Finally, I decided to meet you, after a couple of months of you asking me.  Against my better judgement, I said you could come and pick me up at my place.  I figured we knew enough about each other.  I almost cancelled that plan, but the mutual friend said you would be cool, you wouldn’t try anything.  So I went with the plan.

We discussed going out to dinner.  I am very rarely without my kids, and told you I would love an actual dinner…actual adult conversation.  You agreed, and plans were made.  I found myself growing excited.  I was finally going to put a face with the name…get to visualize all of our conversations.

The evening of the date I took my time dressing, making sure I wasn’t giving off any vibes I didn’t want to, but making sure I looked alluring.  I didn’t want to send you the wrong signals, but I wanted to look great.

There was a knock on my door, and I jumped up to answer.  When I opened the door, I was greeted with a sight I didn’t expect. You looked nothing like the picture I saw, which is ok.  But…you were not dressed for a night out on the town.  You were wearing a t-shirt with holes all over it, ratty shorts, and birkenstocks.  Ummm…

Me: Hey.  Are…we going to dinner?

You: Eventually.

Me: What?

You pushed me into my house and started kissing me.  I am a strong woman, but I had a hard time pushing you off of me.  I finally got myself seperated, after your wandering hands took a couple of squeezes on my ass and tits.  I, in a deathly quiet voice, told you I would call the cops if you didn’t leave.  You muttered under your breath about sexual chemistry.  I yelled that we have no sexual chemistry!  You put your birkenstocks on and walked to my door.  You paused, turned around, and said:

“Consider this foreplay.”

WHAT?  I was in shock.  It takes a lot to render me speechless, and you succeeded.  I stood there, with my mouth open, as the door closed behind you.  I started laughing hysterically.  I think it kept me from crying.  No one has ever treated me that way.  No one has ever done anything like that to me.  How was I supposed to react?  What made you think it was ok?  I wasn’t dressed seductively, I didn’t say “Come over for a fuck”, I gave you no notion that I was going to sleep with you after dinner.  I don’t understand it.

You repeatedly e-mailed me, IMed me, asking why I haven’t called or written back.  You wanted to know if I didn’t think you were good enough.  Excuse me?  I ignored each of your messages, and blocked you on Yahoo.  In your last e-mail, you called me “weak” and “lame”.  I am weak and lame?  Apparently the only way you can get laid is if you date-rape someone.  In what kind of home did you grow up in where what you did is OK?  How can you look at yourself in the mirror every morning?  How is it you have the audacity to call me lame?

Go fuck yourself.

Love, Esme

A New Beginning

20 Aug

Dear ex-husband,

That’s right, I am not even going to capitalize your status.  You are not worth it.  You are barely worth me writing these words.  However, I will.  I will reiterate what I have told you so many times already.

Why are we now divorced?  Because you hit me.  You forced yourself on me.  You withheld money from me.  You called me worthless.  A whore.  A slut.  You told me I was useless, that I would never amount to anything.   You told me no one would ever want me, no one would find me attractive, no one would ever love me again.  You played to my insecurities every day, making sure I would never leave you.  But you never counted on one thing…the strength of a fed-up woman.

I finally went back to school, and became what I always wanted to be…a firefighter/paramedic.  And that gave me more strength.  I started standing up to you, which gave me more strength.  I met people who treated me that way I deserve to be treated, even more strength.

I now know I am a beautiful, vivacious woman who is in love with life, and everything it has to offer.  No thanks to you.  I hope you find this blog, and read all about the experiences I will have.  Or have had already.  After all, I can’t make these things up.  Even the bad, is better then you.

Love, Esme