July 26, 2010

SAM SHARPE

Cause, baby, these things you’re doing to me
It hurts so bad but, It’s worth all the misery

Cause it hurts so good, don’t you know that
It hurts so good
-Millie Jackson, It Hurts So Good

.

It was a silly dance. One repeated over and over and over again. Me meeting her new boyfriends over and over, me forced to pretend that it didn’t matter. Make that, forced myself to pretend. She was always quick to remind me of that, that I didn’t have to sleep with her anymore if I didn’t want to. But she would say that they didn’t understand her like I did. They didn’t touch her like I did. But for Christ sakes how many times can you meet some poor bloke and say, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you” without feeling….something.

“When we were together, did you have other men?” I asked her once.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snorted “There was never anyone but you”

I once told myself that I would stop. So the next time she called I didn’t answer my phone. She showed up at my door anyway; with a bottle of rum, a bottle of wine and some massage oils.

“One for you, one for me and a little something for both of us” she said.

Apparently the more she took the more I gave. The more we behaved as if we were together. Until the morning would come, or her phone would ring or…then it would start all over again.

It didn’t make sense unless we were naked. I loved to run my tongue along the back of her thighs, linger in the small of her back, tasting her. Caressing her. I’d press my body against hers, making sure that she could feel me against her ass, on her thighs. Or in between them.

She loved to hold my hands and extend our arms over our heads until they hung over the rails of my bed. Then she would look me in the eye and ask me if I was ready. She would proceed to kiss and nibble on my neck, slowly meander in sinuous fashion over my chest and abdomen. Releasing my arms she would put my hands on her head so I could guide her.

Our last time together wasn’t tender. Or gentle. Or sweet. It started as a casual conversation over drinks at my place. I was telling her about Jen, whom I’d just started seeing. For some reason things got heated. Insults were exchanged. Names were called.

I told her to fuck off. She followed me into the kitchen, hit me in the back of the head and tried to slap me again as I turned around. But I grabbed her arm. And then the other one and backed her against the wall. It was stupid. It was some clichéd movie bullshit. But I was hard. She could tell.

She placed her hands on the inside of my thigh and started to kiss me. I pushed her away, turned her around and bent her over my counter. She stepped out of her panties as I hiked up her skirt and undid my pants. I entered her. We both moaned. Deeply. It was violent. It was hard. It was fucked up. It felt fuckin’ good. But it hurt. Really hurt.

A couple of weeks later I was at the Rivoli with Jen when she walked in with a group of her friends. Our eyes made four. She approached my table and said hello.

“Jen, this is______, ______ this is Jen”

She focused her gaze on Jen.

“Pleased to meet you” she said, “I’ve heard so much about you”.

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