I think I'm telling the story backwards, but only because I haven't started far back enough...but far back enough would entail a few chapters, and this was supposed to just be an explanation of the brief but overwhelming time I had with Jon at one point in my life. Ahh, the narrative difficulties. Ok, ok...well I'll just pick up where I was and see where it takes me, since I was reading this afternoon a part of Stephen King's It, where he says, perhaps it is not the story itself, but where the story goes that is important. Sometimes it goes where you intended, but other times it does not.
Diving back in....So I said yes to him that second time, but with a cold and angry heart, so I could not even bear to hold his hand, let alone be romantic in any sense of the word. I felt like I was dying inside, like a part of me that mattered had just accepted its fate with the ugly fat boy and choked down the cyanide pill instead. But then Jon came back, and I realized that it hadn't died. On a breezy late summer afternoon. With that promising smell of fall in the air which has only just recently made sweatshirts a night time requirement once again. Hope rose up and bloomed right in my angry little cold heart. With him so close, touching my side, stealing a touch...smiling and laughing and joking...I did a terrible thing. I broke up with Josh right there and then, online (the most impersonal way after e-mail). With the sweet scent of young male sex in my nose I told him I just couldn't do this anymore and he wanted to know why, and I lied. I told him it wasn't him (it was) that there wasn't anyone else (oooh the promise was certainly there though, brushing up against my thigh) and that sure, maybe when I was done with college we could get back together or something. I just needed...space.
That was mean, I know...but what could I do, I was captivated by the chance, the mere whiff of that little part inside of me that wanted actually getting some satisfaction after I had been sure it withered on the vine. And there is just something about him. There still is....it drives me from a satisfying 3 year relationship into doubt. It fills me with electricity when I just brush his skin...but I think I've probably established that fact several times over now.
So onward...its hard to pin an exact chronology on it all, it happened so fast, yet it seemed dragged out...in a logical way I know it was not that long because I remember that chilled August night, and I ended up with my bear by Halloween, so there is only a 2 month period in there for us to bud, bloom, and die, yet while I lived it it seemed so long. In fact, the true begining was much beyond that night I left Josh in the dust. If I had to pin a begining on it though, I'd have to call it his birthday, the 13th of September. The reason I have to call it that is because I conspired with his best friend to go up to Guitar Center and put the rest of the money down on this guitar that he had wanted and was buying in instalments when he could.
So that leaves it only a month and a half...and since we died a good week or two before i ended up with my bear, it was only one month. One twelvth of a year on which I pin all this insane hope and sadness. How very...ludicris and tragic I guess. Oh yes, so it started. With a kiss...a very mash nosed but authentic and exited kiss. When I gave him that little peice of paper in a card that said the guitar was his it took a moment for it to register, and then he kissed me. It was wonderful, yet it hurt at the same time.
(oh god, now this song would come on...totally random as per my usual win amp settings...My Immortal..describes us quite acurately if I say so myself...and he told me about it...fitting his ironic pattern to a T)
So then we went back after that moment, with that as a strange distruption to being friends and nothing more. But over the next few days and nights, we grew closer, and more daring in our friendliness. I remember most clearly as the start of something very odd the night that he and I spent an hour or more in front of the computer just playing around with each others tongues because he knew what kind of thrill those silly little organs gave me at the time (it's really a *fetish* or whatever that has died down over the last 4 years, I couldn't really care less as much anymore).
The next morning (the *crew* as we were called amongst ourselves stayed over at my house alot...yes I was a girl who had 3-4 boys over all the time...made my mommy proud i'm sure, but honestly other than Jon, i was pure as gold) we ended up alone together as no one else had stayed or something, and as the morning wore on we cuddled and played and finally kissed. It was beautiful...a culmination of wants and desires that nearly made my brain pop. It went on like this for hours, or so it seemed, but he had to go home...so I drove him the 3 minutes away he lived, floating right on top of a cloud. I kissed him goodbye, yet even while I could taste him on my lips as I watched him disapear into his house I could scaresley believe it was real.
The next thing I remember of an significance is perhaps that night, or another night I left my house in the hands of all my friends because at 11:30 at night Jon called me and told me I should come over to Tims house because they were drinking and we could have a "good time". And that I should bring my camera. So I have this immortalized on tape somewhere, although I suspect someone might have taped over it. I can't watch it to find out because Jon to this day has the converter tape you need to watch them on a tv, and the camcorder that plays that size of tapes, Oi Vey.
So anyway, we locked ourselves away in Tims room and kissed and played and talked, and he told me I was a better kisser than the other girls he had kissed, and as we did he gave me a rundown of them all. It was weird, yet sweet, and since I was all rummed up it all swirls together into a magical fog memory. I overwhelmingly remember how lucky I felt, and that I would have given anything to be me at that moment, so I was glad I was.
Not to get too graphic, I ended up giving him some oral sex, but he couldn't come, which actually never happened ever during our *thing*. That's one promise I wish I had kept, I always promised him I'd satisfy him the way he satisfied me. He is a guitarist with long thick fingers that worked absolute magic, if you get my drift. I always felt so bad that I wasn't as pleasing to him as he was to me. It still weighs on my mind today.
Well anyway, this kind of activity went on for the next 2 or 3 weeks, but in the end everything fell apart. But that is a cataclysim all its own, it desrves its own entry where I can elaborate. I am just to spent reliving this all to get into all of that right now.
