I never give Valentine’s Day much thought. But this year has me a little more reflective than usual. And despite my rock hard exterior, I’m really quite the sensitive flower. And as you would expect for a sensitive flower, relationships are tough. Ever since I could connect the vagina to the penis, or in some cases the vagina to the vagina, I’ve been practicing love. I was always in love with love and I loved the beginnings of things. I loved everyone I ever fucked, even if only for a few minutes. And if I’m being honest, I wanted them to love me in return. It was all I ever wanted. Psychoanalyze if you will, but I craved love, did desperate things, ridiculous things for it. And some really enjoyable things, too.
Thinking of those I’ve loved and fucked, I decided to up the cheese factor and write them all a love letter. Here it goes.
To B: You were my first. My exploration. I learned a lot of things from you but the ability to orgasm was not one of them. When you started your Young Republican phase I knew it was time to go. Last I heard you were living in Florida. I’m glad I’m not there with you.
To M: You were 32 and so handsome and your attention was almost too much for my 19-year-old ego. I was doomed from that first smarmy smile. You were a fantastic notch on my bed post and I don’t regret you at all. Though you weren’t quite as good as you thought. I was just young and didn’t know any better.
To P: I loved you. Really. No, I didn’t. Maybe I did. I was disgusted by you. Really, I was disgusted with myself that I spent a semester writing terrible, angst-ridden poetry about you. Actually, it wasn’t terrible. I got an A on that set of poems. I hate that you read them and knew they were about you. That was the worst.
To J: I enjoyed you and your terrible tattoos. Your dirty boy lust was a thrill and our first kiss is still clear in my mind. You looked so good after you spent that summer as a roadie for the Lilith Fair. Apparently others thought so too because you cheated on me with a 14-year-old girl. I thought I loved you and was devastated after we broke up. But really it was crushed pride that I was confusing for the sting of lost love. It’s so easy to do.
To J (#2): You are a stain on my history. I regret you utterly and completely.
To J (#3): You were a sweet and refreshing rebound that lasted for two years. That you were well stocked in the hardware department may have contributed to the longevity.
To L: Girls can be the worst. You are a shining example of that. And thanks for the minor STD; I really enjoyed that awkward trip to Planned Parenthood. You suck. And you’re a terrible cook.
To T: I always marveled at the size and breadth of your balls, speaking metaphorically. It would be a pleasure to see you again. I like you. But I like your dog more.
To N: You were a dick. Jesus Christ, you were a dick. And no one likes being pounded like that. I hope you don’t pass that on to the next generation.
To Mike, who I love the best: You are always there. You never leave even when I push. You know me completely and sometimes that scares me, but mostly it just feels like home. If you want to know the truth, I was so scared in the beginning. Everything was rushed and I was terrified of making a mistake. But I didn’t. Whew. You are the best. Just the best. I love you and I’m smiling as I write this, thinking of you. See you tonight.
EDITOR’S NOTE (THAT’S ME): The spacing in the last three entries is not intentional. Wordpress isn’t so awesome sometimes. And it’s making me crazy. To J#4 and J#5, you deserve a line space in between you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t give it to you.