Put This to Music and Call it a Power Ballad

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 J (#4):  The crush I had on you was more than you could possibly have lived up to.  I may have been a little crazy in my pursuit of you, but it was worth it.  That was one of the best nights I’ve ever had.  And the crush is still there a little but mostly it’s respect.  You’re a cool guy and I wish you nothing but the best.
To J (#5):  I have never been with anyone like you.  Your religious code denied me what I wanted, but fuck me if you didn’t deliver in other areas.  We would never have worked in the long run but it was a wonderful way to spend a winter, wasn’t it?  You’re the only one to transition to friend.  Thanks for hanging in there.

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.

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