I believe in love. Wholeheartedly.
Seriously, don’t shake your head like that. I do.
I can picture those of you who already know me snickering. Well, don’t.
There is no need for that, and frankly, it’s kinda rude, don’t you think?
Here, I’ll say it again: I genuinely believe in love. I know all about its magic. Good and bad. I know the world seems bigger when you’re drunk on love. I know it mends broken hearts, makes you deliriously happy, excited, hopeful…terrified, sick…a whole list of things that make this complicated world we are living in a better place.
For example, my best friend Olive. She has loved her husband ever since she was a wee bitty kid. She even asked Jason to marry her when she was six years old. She was six, people—six! Isn’t that just the cutest thing you’ve ever heard? Then when they found each other years later, his movie star self swept her off her feet. Love works for her, big time, and it looks good on her too. She deserves all the love in the world.
Me? Love hangs a bit loose on me. Essentially, it’s not quite the best fit.
So…what I’m saying is, love can do anything and everything…as long as you don’t have a curse hanging over your head like I do. Oh, and you have to be willing to let love into your life, open that heavy door that leads the poor guy into the maze that is your heart, so to speak.
That’s the tricky part, isn’t it? You have to let love in. You have to open yourself up, share your least lovable parts, the deepest, darkest corners of your soul. That’s the only way to experience real love. They feed us that shit as early as possible, or so I’ve heard. Our surroundings are an ongoing commercial for love. Share yourself with someone, be true, be honest, and if they love you for who you are then you are golden.
Enjoy the confetti shower that just blasted in your face.
You found real love. Good for you.
Sucks for the rest of us.
Now…do I let love in? Nope. I try my hardest not to, thank you very much. Been there, done that. If you are asking me what my problem is if I do indeed believe in love…well, if you are so curious about it, my problem is that my dear old friend ‘love’ doesn’t love me back. Never did. Probably never will.
I’d say it’s quite rude of her, but…I’ve made my peace with it—at least I thought I had until I went and fell for Jameson.
Enter the hot bad boy covered in ink. College love.
If you haven’t guessed it yet, I have all kinds of daddy and mommy issues. As if all of those weren’t enough to fuck up my life, I have grandma issues to top it all off.
Blah blah blah…
Now you’re starting to think I’m boring, and we can’t have that.
Let’s talk about one-night stands instead. Those are fun, right? You’re skirting around love, smiling at each other, feeling all dizzy and ditzy with the excitement that you might score a good one, enjoy the feeling of having someone else’s skin on yours, his hot breath, the heat, that blasted bliss you get to experience for a few seconds when he manages to hit that sweet spot—if he hits that sweet spot. Those are all awesome things, I agree. Hell, I encourage you to experience all those feelings, especially if he has some good inches on him.
Don’t be a bitch; be a calm, happy waterfall.
Roar at life. In life.
Don’t be closed off; be as free as a raindrop.
Most important of all: live.
My greatest advice to you all is, whatever you do, don’t go back to the spectacular one-night stand you had just to satisfy your traitorous body’s needs if you’re trying to stay away from love, have your fun, live a little, love someone for a single night and then move on. Because if you keep going back to the same guy, oh, I don’t know…about a hundred times…eventually what will happen is that you’ll start to have feelings for said guy.
Look at that—I have a heart after all. Didn’t expect that, did you? So you start to fall in love just like I did. Slowly. At first, you might feel a trickle of something you can’t name because of how well he wields that huge cock of his (by the way, that’s called an orgasm, not love). He’ll zap you with all kinds of feelings when he is using it on you. And yes, he’ll be that good; heartbreakers tend to be good in the sack.
More for you to cry over when they’re done with you. Goody, right?
But then you’ll foolishly start to put more meaning behind the Big O you experience every time he is near you with that monster cock. And then his smile will start muddling the waters, or the way he touches your face, or the way he looks at you when you take off your shirt in front of him—all smoldering and shit. Then those wicked words of his will make their way into your heart and brain. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll start to feel safe because he seems to genuinely care for you. Then somehow, before you have the chance to back up…before you even realize what your heart is doing behind your back…
You’re in love.
Congrats. And, well, fuck you, dear heart!
Now you can thoroughly enjoy the misery that will surely follow suit.
Of course, I can’t speak for everyone, but at least that’s what happened between me and Jameson, my one and only college love, so go and blame him for the love vomit.
It had been exactly six days and twenty-one hours since he’d left Los Angeles and moved to Pittsburgh to start his stupid new job at his stupid new firm, leaving me behind, a little heartbroken, and essentially homeless.
If you’re wondering how I managed to fall in love with this Jameson who broke my heart…let me rewind a bit. I met Jameson in a study group for our economics class. Contrary to popular belief, I wouldn’t jump into bed with someone I’d just met—and I didn’t. At first, I just enjoyed the view and chose to somewhat salivate over him…because that’s always fun, isn’t it? Oh, the anticipation, the coy looks, all those knowing smirks. Then a few weeks later we just tumbled into a bed that was nearby. Just like that, I swear.
Completely accidental, I tell you.
I recall seeing some ink on his chest and forearms, and then he turned around and I saw those tight buns. Suddenly we were in a bed and he was giving me and my lovely vagina the time of our life. I’ve already mentioned how good those monster cocks feel, haven’t I? I wouldn’t have minded if he were a tad bit thicker, but, oh well…I guess you can’t have it all in life.