Maybe I'm no more than...

Friday the 13th

2006-01-15T21:35:00.000-08:00

I don't know if other countries feel the same way as the USA about Friday the 13th. I'm sure I could do some quick research and find out. I've lived in two other countries for an extended period of time but neither one took notice of that day. Feel free to school me. I appreciate it.

It started when I was a child... nine years old. Our new puppy, one that we had coveted for our entire conscious lives, drowned in the swimming pool. Two years later, another Friday 13, our unhinged neighbor came screaming to our door. She claimed to have been tied up by robbers but managed to escape while they burned the house down. I can still hear the odd cat-like sound she made while knocking at our door. I can see my still-plump grandmom talking to her quietly, calming the shrieking. We found out later it was insurance fraud.

This Friday the 13th, I lost my voice after spending over an hour on the phone with my younger brother. The day before, our dog, the puppy that came in after the original one drowned, was diagnosed with congestive heart failure and they had to put him to sleep. He was my brother's dog, a source of unconditional love that my brother could not find in a house full of bitchy females and a father sedated with alcohol.

The tears ran freely down my cheeks as I spoke to him. He had dropped out of college, moved back in with my parents, came to verbal blows with my father on a daily basis, and now, his dog was dead.

I want him to come out here. Live with LB and me until he can get on his feet. Well, to be truthful, until I leave LB in May and move back in with my parents. Yes, that is the current plan.

My sister (younger by 2 years) got engaged yesterday. I will be her maid of honor, not her matron of honor, like we planned. I am working out everyday, eating right, and dreaming of a sleek, blonde pretty girl dancing with a tall, handsome man. Maybe... After all, the wedding is 7 months away, I am 25, and I dream well.

Seems like much is happening around Friday the 13th this year. Good and bad. I expected as much. My sincere wishes that anyone that might be reading this is surviving the 13th and realizing that when things are bad, well, I am hoping that they can only get better.

News on LB, AFB and James to follow soon...

A New Time

2006-01-01T20:34:00.000-08:00

My little sister is getting engaged soon. She speaks as if he has already bought the ring and I trust that that is true.

My sister has found love.

I am playing games.

I might get caught. I might not care about anything but myself.

I am getting the fuck out of here.

The old wives' tale that whatever you do on the first day of the New Year is what you will do for the rest of the year?

I researched new jobs in new cities with new people and new love.

God, please let me find myself again.

Going Away

2005-12-20T22:14:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow, LB and I begin our long journey to my parents' house.

I hope to write in a notebook on the way home, purging myself of all this... confusion.

Feliz navidad y prospero ano...

On My Mind

2005-12-20T12:10:00.000-08:00

Got out of the shower with a childhood voice chanting...

We believe in one God,
the Father, the Almighty,
maker of heaven and earth,
of all that is, seen and unseen.
We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ,
the only Son of God,
eternally begotten of the Father,
God from God, Light from Light,
true God from true God,
begotten, not made,
of one Being with the Father.
Through him all things were made.
For us and for our salvation
he came down from heaven:
by the power of the Holy Spirit
he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary,
and was made man.
For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate;
he suffered death and was buried.
On the third day he rose again
in accordance with the Scriptures;
he ascended into heaven
and is seated at the right hand of the Father.
He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead,
and his kingdom will have no end.

We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life,
who proceeds from the Father and the Son.
With the Father and the Son he is worshiped and glorified.
He has spoken through the Prophets.
We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church.
We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.
We look for the resurrection of the dead,
and the life of the world to come. Amen.

I didn't recognize myself in the bathroom mirror.

Moods

2005-12-20T09:56:00.000-08:00

When LB acts snappish with me or upset, I immediately think,

"Oh god, he knows. He knows. What is he going to do?"

I check to make sure he hasn't been on my computer. I check my phone to see if there are text messages I didn't erase. I wonder if he saw my phone blinking with a new message. If he read it. Erased it.

If he is following me when I drive to AFB's.

If he sees me moving my lips silently, going over the sweet words James whispered.

This morning, he left abruptly for work. LB took the puppy with him but didn't tell me he was doing so. I called him, asking why he took the dog.

His words were clipped. His voice pained.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing. I just don't feel like working today."

Even as I write this, I realize that he hasn't found out. He is just upset because he has to work and I do not. My biggest chore is to finish the laundry.

Today, I can bring him lunch and rub his back. I can push AFB's hands off of my body. I can force James out of my mind.

What am I doing? How did I let it go this far?

Things I am Afraid of...

2005-12-19T22:26:00.000-08:00

1. Men with white beards. No, Santa does not count.

2. Not being good enough.

3. Getting caught.

4. "Putting myself out there."

5. My sex drive.

6. That my mother is terribly unhappy with the life she chose.

7. That my brother and sister will not overcome our childhood or will not see the joy sprinkled in it.

8. Men or women that harm children.

9. Uncircumcised penises. Sorry if I offend, but no.

10. Terrible accidents that take my LB, my family, my puppy.

11. My heart.

12. That I am just like my father.

*** I reserve the right to add to this list. :)

Memory Recovered...

2005-12-19T10:16:00.000-08:00

I answer, giggling and nervous.

Lauren already knew about Michael- I couldn't help but brag about the hot Air Force guy I met on the plane. What else do you talk about during an hour long commute? She rolled her eyes at me but didn't discourage me from inviting him to the bar.

"K, I'll see you in a little bit."

Looking down at my own body, I see the teacher outfit from hell. I'm wearing a blue cardigan, a plaid knee-length skirt, and black tights. It's worse than a teacher outfit. It screams librarian.

Before I complain about my own hideousness, a tiny voice laughingly whispers in my head,

"What do you even care? You have a boyfriend! You know, the guy you live with?"

Nothing wrong with wanting to look good but still, nothing was going to happen between the two of us. Actually, I had already told Lauren she would like him. They would look cute together.

Ten minutes later, he sits between us at the bar.

I should have made Lauren sit in the middle. But I didn't.

By 8 o'clock, our knees touch together every couple of seconds and my hand rests on his thigh briefly. Lauren gets up unsteadily and heads for the bathroom.

"I'm going to take her home. Would you want to meet up again?"

"I want to see you again tonight."

"K, wait here in the parking lot and we can drive over to that new place. I'll be back soon."

Lauren hugs Michael good bye and he winks at me over her shoulder.

Drive Lauren back home. Drive back to our bar. Michael hops in and we head two blocks over to the new place.

Under my teacher clothes, every hair on my body stands at attention. My tits ache for his huge hands. My center is aflame. I'm certain that my panties are soaked. I have never, ever felt this way before.

This place makes me nervous. Anyone here could know LB. Anyone here could tell him that they saw his girlfriend with a young military guy. Huge shoulders, firm chest, that stomach... I am blushing as I look down at his jeans. I can see him, hard, waiting for me.

I finish my third beer of the night- switch to water, can't drive without some more time and more water. His hands drops to my leg, squeezes it. At once, my thigh transforms from the bane of my gym existence to the sexiest part of my body. It is smooth, tight, slightly trembling from his touch.

An hour later, I realize that LB might already be home. We get up from our stools, laughing about how strange it was to meet on a plane, and walk outside. The cold air hits me hard and I instinctually move into him, looking up at his beautiful blue eyes.

He kisses me.

The waves roll over me, tossing my body about. I am upside down, then right side up, on my side, on my back, in the fetal position, spread out like the Vitruvian Man. Ocean water in my mouth, my nose, my ears, my sex... filling up. Splashing within me, the waves curl and toss against my rib cage. My heart matches the pounding of the surf and I

step away from him. Walk quickly to my car. He follows. Doors shut, motor starts, driving.

Driving.

In an instant...

2005-12-19T00:17:00.000-08:00

I realize that this will never work and I need to start protecting myself from you NOW. After imagining fantasy after happy fantasy, I know that I have to stop it all right this very moment. I can't move into a realm where your intentions are interpreted by a lovesick heart.

I am not a woman that falls in love after a few weeks.

I am not that woman.

I promise you.

You can trust me. I promise.

An Amateur Analysis...

2005-12-18T14:42:00.000-08:00

As my previous post suggests, I am experiencing some upheaval right now. When you purposefully enter into relationships outside of your "monogamous" relationship, upheaval is expected, presumed... going to happen. But I wasn't prepared for James, for these feelings, for the constant image of him in my mind.

So... I present a description of the different men in my life in the hopes that some clarity will arrive as I think about them... Or that you, astute reader, might offer an opinion or two.

1. LB
My "loving" boyfriend of 3 1/2 years. He is the main reason I am in this desert land as I could have left after I finished my degree. He is 31, almost 6 years my senior, and a small business owner. He is at once my best friend, the person I want to cuddle to my breast and protect, the man that showed me worlds I had not seen, the lover who could but just won't satisfy me, the boy who upsets me on an hourly basis with his immature comments and actions, the one who can strike at my heart with a word, bruise it, use it up. He can control me, manipulate me, enrage me, caress me to shivers, adore me, surprise me, damage me, fill me. I think of our future and it is a nebulous mass of what if and maybe. He has cheated on me (though he will not admit it) and I have cheated on him. I am cheating on him. He is at once my little boy and my father.

2. Michael
Last Thanksgiving (2004), I met Michael on a plane. Two years younger than me, enlisted Air Force, not very well-educated, not my "type" physically. We felt such an attraction that I broke my promises of monogamy. Again and again and again. He was the first man that I cheated with- and the first man to ignite a fire in the very center of me. I began to feel a sense of fullness, although I had never known my life to be incomplete. Our affair lasted from the end of November 2004 until the beginning of March 2005. His time in the military complete, he moved back to the Midwest. I refused to see him to say goodbye because... I don't know why. Now we talk occasionally though there is nothing left between us. I loved what we had but we used each other. He is a fond memory, quickly receding.

3. AFB
AFB and I met as a result of a foray on to an adult website. It was August of this year and LB and I had somehow survived a tumultuous summer of hurt feelings and unfulfilled promises. Bored to tears, I signed up as a woman looking for something on the side. No strings attached fun. So I met AFB a few weeks later. His emails were intelligent, funny, erotic. When we spoke on the phone his voice and manner confirmed my attraction for him. He sparked memories of Michael because of his age and occupation but he is smarter, wittier, more reflective. I see him two to five times a month. Our first encounters were electric and the text messages we exchanged kept me wet and wanting more. He is a fantastic lover and a funny person to be around. We enjoy each other... we laugh a lot but there is something that never allows a real closeness to develop. Before or after having insanely good sex, he will lay his head on my chest and look at me with sweet brown eyes. I will hold him tightly as he pounds into me. He will whisper my name and call me baby. But still, we do not know each other well. We do not cross lines. We are the something on the side I wanted. Once, I managed an overnight visit and it was pleasant laying in bed next to him, watching his favorite movie. Having the long length of his tan body run along my own is nice and it makes me happy. When he leaves town because of training, I genuinely miss him and find myself eager for his return. At the end of October, he came home from a training and told me that he is being called up to Iraq. AFB leaves in February. If he allows me to, I will write him and send him packages. I care about him and want him to be safe.
Because AFB is young, in beautiful shape and good-looking, our relationship has made me feel very good about my own appearance and my own body. When I begin to doubt my own attractiveness because of LB's utter disinterest and lack of amorous intentions, I think about AFB's hands on my body, exploring it, appreciating it. My experiences with him have made me more confident in and out of the bedroom. I appreciate that.

4. ZMM
The married man I have written about before here. As far as I am concerned, our relationship is over. I will probably write more about him at a later date but suffice it to say, he has made little impact on my life. Our interactions have given me certain insights about myself and my beliefs but those were quickly realized and I have no desire to continue our "fling."

5. James
I don't know where to start. This man has changed things for me. Michael showed me that a man other than LB could please me in ways I never dreamed- he opened up my sexuality and left it burning forever inside me. My relationship with AFB provides me with a reliable source of great sex and a fun person to be around. ZMM might have been a glimpse into LB's future as my husband: frustrated, unfulfilled, seeking... He pumped my confidence up as AFB does but perhaps to a level where I can now consistently see myself as sexy and beautiful in other people's eyes.

James makes me think that soulmates exist. He makes me wonder how two people who are so perfect for each other could have picked the most imperfect time and place to meet. I want to take it all back, save it, and try again in a few years when we can be perfect together.

We only recently met and immediately labeled our relationship as friends with benefits. We both need to be discreet- me, for obvious reasons, and he, for less obvious reasons. Yesterday, I spent almost four hours (I was supposed to be shopping) talking with him, stroking him, staring at his smile and feeling captured. He took me when it was just supposed to be fun. He stole me and now, I have to find a way to live knowing that another sweet soul is out there alone.

Melodramatic? Yes. But I can't explain this connection, this feeling I have that he could be a perfect compliment to me. We are so alike, so different, so attracted, so repelled.

My heart has been too fast for weeks now and I feel sick that I can't just call him, touch him, even tell him what I feel.

Yesterday, his face close to mine, he whispered,

On a scale from one to ten, how is this friends with benefits?

Ten!!! I giggled but inside, I heard him asking about my plans for the future, the admiration in his voice, the serious way he considers what I say. The way he weighs his thoughts carefully before he answers even my most insignificant questions. How he doesn't curse "out of respect" for me. The candles he lit. The notes he writes.

It was supposed to be fun. No strings.

Again

2005-12-18T10:15:00.000-08:00

I've been so busy with the last few weeks before Christmas vacation. But it is here now and there is so much to say...

I met someone.

I think about him every ten minutes. I think about his smile, my hand stroking the short hair on the back of his head, the way his eyelashes curl up in the most pleasant way.

I replay bits of our conversations, I watch him entering me again and again, I feel his touch at the nape of my neck.

All the little connections are there. His whispers match my own.

LB and I went out to dinner together last night. I stared off into the distance, seeing the afternoon I spent with James, wondering if he felt the same things I felt. Was he thinking about me?

I won't see him again until January.

He is dangerous. A danger to my life right now. Because he can hurt me. He could change so much but he won't. He won't let himself. We are just "friends with benefits." He listens like no other. His touches bring out my confident self, my better self. I am better with him.

I am lost...

Beginnings

2005-12-01T11:32:00.000-08:00

After talking for three hours about everything- literally, everything- we exchanged numbers and said our goodbyes. I walked off the plane first and into LB's arms. I tried to read his face, see the shadows of Amsterdam in his eyes but I couldn't. I might never know what really happened there.

Michael managed to get his bag before me and threw a sly look over his shoulder as LB stroked my shoulders, my face, the small of my back. I doubted he would ever call me and I, of course, would never call him.

******
Wednesday night, 3 days later, Lauren and I sat on our regular bar stools in our favorite bar. A seedy place, one where strange older men frequently bought me red roses, and where Lauren had done her fair share of "getting to know" the other patrons. But it was our first year of teaching, we were commuting to a different city, and taking 3 classes at night. We were also drinking an extraordinarily large amount.

She was the first person I had met who, though small like me, could actually outdrink everyone she knew and still stand up. As I took shot after shot in college, my other 100 pound friends complained they were drunk after two beers. Lauren and I, we didn't have much in common personality-wise, but we did bond over one thing:

Alcohol ran in our veins.

Her father had a predilection for Jack and Coke. Mine, definitely less affluent, drank a 24 pack of Natty Light each night- sometimes on the way home from work.

So, we took up residence at the end of the bar- sometimes, two or three times a week.

We talked about my Oscar, a sweet 12 year old (in the third grade), completely illiterate, and my phone rang.

It was Michael.

The Prick

2005-11-28T13:12:00.001-08:00

I wonder if his children will ever hear my name and shake their heads in disgust.

He has two sons- 3 and 5 years old. They have terribly old fashioned names that scream creativity and individuality.

ZMM explained that he wanted them to sound like 1920s baseball player names.

Right...

Massage Etiquette

2005-11-27T19:27:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday afternoon, I treated myself to a massage.

There is a good (and inexpensive) massage school in our neighborhood and I go there frequently for two reasons: 1) my small frame and large chest combine to create some major neck and backache and, 2) they have one of those punchy card things where, if you fill it up, you get a free hot stone treatment. I don't care much about the hot stone, but I am borderline obsessive about getting my card punched. It's just so satisfying to see it fill up.

I've spent the last week thinking about publishing this and decided to go ahead and do so.

Because my neck ached badly, I chose to break my "masseuse" only rule. Despite the impression my multiple amorous relationships might give, I am actually pretty modest and shy in regards to my body so the idea of a stranger (with a penis) touching me has always been slightly scary (After re-reading that statement, it sounds as if I underestimate you, astute reader. I am sure that it's not news that I have body issues). This aversion has existed for years... Therefore, when the receptionist answered that only "Jim" would be available that afternoon, I hesitated but decided that my fear was irrational and might as well be confronted.

People walked in and out of the reception area brusquely, with purpose, and each time a man passed by, my body involuntarily jumped with a sharp intake of breath.

"For God's sake, Fractured Fanatic, get a grip." I demanded of my traitorous heart, which beat faster and faster as I realized that this man paused in front of me, this bearded, bedraggled mountain man must be Jim.

"Not to worry," I thought, "This man probably has strong hands- he can work that kink out. No big deal. This is not a big deal."

He led me to the room and we chatted briefly. I wanted a full body massage with emphasis on my neck because that's where the pain resided that day. He asked specifically where and I dropped my head forward, reached back with my right hand and indicated how the ache radiated out from my spine. This is a new spot (sadly not gone or forgotten) since usually, a rebellious muscle in the middle of my back constantly whines and complains, "I can't hold these things up anymore."

He prodded at the area a bit himself and agreed that the spot would be his concentration. Leaving me alone to undress (as much as I was "comfortable" with), he closed the door behind him.

Off came my brown sweater, my shoes, my socks, my jeans, my bra, leaving me with goose bumps and my pink thong.

After a polite knock, Jim came back into the room to find me shivering under the thin white sheet. I'm sure my erect nipples peeked through because he gently laid a thicker towel across my chest. Grateful, I thought this a sign that modesty would surely prevail. A masseur would be a new experience, nothing to fret about.

He started at my head, gently caressing my hair and my forehead. A strong finger slid down the slope of my nose. Two massive hands reached beneath my shoulders, kneading into the tender areas and searching out the most troublesome knots. For about five minutes, I was in heaven. He asked me what I did. He asked me if liked it.

"I love it."

"It's so important to love what you do."

The statement came out of him in a deep exhale and contained sufficient enough weight to leave us both in silence.

I turned over onto my stomach after a perfunctory rubbing of my limbs. A previous masseuse told me that she didn't want any of my parts to get jealous of the attention she gave to my back. I assumed Jim ascribed to the same philosophy and wanted to get to the problem area quickly so that the rest of the hour could be devoted to working on my neck pain.

Once on my stomach, I remembered the pink thong but reassured myself with,

"Doesn't matter. They always keep the ass covered with the sheet. They always tuck it into the top of your thong so it won't uncover you. Not a big deal."

He gripped the sheet and pulled down and down and down. The blonde hair on my skin pricked up as it met with the cool air of the room. My body felt exposed, the only covering a slim strip of pink lace. His hands ran up the length of my back and thankfully, the sheet came back up.

But not for long.

He moved one of my legs away from the rest of my body and just as in all of the other massages, he draped the sheet so it covered my hip, exposed my leg and shielded my ass. His fingers brushed up against my inner thigh- high on my thigh- as he pushed the material up. But he didn't tuck the sheet into my panties as usual.

As he massaged, with strong, powerful hands, the sheet slipped and he was rubbing my bare ass cheek.

I could hear him breathing.

Hard.

Jim reached diagonally across my back, rubbing my opposite shoulder. I felt something nudge into me- his massage lotion bottle?

"Wait- did he even have a massage lotion bottle?"

Again, his hands were on my ass, kneading and spreading... Spreading? Yes, it felt like he was spreading my cheeks a bit. The strokes went down my legs, back again to my ass, then up to my shoulders. As his fingers traveled the length of my back, I felt one or two errant fingers slip across the side of my breast.

"That was accidental. You are reading too much into this. He is just massaging you."

Down again to my ass, this time to the other cheek. Again, his fingers touched me gently on the inner thigh. Very close to my center. So close that my pussy betrayed me with a warm feeling of pleasure.

"Christ, that's disgusting. I don't want that touch. He didn't do it on purpose. Stop being so ridiculous."

More kneading, more spreading. Up the length of my body. A slight stroke of fingers against the side of my breast.

"Should I say something? God, of course not. How embarrassing. Of course, he's not trying to do that."

His breathing is harder.

"Is this my fault? I wore that thong. I haven't said anything. What do I say? Stop! and sit up naked? I can't do anything. It's almost over. It has to be."

I can tell we are nearing the end. His breathing becomes calmer, more rhythmic, and his left hand finds the crown of my head, his right hand, my tailbone. This isn't odd. Women have done this before.

He is rocking me back and forth. I feel more pressure from his right hand, the one connected to my tailbone. It's as if he is grinding my sex into the table. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to force the memories away. Those soft touches from my childhood, the low whisper in my ear.

"He can tell I'm bad. He can tell that all I ever want is sex. I'm bad because I liked it- just like before. I shouldn't have worn that thong. It's my fault. He knew I wanted it."

That slick, thin whisper snakes through my louder thoughts, the thoughts that scream, "Say something! He's hurting you! Say something goddamn it, you coward!"

And here I am, a week later. Here I am, twenty years later.

Brief departure out of my head and into my classroom:

2005-11-18T09:06:00.000-08:00

Big plans for the weekend and many things floating around in my head that I need to purge but my 25 bilingual 8 year olds have been centerstage for awhile. I present a list of their lessons, their lives, the joyful smiles they give me.

1. Just when you start wondering why in the hell you have a master's degree in literature and all you do is yell about the constant use of the pencil sharpener, my little Vanessa comes up and whispers, "How can I be a teacher like you maestra?"

2. Jose got to see his dad for the first time in three months (he's in jail) yesterday. He came in looking sleepy, nestled his head on my shoulder and said proudly, "He got a tattoo on his arm, Ms. __! It says Jose right here (pointing to his right forearm)!" That was true happiness.

3. I learned how to essentially say "XYZ," or pull up your damn zipper, in Spanish. It cracks me up. They say, "Di galleta." And the person with his zipper down says, "Galleta." The other person answers, "Abrochate la frageta." Translation: Say cookie. Cookie. Zip your zipper. I realize that this makes little to no sense but it just delights me.

4. Angel kept asking Nolfredo, "Do you drink and drive? Do you drink and drive?" in a sing-song voice on Monday. After I told him that was completely inappropriate, he came over to my desk to chat and told me his father got drunk over the weekend, hit a viejito, went to jail, and Angel emptied his piggy bank for the bail money. As a child of an alcoholic, I understood completely the hope in his voice when he said, "But now he'll stop Ms.__, he listens to me when I say, 'Just three beers in the morning, 3 at the day, and 3 at the night.' He'll stop now." I wish he would, my Angelito.

5. It's not an hypothesis. It's an hy-pop-ethis.

6. Using glitter in an art project will keep them ecstatic for at least an hour.

7. I am terribly uncool because I have no idea who the Ying Yang twins are and I am offended when I hear my 8 year old boys singing, "I'm looking for a dame that's top of the line. Cute face, small waist, and a big behind." THEY ARE EIGHT!

8. Sara, Aldo, Stefani and Jose founded a book club to read The Lion, the Witch and The Wardrobe before the movie comes out on December 9th. They rush through their morning work so that they can sit and read together, reassuring me that the movie will NOT take away their Narnia.

9. My Fernandita, hugging me tightly before she leaves to go home. She is quiet, shy, a victim of domestic abuse, a former resident of the shelter. She gives the best hugs.

10. On a Friday afternoon, I just want to herd them out of my classroom and out of my hair but I know, that by Sunday afternoon, I will miss them too much not to be excited to go back to work.

Maybe the ocean...

2005-11-16T20:44:00.000-08:00

I want to feel the slick surface of the sand under my calloused feet. The sand recently abandoned by the water. Treading gently, I allow the coldness to reach my ankles, then my calves. The sound, a lullaby, brings me back to childhood summers before fingers explored my pink layers, before betrayal seemed to leak out of every pore.

It violently turned me over and over again. Arms and legs scramble for ground. Salt water invaded every orifice, making me choke and gasp for breath. Same day, later, it held me up peacefully, two cool hands gently caressing me where my arms meet my traitor, delicious sensation.

The ocean punishes and heals. Will it forsake me?

Reasoning

2005-11-16T08:06:00.000-08:00

**Last November, 2004**

Grateful to return to New Mexico? Leaving a real city- Chicago- a place crawling with life. A place where I saw different colors, not just the sandy brown of my desert (no, not my desert- this place could barely contain me, it would never belong to me). Chicago, home of my brilliant and beautiful little sister, one of my favorite people in the world. But the chilling wind pierced through me constantly and took me to an empty place, causing me to feel the winters of my adolescence again in the roots of my hair.

LB left for Amsterdam the week before, a plan four months in the making. I hopped a plane to Chicago for Thanksgiving and spent it trying not to think about what could happen when four idiotic Americans go to Amsterdam for the Cannabis Cup. It's all just sex, drugs and rock and roll to him.

In the airport, I had three beers with my last ten dollars until pay day. I love airports because it seems like no matter how much I drink, I'm never drunk when I reach my destination. LB got home the day before and would pick me up.

Would the Red Light District be etched into his face? Would I see the fourteen year old whores and the pale, blonde Russians dancing in his irises? Would her touch always be underneath my own?

Trying to drown the crowd of women in my head, I slammed back the last beer and rushed to get on the Southwest flight. Damn airline, why do they make us feel like cattle? Just give me a seat number for Christ's sake!

Back then, I really was the perfect girlfriend I just pretend to be now. We had been living together for a year in a cramped one bedroom just a block from the university. He turned thirty less than a month earlier and we celebrated by taking a huge group of people out to dinner (read: copious amounts of wine and rich food). After he blew the candles out, he leaned over and whispered,

"Know what I wished for? To marry you and spend the rest of my life with you."

I believed that. I brushed aside the lackluster sex, his apparent phobia to being with just one person for the rest of his life, the times I found emails and proof of conversations with other girls. I believed it could be just us for the rest of our lives. I was 24.

I found an aisle seat (miracle of miracles), sat down and opened my novel. I think I was re-reading La Plaza del Diamante, one of my favorites. My beer buzzed nicely in my head and I quickly became absorbed in tragic Colometa's life again.

"Anyone sitting there?"

I looked up into a smile topped with blue eyes. Crewcut, huge shoulders and chest, tight waist. Must be military, going back to the base after the holiday.

"No, no, go ahead."

Getting up, I tried to look pointedly at the open aisle seat just in back of me. Why in the world would you want the middle seat on a Southwest flight?

Settling back into my seat, I opened my book once again. Three hours until I saw my baby. Only reading would make the time pass quickly so I could see him and decide whether or not he had been faithful. My stomach churned at the possibilities. Closing my book and my eyes with a sigh, I realized that the smile and the blue eyes were focused on me.

We began to chat. And I began to change.

I've Crossed that Line... (Part II)

2005-11-15T17:28:00.000-08:00

It smelled of stale cigarette smoke. He (too) cleverly described the decor as "Early Denny's." I lay on the lumpy king size mattress; naked, sticky, with my nipples straining to the ceiling and my face, flushed, turned to the wall. Just twenty minutes before, I had sat waiting and watching a Seinfeld episode- the one where they pitch the "nothing" story to the NBC execs.

We met at the Starbucks downtown earlier that day so he could give me the key. Friday night would be best, we decided, because I didn't have school in the morning and his wife would believe that he was just grabbing a drink with co-workers. After he passed me the key and the business card for the motel, I asked,

"So, are you okay?"

To tell the truth, his face looked a little grey and all 37 of his years showed plainly in the lines around his mouth and eyes. I wondered if his skin would have any of the tautness that I felt when I ran my hands over AFB's 23 year old body and I decided, no, his body would provide a new sensation, a new experience.

"I'm excited."

The lines seemed to relax and a healthier flush spread over him. I could see now that it was just fear making him nervous. Fear that our week's full of dirty emails would leave him without release. Fear that this wouldn't be all that he had hoped for. Fear that we were going to get caught. And that hunger... he tried to remain nonchalant but his eyes devoured the sight of my 25 year old body. I'd make him wait a little longer.

"K, well, I'll see you later."

Flashed him another smile and ran back out to my illegally parked car.

His hands were on me as soon as I opened the motel room's door.

"There's a cop in the parking lot but I took a drink of Yager anyway I don't know where I got this bottle from but it was in my desk at work and here do you want some?"

He spoke quickly, one hand on the small of my back, one hand pouring another shot of liquor in his mouth. I cringed but understood. My nerves had gotten to me as well- I had already had two beers out of the six pack I brought. He sat down on the bed, drawing me into him. My hands stroked his shoulders and ran down the length of his arms. I immediately compared him to the other two men I sleep with- LB, at 31, was slim but losing his firmness and AFB, 23, in the military, in beautiful shape with smooth skin and hard muscles. ZMM felt... loose, rough, very freckly. Can you feel freckles? I wondered how I felt in comparison to his wife- 12 years younger, no children, skin polished, lotioned and perfumed.

Then I was laying down on the bed, my silky shirt bunched up around my collarbone, my jeans open. Next I was on my knees, just my black bra on.

It was happening. A married man. A mistress.

Crossing the Line: Sex with a Married Man? (Part I)

2005-11-14T15:27:00.000-08:00

He handed me the keys over the smooth surface of a Starbucks table. A business card with raised red letters soon followed. Still panting (I had to park in a tow-away zone to meet him in time), I flashed him a smile.
"I know this place."
Of course, I did. Everyday after school I go over to the store, hang out with my loving boyfriend (LB) of three years, and then I drive home to the house we share- right past the motel where I was going to rendez-vous with a married man.

We met the week before in a coffee shop near both our houses. Despite feeling rushed because I was running late for school, I immediately noticed the older man reading the New York Times. Uncommon reading material in this bunch of adobe boxes masquerading as a city. He seemed to notice me, too. Although I dress conservatively for school, I wore my nicest pair of black slacks and my maroon sweater clung snugly to my curves. Just minutes ago, I had finished blow-drying my blonde hair and applying some subtle makeup. I looked pretty good for 7:45am on a Wednesday.

"Buy you a coffee?"

He was behind me, speaking softly in my ear. I smelled the faintest hint of cucumbers as he spoke and picked up his slight East Coast accent on the word "coffee." Tall, good-looking, with a shock of wavy brown hair, he wore heavy-soled boots (are those Doc Marten's?) and a quick check revealed no ring on the finger.

"Sure."

Brief conversation followed with one result. We would see each other again. Calling himself a dinosaur, he rejected my request for texting and we exchanged email addresses. As we walked to my car, he admitted to being married and I shrugged, saying that I was attached as well. He softly brushed his hand along my waist and said he'd be in touch. I got in my car, feeling excited and kind of sick.

Was this is the beginning of another relationship?

After all, I am LB's sweet and loyal girlfriend. I am also AFB's fuck buddy. And now... mistress to ZMM?