Dolly

The following was written on 13APR2017 at 2:03pm on some amount of Adderall above 10mg in a Starbucks:

I never got around to rearranging my bedroom after the breakup. It's still pretty obvious to those who have been through the same situation that someone else used to live here, but doesn't anymore. Or maybe it's just obvious regardless. The walk back to my nightstand to collect my phone and water bottle exposed a few new pieces of evidence from the previous night of which I have vague recollections. 3 deflated condoms, one of which was red. Red? She was probably on her period, or maybe I fucked her so hard she bled? Oh, nevermind, it's lipstick.

I remember now, she had unprotected sex, for 11 hours no less, with a rather large black gentleman when she rolled through DC. This prompted her to exhibit caution while making love with me, she made me wear a condom, and I took no issue. I generally hate condoms, but the sex was great. I write when I'm inspired, and the sex wasn't what inspired me. To be described as 'great' is almost a disservice in the context of these musings, but that's how I felt about the act.

Dolly the anomaly. I'm very happy I got the chance to meet her. I found out that I am her only sexual conquest to ever speak to her over the phone regularly. We started, as most of my adventures do, through chat, but my impatience led me to a path I rarely suggest myself: to speak directly and purposefully with my naked voice. My verbiage is my strength. It's adaptable and draws people in when directed at them, in return I give myself to them as I am, whole and unfiltered.

As unfiltered as Dolly thought she was, she was not completely honest.

Dolly was given a death sentence, quite literally. She doesn't know how long she has to live, but more than 15 years is highly unlikely. She decided to use this as a justification to live life how she wants. That means, in no particular order: drugs, sex, and rock and roll. She travels around the country for work and utilizes that exposure to experience as much as she can to fulfill her deepest fantasies.

She was initially drawn to my frankness while speaking about experiences with transsexuals. This fascination drew a path to connect several months later during her tour of the north east to share a transsexual.

She would tell me about sexual experiences with other men in detail. My initial reaction surprised me: it was jealousy. My possessive male nature took over, and I crushed it then and there by confronting it. I didn't tell her but I'm sure she noticed the break in rhythm of the conversation; I looked into the depths of my mind to understand it. By now we have spoken dozens of times. I care about her, fuck, did I make a friend? It's been years since I met someone with whom I never want to lose touch. Of course I care about her. Feelings I thought were dead are resurfacing after years of lying dormant, what a great time to be alive.

I preach a good game. In another life I had a following; many intelligent folks have pondered the idea of creating a religion or cult, some maybe even thought through the details. What drives people over the line is whether they themselves believe it or not. Faceless manipulation makes for flimsy transparent organizational structure. These types of groups force structure since the lack of values prevents organic development. There must be a common focus, a common element that is shared among each and every member who identifies with the group. The value must be fundamental to those beings as well.

Casual sex, polygamy, polyamory, fuck buddies, friends with benefits. I hate labels, but my philosophy at 32, given my background, looks from a high level like a little bit of each of the previously mentioned. I require love. Love in terms of relationships is traditionally thought of as something you can only share with one other person. The poetic nature of having a soul mate is irresistible. Relationships of the casual or infrequent type are considered somewhat cold. Let's fuck, in and out, quickie, one night stand, ugh, fuck off.

I want more, sex is good as is, maybe even 'great', but to touch someone you deeply care about more than anything, is its own level of satisfaction. I explained all this to her early in our conversations, on my preachy box of boxes. My gift is unending love to all willing to accept it, my curse is the inability to do this with just one person.

And there I sat, silently paused, listening to her detail the perversions of the night before, and jealous.

I betrayed myself. My organization is flimsy at best. How will the walls survive this hypocrisy? This must be corrected. While she asked if something was wrong and I explained what was going through my mind, I played out the night in my mind and watched her getting slammed every which way by several strangers. I am sitting in the corner, they are all aware I am there and don't even glance in my direction. I'm enjoying this. As I've explained to many before, her enjoyment with others won't ever take anything away from the magic we crafted together.

Let go of the possession of experience; you are not in control, and that's ok.

Several months later she described striking out with a guy after telling him about her nightly endeavors. I walked her through my best guess of what was going on in his mind and her frustration disallowed her understanding. I stayed patient as one must when driving necessary change. This re-investigation into the possessive perspective allowed me to revisit my reaction. I do not feel jealousy. I am proud of her for pursuing her ambitions, and I told her so.

I must have caught her off guard, it was her turn to trip up the rhythm of the conversation. She's not used to hearing positivity, she craves abuse, but I don't cave to these unconscious demands. I push my luck and tell her she's sexy as fuck and I love speaking with her, both of which I believe to be true. She doesn't know how to respond, so I wait for her to figure it out, which she eventually does: "Thanks."

She arrives at my house and I make her feel comfortable. She relies on alcohol to suppress her anxieties. It's not pretty, but I was once there so I understand. After some initial introductions and allowing enough time for the shock of the reality of meeting me after months of talking on the phone to set in, I show her around and the basement is the last stop.

I knew I had a green light to rip her clothes off as soon as she walked in, fix a collar around her neck, command her to her knees, then rub my unwashed balls on her face, but we're friends. I want to show her something she's not used to experiencing, and that's how it feels to be genuinely cared about.

We make our way to the basement and I get close to her face, my hands wander and carry her the rest of the way. Her lips touch mine and they are purposeful in their texture. This excites me and I return with purpose of my own. I pull her head back to inspect her face, she's thought of this moment and let's her inhibitions take over. Her lips. My god, her fucking powerful lips. Her lips send some familiar and some new energies through my nerves. Her lips aren't overwhelming, they dance between being soft and inviting to tense and driven. I react with my lips in kind as we tease each other to set the tone of the night to come.

As I am about to suggest we head back upstairs to smoke and have a drink, I see lipstick lightly smeared around her mouth. This is how I will forever remember her, a perfect genuine mess. I let it sink in as I deny the urge to get a camera and ruin the moment. She's great, I love her to pieces.

I like to write these short tid bits at Starbucks. Ya, I know, corporate bs and there are way better mom and pop cafes who's clientele understand the value of giving a shit, etc. That is precisely why I am here though, to watch those who choose the convenience and consistency of a common backdrop.

Up until now, those faces have been interpreted superficially. I'm not sure what happened, but I am now seeing purpose in their faces. I see motivations and desires and something more than automated behavior. I see perfectly smeared lipstick. I take an extra moment to send these strangers a creepy awed glare before absorbing the lessons which they have to teach me. I want to know more, this might be the start of something real.

I am excited about something, it doesn't sound like much, but it's something I haven't felt in a long time. I have drive through possibility, and I have drive through this written creative outlet.

I want to be able to explore the infinite love that I have fought against my entire life.