Eric Brittingham's entery in his journal about his lover, Cheyenne
I am your roommate’s best mistake. When we first met, she drunkenly mistook me for one of your friends. She shouted from across the bar and broke the ice by accident. Maybe her intuition was just better than ours. I was confused why you made eyes at me the whole night. I flirted with you anyway, mostly because I didn’t feel like paying for a taxi or walking home. Four miles is a long way. It wasn’t till you straddled me on your couch that I figured out that you wanted me. We kissed; it was electric. No one has ever kissed me that way before. Like the whole universe went black except for the light between our lips. We kissed until daybreak, and then slept for three hours. I woke up exhausted and hungover. I stayed for brunch; I stayed way after brunch. I liked the way you made me feel when we kissed. And who would pass up eggs and homefries?! I met all your friends. They thought I played it cool, but mostly I was just tired and hungover. I’m not nearly so charming with a clear head.You’re not at all my type. I like cute and conservative catholic girls with big boobs and short hair. Your hair is bleached and reaches the middle of your back. You don’t shave your legs. You pee with the door open. You’re extremely opinionated. You’re a feminist. You don’t want to get married. And still…We went to lunch, flirted, and giggled. I held off as long as I could. I was unsure if I should trust my intuition. You were so unlike any girl I had ever been attracted to. How was it going to work? (Fuck it, it doesn’t matter). The attraction was too strong. You gave me a fucking boner the first time you held my hand for chrisssake. I gave in. We fucked so good. Like I’ve never fucked before. I loved looking hard into your eyes. Just a couple months after we met, I meant to say, “I love fucking you” while you were riding me, but it felt so damn good I got confused. I said, “I FUCKING LOVE YOU”. Whoops. Can’t take that one back. Does it matter it took another month to really mean it? It wasn’t because we spent so much time together. We only had five months. It was because of all you gave to me. You are the most giving and loving person I know. We had long conversations about everything. You pushed me. Challenged me to think differently. You helped me develop better communication skills. Talk about my feelings; share my thoughts. You taught me to be more conscious of women. You showed me how to be more selfless. It’s the part of you in me that will last forever. I love you for that. On our last day together, you folded my clothes for me and helped me pack. You made funny faces at my old socks and outdated wardrobe. (“You fucking wear this?!”) You were so damn cute I couldn’t keep my hands off you. We had a spontaneous mid-day fuck. Amazing. You took me to Marshalls and bought me cute new undies and clean socks. No girl has ever bought me socks and underwear before. On our last night, you lay in my arms and we listened to "Sweet Emotion" by Aerosmith. When “Dream on” came on, I started quietly singing along and I cried for the first time in ten years. Not since my grandmother’s funeral have the tears come that fast or that hard. I wiped my nose. I asked you to dance with me. We danced. We circled. It was perfect.
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