The Three D's

Sometimes writing semi-autobiographically presents certain challenges. I always enjoy writing exciting moments, moments that are real but in the end leave yours truly looking triumphant. Yet, it is much harder to write about the darker side of me, the side that isn’t pure and good and sweet. The side that is moody and selfish, the side that is insecure and broken, the side that is foolish and weak. But into the madness we must go, to share only part of me would be both an injustice to you and to me as this is my therapy, and you, my dear reader, are not here to judge but to experience these things with me, to touch upon my madness and taste the sweetness of my sorrow.
I have been single since May 27th. Yes I know the day, and of little importance the hour in which I left him. He was the one shot at happily ever after, he was the most beautiful thing that had ever possessed my heart, but the distance, the time, the others that shared my affection, it all grew to be too much. That day I gambled and lost. I hoped that when faced with losing me, he would love me more, and not less, but his pride is as great as mine, and I should have known that he would never ask me to stay.
Amid the pain, and constant crying, I spent two days unable to do much more than sniffle, the ugly truth of it was my heart had never broke so hard. And still as I write this my eyes water, that familiar ache fills me and I wonder if I will ever talk about him without that bittersweet pain that reminds me of just how strong my love for him was.
I can’t stay that way forever though, but healing is a long and grueling process of forgiving him, and forgiving me, and quite frankly I am bored of such introspection. So my heart in its million little pieces is hidden away, to be mended later. My eyes and body crave the three Ds. Denial, Distraction, and Desire. Which in combination is better than cocaine, but no less addicting.
Denial, it is simple, no my heart has never broken, I don’t crave happily ever after, I don’t believe In crystal fortresses or true love, and I never want to feel that way again.
Distraction, this is where it gets tricky. It is kind of like juggling, which is the way I date. Call me a whore if you will, but men employee this technique often and with much success. You want at minimum three main distractions, never less. Less distraction means that perhaps you will focus too much attention on one and risk losing site of objective denial. Too many, and there is no smoothness to the motions, to the show. So balance carefully. I like to have three main distractions and three lesser distractions. And no that doesn’t mean that I am fucking all of them. It simply means I allow them to be infatuated with the possibility of me, and I of them. If a ball drops away, there is always another to quickly take its place.
Desire, should be self explanatory; but there is more to it than passion, than lust. It is the combination of two spirits fulfilling the needs of one another without attachment. It doesn’t always have to be sexual, I have intense desire for conversation, for laughter, for constant white noise to drown out the sadness that sometimes overwhelms me. Desire is also feeling the need to please another, to make them happy, or content and know that I had an effect, a purpose for just that moment.
Yeah, yeah, save me your psychoanalysis. I never said that this was healthy, or right. But I am not writing about what is beautiful and imagined. I am writing of what is real to me, and how I handle my broken spirit is really of no concern to anyone but myself. Some people resort to alcohol, I result to drowning myself in the attentions of others.
So without further ado, let me take you into my past months transgressions. Or wait, perhaps just to the one that has me writing again, the one that stopped me and refused me what I wanted, but gave me something we both needed.
Morgan. How do I describe my soft spoken deputy? His tall, thick frame, his bright eyes and luscious smile. I met him by chance, fate’s cruel little joke.
He had pulled me over one morning in front of my store. I wish I could tell you what his suit looked like, but I was absolutely memorized by his smile. The confident way he walked, the way he held himself as he moved so gracefully to my side. I was nervous, but pulled my shirt down lower, fully prepared to use the girls to help me avoid whatever citation he had in mind.
I smiled half hazard at him as he ask for my license and registration and I began to dig for my wallet. Digging through the five gallon suit case I call a purse I paled, and shook my head bemoaning my fate. Looking up at him pleading for understanding I explained that I must have left my wallet at the register when I got my coffee this morning. Pleading I begged him to follow me back there and I would give him the information he needed.
His eyebrow cocked slightly and he looked at me suspiciously. “Ma’am, is this a stall? Do you have anything you need to tell me or any outstanding warrants I should be aware of? “ In his eyes I saw something confusing, but his face was set to stone.
Indigent that he would ask me something so trivial I narrowed my eyes but tried to remain calm. “No, this isn’t a stall, I don’t have any warrants and the longer we sit here the more chance of someone walking away with it. Please just follow me back there, and I will give you my id and you can check everything out.”
“I dunno, you might run. You seem kinda feisty.” He said unable to hide his amusement at my obvious discomfort.
I laughed so completely taken off guard. Eying him even more I wondered outloud.”What are you pulling me over for anyway?” His grin widened, and from behind his back he handed me my wallet.
“Thought you might need this incase some grouchy cop pulled you over and didn’t believe your story.”
“But how?” I asked confused as I took it smiling appreciatively.
“ I was two people behind you in line today, and you just rushed out without even smiling my way. Hurt my feelings it did. So I figured I might get one if I volunteered to return this.”
I remember the blush reaching my toes, as I beamed at him my most dazzling smile as he looked into my eyes. Electricity shot through me I felt stunned, slightly alarmed as I stuttered for a moment, then took a deep breath. I heard something on the radio he carried at his waist. He smiled at me ruefully then picked it up. “On my way.”
Innocently enough that is the way our tryst began.
The next morning he surprised me with coffee just the way I liked it, and one raspberry filled doughnut, he said to keep me sweet. We talked until I opened the store. We spoke of his life, his commitments, what had brought him to be deputy in a small town like this one and how it was we had never crossed paths. We shared laughter and moments, stories and memories. Each morning was the same, coffee, one raspberry doughnut and laughter
He never asked of my heartaches, I never asked about the gold band that made him forbidden. Yet, one day he came in, about a week later, his shoulders slumped his smile hidden. He took a deep breath and told me of her, of the children he cherished and the life he was trying so desperately to save. I listened, his hand in mine, I let him talk, let the frustrations fall out of him. When he was through, he looked, empty, vulnerable and expectant.
What was I expecting to hear I am unsure, as is what he was expecting me to say. I was calm. I smiled to try to reassure him, a million things running through my head. “So what do you want from me? Why did you tell me this?” I asked quietly.
“I told you because you deserve the truth, I told you because I need release. I told you because-“ The radio chose to go off and he smiled apologetically,
I stopped him, grabbing his wrist. “We will talk more tomorrow,” I made him promise with a nod. Then quietly I said “Thank you. For your honestly. Sometimes its painful, but I will never think less of you.”
That night I didn’t bother with any of my usual distractions. I instead focused on the next morning, what I would say, what I would do. There were three plausible options, one stop talking to him entirely, two remain his friend but distance the attraction we felt, or three fall head long into the disaster we had already began to create. I told you, this wasn’t pretty, nor am I painted in a beautiful light.
I wanted him, I knew his heart was at his home, with his family, and I knew it was only a temporary solution for him and for me. In my denial I rationalized it. If it wasn’t me it would be another, we wouldn’t be hurting anyone as long as it was purely physical lust. It was just masturbation with a warm body. Take your pick. I justified my crime as any junkie would.
The day dawned later than I had hoped, my eyes far too strained for the light that I had so desperately craved. I needed to give him the answer. I needed to show him the decision my sleepless night had brought. My silk purple shirt hung a bit lower than most, my white skirt, barely touching my knees. It was an invitation In my very appearance. I imagined it to be hard, fast, full of need and lust and quickly extinguished.
I stood at the door to let him in, his eyes watching me as he moved through the motions of setting down the coffee. I locked the door behind him. Looking at him, I smiled shyly, leading him to my office instead of the lobby where we usually set. His hand tightened around mine, and he pulled me to him the moment we got to the door. He stared only moments into my eyes, and then kissed me hard and fast. Whimpering I fell into his chest as I wrapped my arms around his neck. Savoring the play of his tongue and mine, the tender way he rubbed his hands up and down my back.
The strength of his arms pulled me closer, and backed me against the desk. Shimming my butt onto the desk, my legs wrapping around his waist, murmuring my need as he bent me back to taste my neck. Panting desperately as he stroked my need I breathlessly explored his broad shoulders and chest. I kept expecting him to just hike up my skirt and take me, to sate the need instantly. He just refused to hurry.
Pushing me back, his lips tasting any bits of exposed flesh, until finally burying his head between my thighs. My eyes rolled back into my head and my hands grasped at his hair and his shoulders. I could feel his tension, his growing need as his tongue tasted me further and pushed me into ecstasy.
He pulled up and kissed me again, the taste of me on his lips. I tugged at his pants, but he pulled back turning on the lights, and just taking off his shirt. He knew I opened in an hour, but he was so calm, demanding that he be allowed to relish me, I kissed his chest, speckled with hair, firm and broad. My nails raking up and down the expanse of him. His hands where in my hair, urging, gently as he moaned for me.
Pulling his pants off his movements finally began to feel eager. We fought, to taste each other, our mouths and bodies battling. First he would claim a nipple, then I would dip to taste the head of his shaft. He pulled me to him, disrobing me even of the nonoffending skirt, and just rested, his cock nestled teasing my lips. Hands running the length of my back, grasping my hips pulling me to him, our bare skin meshing until we were one. He nipped my neck once more before pulling me gently onto the floor, rolling up his shirt to put it behind me.
The moment he slid in he took my breath away. I could feel him shaking; his resolve to wait for me, but losing with each gentle stroke. I held him my hands pulling him closer as I kissed him tenderly; shaking as I found release, and he let go.
He moaned, shuddering as he came, then kissed my belly, gently pressing his head to me and holding me, quietly. I asked him if he was okay and he merely nodded. He blushed, mentioning it had been months since he had release. I just took in his scent, not wanting to let him go just yet.
What had I started? What in the hell had I just done? I had expected something so different. I had wanted lust and need and to be taken without regard. But what I had shared was more, the tenderness of two people needing to feel alive, to find comfort. No delusions that it had meant more than that, but somehow at peace with my transgressions as he bashfully took care of things, straightening backup and getting dressed.
In the bathroom I brushed my hair beside him as straightened his clothes, then I looked him once over, just to make sure no lipstick stains or scratches covered him. Oddly enough, we sat down to our coffee, and we spoke as friends again, as confidants, as if what we shared was a momentarily flash of lunacy that we had both shared. Unreal, fantastic, lust imagined. He left with a hug, a kiss on my cheek, and if it wasn’t for the scent of him surrounding me all day I would have never known it wasn’t all in my head.
I let the weekend pass, without a word, and when he showed again on Monday, I smiled, secretly relieved that he might share with me one last time the comfort I would deny myself, the distraction I craved and the desire that I could not be without.