Waterspout

I find that I most love men at their odd weaknesses.

As John sleptalked last night (I’m going to stop saying J. everyone knows it’s John anyway, patooey on blogtalk). He woke up, telling me to stay away from the car. I always think that’s so nice, him telling me to stay away from something, that means he’s thinking of my safety even in his dreams. Wery Womantic.

Anyways, it reminded me of my boyfriend Brian. Now I know some of my family reads this blog, so if you’re bothered by me talking about sex in a very simple, non dirty kind of way, you might want to stop reading.

So, Brian was my boyfriend when I was a young impressionable girl. He was the only boy that had ever looked at me twice. He was a hippie in a school of Indiana beauty queens, and I decided, falsely, that I loved him. And I kept up that falsity for over 2 years and living in Colorado together.

The thing that happened, and the time that I probably loved him the most, it is sad to say, was after a shower incident.

John wonders why I won’t have relations in the shower, and now folks. Here it is.

Brian and I had stupid sex. He was so incredibly thin that I actually had bruises on my hips when we would make the beast. So we decided one time to be “whacky” and go ahead and do it in the shower.

Now shower doin’ it is not that fun anyway, it’s reminiscent of the 69 that way, sounds like a good idea, isn’t really when you get down to it. It’s more complicated then anything.

So my fat self and his thin self were somehow “together” and all of a sudden, like the demolition of a building, down goes Brian. But poor Brian had his back to the tap and scratched his back the whole length of it going down. Here he was, this poor, tired,naked, thin boy, hunched over in the still running shower.

My empathy and sympathy were strong and I managed to pull him up and see the welt that was about to begin.

I’ll never forget that image of him. Two years of living together and I remember sex bruises.

Oh yeah, I’m fine.