The Poet of Too Many Words

Max

Max is an overall sexy, smart and tall guy. I’m sure we would have wonderful kinky sex, but he’s in Asia for the Peace Corps. One of the few poets I’ve met that I’ve wanted to see naked and let him tie me up.

We met on one of my speech teams. I was in a relationship and learned from my Ex that Max had always had a huge crush on me.

During the first little break between my Ex who cheated on me, my Ex and I had become friends/fuck buddies. My Ex decided to host a huge speech and debate party, which equaled out to every speech team in our state. It was a pretty big fucking party and I drank a lot and danced with Max, like I might as well have sex with Max. We were basically having sex. Then outside we talked, I’m sure I cried. I saw my Ex with this girl he was seeing. Then Max and I kissed walking back to the house.

I think he was leaving at that point. But I don’t remember.

Later passed out with my Ex and we had sex. I didn’t enjoy it. It felt dirty and wrong.

Then I went across the country and so did he. We were never in town at the same time after that. I think I had drinks with him a few times after that, but I never had a chance to see him before he left for Asia.

He never really had the guts to tell me he liked me and I’m sure if he had been vocal and I hadn’t be trailing after my Ex we would have dated a bit.

But then again as sweet, funny and smart Max was I know for sure I could never have been in serious relationship with or even think of a long term thing, because he just took language too far. But in a funny way.

You really have to know Max to understand and actually I just had drinks with an old friend and I brought up Max and his big words. He reminds me of like Ross from Friends. Or better yet, Max is a sopciro for the horoscope. So there. ha!

Max is a linguistics, a very smart guy, but sometimes it’s like he’s jacking off to his words. Trying too hard almost. Not in a cocky way like a few other friends who are cocky as fuck about showing off they seem higher on the educational ladder. (These are the younger boys in college)

But sometimes it’s nice just to ask, “How was your morning?” Instead of, “how does the sun shine on your end of the world?” Or he would always ask “where are you spitting at these days?” How about you just ask me, “You been performing slam?”

Max, you’re so hot, sexy, funny, sweet and smart, but I need to be with someone who can tell me they want me and also, I can have a everyday conversation with.

your

It’s a Start

As I’ve stated, this blog is a fresh start. Since my old blog (the one I lost passwords on top of passwords to) is at a lost.

The last few days  haven’t been sure of what I should post. Should I talk about why I started blogging in the first place? Maybe list of facts about myself? Just start in the middle of things?

**I’ve decided to write about the beginning of things: The first butterflies, first broken hearts and the first time I felt everything in my life had been going according to plan. A perfect story book.

I was so naive.

Note: All names have been changed. 

BEN (First butterflies in my stomach)

I’m not sure when I first met Ben, but during  3rd grade a cute skinny stick boy walked in front of me. Pale skin, with glasses bigger than his face. Ben was sweet, funny; think Gilmore Girls character, “Dean” meets 3rd grader Ben. His smile gave me butterflies. It felt right, like so many of my favorite movies talked about. The smile a young maiden would give. I imaged my smile was the same. So, I was crushed when I found out he was moving elementary schools. (The school was a mile away) We wrote letters, called each other on our home phones. We were young and feeling the deepest emotions a child could feel. It seems so silly now as an adult, but in the moments of my childhood I wasn’t. I felt butterflies and only that mattered.

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Phone calls…

You know I don’t get many phone calls from guys at my age now. No late night talks, no conversations flying by. I suppose when you’re an adult and sex is in the mixing bowl, the phone calls go out the window and right into the trash can.

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As I was saying, Ben and I would call each other. We sent postcards from the far away places we traveled to with family. Then at one-point everything just stopped. I don’t if it was me who stopped calling him or he stopped writing me. I found other boys to crush on, like Brandon. Oh, there was no chance in hell with Brandon, but I was dreamer.

In 6th grade, Brandon was the cool boy with perfect flipped up hair and skater jeans. I was an awkward tomboy, who hated any type of clothing that would restrict my body movement during recess soccer. Embarrassingly enough, I fell into Brandon’s lap one time waiting in line after recess. A snotty little nose girl named Jenny Bri pushed me and bam! Magic. It was a heat! A sensation all in one. Ahh, “the sexual encounters of a 6th grader” Yep, I was living the dream back then

It wouldn’t be until junior high when I would run into Ben again. My friends, remembering how much he meant to me squealed in glee when they found out we were both going to the same junior high school. He ended up being in my 8th grade Drama class. He had gained a considerable amount of weight, but still wore too big, almost Harry Potter looking glasses. Ben was still sweet, funny and always smiling. After a few awkward conversations, smiles and nods we never spoke again. The butterflies were no longer there. We went to different high schools. He joined the basketball team, thinned down to stick boy again and I joined Speech and Debate; gained some much-lacking confidence in myself. We never spoke again and after high school I never saw him again.

We never spoke again and after high school I never saw him again.

**Sometimes I wonder how he’s doing.

Ben was the beginning of how I thought each boy should treat me: sweet and kind. He was also the top of the hill; my downwards tumble into the wrong kind of man.