I always end up posting things about the Gemini or Vexing Virgo, but I never talk about my other boyfriends, like Sad Sagittarius (which is, at the moment, perfect for him) or Loathing Leo (again… far too accurate). I guess I’ll start with this one.
When I was 13 years old, almost 14, I had just moved from my hometown to my current city, and started going to middle school in neighboring suburb. My parents were in the process of turning their separated status into an official divorce, so I went into Goth-mode for most of my teenage years. Aside from the sexy Victorian garb (because I went all out, much to my mom and her wallet’s dismay) and the heavy make-up, I also took up to poetry and fiction. I carried 3-4 notebooks on my person at a time, each for a different subject matter (not school, mind you, just for my writing. I was always the type to listen in class, fudge or forget to do the homework, then ace every test.) I posted most of my work to either FictionPress, my LiveJournal (which is… laughable, when I think back to it), or *gulp* FanFiction.net.
I happened to be a big fan of an exceptional writer (who’s skill I still admire and aspire to attain now), and I sent him a message asking if he’d lower himself enough to mentor a girl who wanted to be ahead of the curb at her age. This author happened to be Sad Sagittarius. He was 17, about to ship off out of state for school, and- ever-appealing- more macabre than I. We ended up talking for hours, on into the night. I got kicked off the computer for days at a time by my mother, and she started getting very worried about my already depleting social standards, and actually went as far as upping my allowance, coaxing me to leave the house more often. I just saved up the money for when I’d see something I absolutely needed (if I remember correctly, I used some to buy a black gown with a hoop-skirt and bodice/corset for the Medieval Banquet… I miss that dress </3).
The day finally came when he asked me if I’d like to talk in person. I had already spent time with him on the phone, talking about kisses that taste like warm oatmeal cookies, overcast days where you can feel the tingle of water vapor electrifying the skin, how the smooth texture and hot sting of leather is more comforting than the silky sexiness of satin, and I felt more than ready. Perhaps I was ignorant, being as young as I was, but I didn’t tell anyone, not even my best friend at the time.
Needless to say, things went well. I’m still here, and not too traumatized. He was nice and gentle, soft-spoken, and didn’t so much as go for my hand. We sat under the shade of a bending oak, quiet but soulful. He and I were awkward, but I felt better knowing that it wouldn’t just disappear after I became as old as him. It made me a lot less self-conscious, and I think he felt that way too, seeing that someone my age- “and as cute” as I- would take interest in him. We were so comforted by the serenity of the first meet, that the next took place in the basement of his parents house. We popped in the Cowboy Bebop movie, and I laid on top of him for the whole two hours, running my fingers along the scars on his arms, over his stubble, through his dark blond hair. He stared at me, rather than the movie, half smiling, half pleading I wouldn’t be this nice to him. I didn’t understand why this was bad, as I was surprisingly innocent. I was smart enough to know his buckle wasn’t the thing pressed against my pleated skirt, and that his eyes were misted with more than sadness, but I feigned ignorance, even then, to keep up appearances for boys. For someone with so little experience, I have more than would be expected. After about an hour, his hands made their way to the small of my back, linked fingers, careful not to rub anything the wrong way. I distinctly remember smiling down at him, pulling his arms up to my shoulder blades, and telling him he could bring them down from there. When he gasped a little at the smooth, feminine curve I had already started developing, I started gathering a picture of what men liked, what they craved from a woman. He was like a teacher and a textbook all in one, and that was probably what kept me interested for so long.
He was my first everything.
He gave me my first serious kiss the third time we hung out, at my family’s apartment. We were sprawled out under the lavender lace canopy of my bed, exhausted from trying to annihilate each other on DDR. Goth clothing was never the best choice for physical activity, and he had been smarter than I, wearing those popular plaid shorts guys wore and a thinner tee. I told him I was gonna change (and de-sweat myself), so I left him there for only about a minute. When I came back, he was sitting on the right edge of the mattress, staring out the window. Once I got close enough, hand raised to wave it in front of his eyes, he spread his legs enough for me to get between, pulled me over, and planted one on me, like it was a movie. It was timed to perfectly, but I suppose Sagittarius men are like that: a ton of drama with all their substance hidden beneath layers.
He picked me up in his truck one day after school, and took me to a new park nearby that I’d never gotten to explore. He and I made out for at least an hour in the bed of it, and I felt so many new things in places I had never knew existed. There were catcalls from kids I knew from school, girlfriends texting me wanting to know where I ran off to, and of course, the parental voice of reason nagging me from the back of my mind, but every kiss drew me away from the world and back into the dreaminess of his arms.
I’ll spare the other, gritty details. But hey, I did say he was my first everything.
Of course, things couldn’t be good forever, not only was he leaving, but I never got the chance to send him off properly. My mother came across some less than appropriate conversations in my IM log; and by then, he had passed his 18th birthday. Without waiting for me to get home from a birthday party that night, she had called him, his parents, and the police. I was devastated and begged her to drop the charges, and despite her stubborn Taurus nature, she let up- after I broke some things, held a razor to my neck, and ran away.
Childish as fuck, right?
I was put under extreme restriction, couldn’t talk to him, and had to be babysat by her good friend after school until she thought I was stable. While that took her about a year to determine my return to sanity, I felt for the longest time that I hadn’t recovered. As soon as I could, I got a hold of him, but he was pissed, dating some other girl, and didn’t want to get in any more trouble. I understood, but was crushed.
I didn’t talk to him again for another two years. He and the girl had broken up (again), and he wanted to see how I was doing just as much as I wanted to know how he was doing. By then, we got over the Goth thing, and I had a lot more self confidence than ever, but we kept things extremely platonic. Eventually, he worked things out with his girlfriend, and the two of them got back together, so he and I stopped talking again.
About 2 years ago, around this time of year as well, I was dating Loathing Leo, but things weren’t as wonderful as they usually were. He and I were going through an “episode”, and I told him we needed some space. He refused to call it a break, but he partied hard and flirted like crazy, without so much as a text or call to me in a month.I had been texting Sad Sagittarius again recently, as his off and on again girlfriend and him had recently gotten engaged. I felt more at ease talking to him, knowing that things were finalized. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
He decided, since he was out of school for the semester (he wasn’t anywhere near finished, as he- ironically- was taking courses to become a teacher), that he would take a vacation and come home. Probably the worst thing he could think of to do, and to this day, I’ll never know if he came here for what ended up happening, but I don’t think I’ll ever question it (I doubt I’ll get the chance to now.)
Since I was now of legal age and a lot more experienced, he and I had a lot more to talk about. We went out on the town, spent time eating at our old favorite restaurants and hanging with some old friends, and hung out more than we should have in each other’s old bedrooms. What started as an innocent visit quickly escalated into a perverse and kinky sexcapade that I wouldn’t say I’m proud of, but I definitely wouldn’t regret it either.
One day, as we reclined against my iron headboard, exhausted from messing around- and, in my case, still partially tied up- he said “I called off the engagement.”
If it weren’t for the fact that I was restricted, I would have slapped him. “Excuse me?”
He explained that he couldn’t do this and keep up appearances with his fiancee, and the two of them have barely worked the past 6 years, how could they possibly handle being married? At the end of his spiel, he sealed the deal with
"Besides, I love you. I always have and always will. Didn’t we promise each other that?"
That guilty spear cut through me enough to wear my heart and mind were split between the two men. For the longest time, I felt as though I should have thrown my relationship with Loathing Leo out the window; it’s obvious now that I made the right choice, despite LL’s awful personality. After another week of “fun” (it stopped being fun in the middle of that week), I told Sad Sagittarius that we weren’t meant to be, and that he needs to go back to his fiancee immediately and make things right. Less than pleased and obviously feeling betrayed, he took a Red Eye back the next night.
I haven’t seen him since, but we decided to talk regularly, in hopes to keep appearances up and look less guilt-ridden. While that worked splendidly, we never felt like things had ended, and insisted that we’d remain close, as horrible of an idea as it was.
And just this September, he and I almost attended a friends wedding in a different state. If it weren’t for all the family drama that went down this summer, I probably would have driven there with him, and things would have went as badly as they did the last time we were together in person.
I rehashed all these feelings, and how I felt about his cheating, tonight. Needless to say, he got pissed (how is that not obvious by now? He’s an emotional wreck, and damn it, so am I) and blocked me on Facebook. But it needed to be done. I’ve learned so much from him, but not all that knowledge is entirely good. The experience though, that’s what’s important. Whether it’s negative or positive, you (hopefully) learn from it, and I feel as though I have. I now know the tell tale signs of an unstable suitor, how to French kiss like a pro, and when to use semi-colons. I overuse them, of course, but I don’t care as much as I used to. He was a fantastic teacher and a wonderful friend, but I hate being stuck in a vicious cycle.