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The Stories...
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Love Stinks. Sometimes we get dumped.
: submit your own
regret! regret!
by tim
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She was from South Carolina, a girl I met in Texas after driving there from Michigan. She was dreamy. I had just ended a relationship and was happy to be away from home. Perhaps it was the summer magic that caused it, perhaps it was the boyfriend she had at home, awaiting her return. But mostly I think it was because she was cute and I liked her. That always does it. The unattainability of a girl spoken for is enticing as well.
Our time together was usually spent talking about sex. She would go into detail about sex she and her boyfriend would have. Things she liked. Things I liked. It was a giant tease, but she wasn’t. Not really. At the time I didn’t place it as such, though. I was ecstatic to be talking with a girl about sex, while in the comfort of her private dorm room.
Near the end of the summer, before everyone was heading back to their respective colleges, she and I shared what I guess would best be described as Frottage. This is a French word, meaning literally – Friction. Basically, clothes-on sex. She felt guilty about the boyfriend waiting at home, so we kept our clothes on. She said she had 4 orgasms during the course of the Friction. I felt pretty good about my abilities as a Friction-Lover. She felt guilty about the whole thing and decided that telling her boyfriend would be the best way to purge this guilt. Perhaps she was right to do so, although at the time I was worried that this boyfriend might be disgruntled at me for rubbing up against his best girl. If I were in his shoes, I’d be more upset learning my girlfriend had Frottage than if she had sex with another guy. Something about it is dirtier, more intimate. Plus there was this whole power-play-bondage thing which is not only severely intimate, but just plain erotic.
This story does not have a definite dumper/dumpee ending, although I suppose I would end up in the dumpee corner, just because she went home to her boyfriend and I never saw her again. Sort of. And plus we never officially dated.
That was 1992. In 1995, a friend of mine was getting married in Alabama. Several of us went to see him get married. On the day before the wedding, we had a lot of free time and decided to go to Atlanta for the day. We go to the Coca Cola outdoor mall pavilion thing and we’re walking around, and there are hundreds of thousands of people milling about. As we’re strolling around, I look up and see her with a small group of people, standing and talking about 15 feet away. It was unmistakably her. I walked by and said to my friend, “I know that girl over there.” He said, “You should go say hi, or you’ll regret it.” I may have related to him how I knew her, but I forget. It was only 30 seconds between when I saw her and when I turned around to say hello. Of course she was not there. I looked all over. I went into the mall, all around the outside of the place. Gone.
Later I looked around on the internet for evidence of her in Atlanta. Masters degree from Emory University.
I remember thinking back on it right away, trying to figure what it was that kept me from stopping immediately. I was afraid seeing her would be too weird, because of the way we left things, even though three years had passed. The way we left things was that she basically said she needed to blame me for the whole thing. She pleaded for me to take the blame so that she would be able to go back to her boyfriend. I said ok. After all I really had nothing to lose. The fantasy had pretty much come to an end, but I still wished for more.
Regret that I do.
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