I lost my virginity at the first frat party I ever went to.

To this day, I'm

pretty sure my brother set it up for me. To this day, I don't want to know the
answer. I'd prefer to half-believe she was so taken with me that she couldn't
resist.

It was the weekend before my Freshman year started. We rode an old school bus to
the VFW hall where the fraternity I was pledging was hosting a party. She was from
Peru, six years older than me, and worked with my older brother at the department
in a different section store selling women's clothing. I had touched some boobs a
few times, but nothing more. Sad, I know.

It was pretty clear from the first time we started dancing that she wanted some.
At one point one of my soon-to-be fraternity brothers said to me when he thought
she couldn't hear, "You're gettin laid tonight, bro!"

She had heard. "Hell yeah he is!" she yelled over the music. Truth be told, I was
terrified. It wasn't going to happen for hours, but I knew it was going to happen.
I was drinking, but I couldn't drink too much even though I tend to drink quickly
when I'm nervous.

I wandered outside to get some air. Standing on the curb having a drink, I noticed
a girl sitting on the edge of the curb, feet in the gutter, crying. I walked over
and sat beside her, saying "Hey." She turned, and she was beautiful. "Are you
okay?"

She looked at me with doe eyes, opened her lips, and vomited into the gutter. She
turned away and started crying harder.

I stood up and walked back towards the door, which opened. My peruvian seductress
stepped halfway out. "Hey papi, chu comink back een?"

I fucked her twice that night and rolled over to get some sleep because I had a
job interview in the morning, but I felt a hand curl around my dick. "Do Americans
like it, how you say, ummm, doggy style?" she whispered. Okay, I fucked her three
times that night.

---

About six months later, newly pledged into the Frat, we decided to wreak some
havoc at the dorms. A compatriot let us in, and as I walked past the stairwell, I
saw the same angel sitting on the steps, talking on the phone, crying her eyes
out. "What's her problem?" I asked the guy who let us in.

"Ahh, her boyfriend's an asshole or something, this always happens."

---

She started sitting at our table during lunch, but I was always talking to one of
her sisters, and never paid her any mind.

My friend started coming to me, asking for advice. He was crazy about this girl he
knew. He kept telling me how amazing she was, how much he wanted her. I counseled
him as best I could and wished him well.

A few months after this, we went to a party one of the sororities was hosting.
"There she is!" my friend said, "I'll introduce you." He brought a girl over. The
crier. He was right, she was lovely, but ignored me thoroughly, and paid slightly
less attention to my friend. I attempted to talk to her a few times before another
friend pulled me aside.

"Forget it, she's dating some asshole. Don't bother."

---

I was sitting in the cafeteria one day when she walked up to the register. As I
was eating, I watched her stand there for about five minutes and no one came over
to ring her up. I waved at her, and she looked at me. I smiled and beckoned her to
come sit by me. She smiled back, looked around, and walked confidently past the
register, around the railing, towards me, and right on past. I didn't even bother
to look and see where she'd gone. She didn't sit by me, and that was what had
mattered.

---

She started showing up at parties pretty regularly, and I did my best to ignore
her, until I started hearing rumors that her boyfriend had broken up with her 'for
the last time'. About then, my fraternity threw a party. I was sipping on a beer,
because at this time I was living on about $5 a week, and hadn't eaten that day.
My half of a frozen pizza was tomorrow's meal. Beer was free calories but tough on
an empty stomach.

Late in the evening as the crowd was dwindling, the girl showed up in a giddy and
personable mood. "It's my birthday!" she told everyone, "Chug a beer with me!"
There was a mild grumble from those in earshot, and she looked disappointed.

Always the White Knight, I stepped forward. "I'll do it, since it's your
birthday." We refilled our cups, toasted her birthday, and chugged our beers as
quick as we could. It felt like a stone hitting a shallow pond after a long drop.

"See, that was fun, wasn't it?" the angel spoke to me for what may have been the
first time.

"Uh, yeah," I went cold and my stomach turned. Liquid shot the wrong way up my
throat. I clenched my hand over my mouth and walked away. The bathrooms on the
first floor were occupied, as were the second. I couldn't hold it any longer and
vomited in the sink.

I washed my face with cold water and rinsed, then grabbed another keg cup and went
back downstairs like everything was okay. When I got back to her, she was laughing
at me. Mortified, I avoided her the rest of the night.

---

It was either that party or another soon after that a friend told me about a
beautiful girl who was a bit too shy to approach me on her own. I lapped it up
eagerly, and he offered to introduce us. I went out to meet her, and it was an
entirely different girl. I was crestfallen and not kind.

My friend was persistent, and kept trying to get us together. I was horny and,
after realizing this girl was in my class for the now-starting new semester, went
for it. She had some complications from earlier boyfriends, though, and I wasn't
terribly interested in her, so we took it a bit slow. Like a friend with boobs you
can make out with and finger.

Pretty soon however we were ready. I stripped her down and laid her out, her
perfect, gorgeous body naked in front of me, flawless in every way. I went to put
on a condom when I really looked at her face, and she looked terrified. Her body
was shaking. I couldn't do it. I didn't deserve her, this magnificent girl
deserved someone who cared about her.

I knew who I wanted, and it was her sorority sister. This would take some skill.
Seinfeld pulled off the Roommate Swap, I had to pull off the Sorority Sister Swap.
That's only one step away from a straight-out Sister Swap. Very difficult.

---

Luckily I was also in class with a third sorority sister of theirs who was the
match-making type. She told me that I shared many similar interest with the Crying
Angel, and several in particular I should play up. She also understood my
situation with the Scared Beauty and had my back with the sisters to keep the
situation under control. It was a perfect storm.

Looking back, this all happened very quickly.

We had a party at my frat house, where I lived. I was playing poker in the living
room with several of the sorority sisters. They were asking why SB didn't come
over, and I said it was because I hadn't called her. Changing the topic, we
eventually got on the topic of the Crying Angel, and they told me several stories
about how she'd been mistreated by her ex boyfriend and deserved better.

"If I was dating a girl like her," I told the girls, who I trusted, "I'd never
treat her that way. I would treat her like she deserves." They all smiled
knowingly, I'm sure my compatriot had been paving this avenue behind my back. They
all agreed we'd be a good match, pointing out the same similarities as before.

Just as I finished expounding on the virtues of the Angel, and how kindly I would
care for her, the door to the stairwell opened, and she emerged with a beautific
grin. Her eyes locked on mine, beaming at me, and I smiled back at her, holding
her eyes as she strode through the room and down the hallway to my frat brother's
room for her date.

---

He told me all about how they'd made out and he'd felt her big boobs and even how
he took her top off, but he was a goon and I wasn't worried. We were all heading
out for lunch, and he volunteered the two of them to join the group. She looked at
me and smiled.

When we got there, I claimed a seat, making sure to leave two open beside me. We
looked at each other, and I patted the seat beside me. She walked over and sat
down two seats away. My dumbass frat bro sat between us and I made fun of her most
of the meal.

---

A week or two passed and she hadn't called him back. A big party was coming up,
and I decided I was going to make this happen. A few days before the party, I
broke up with my girlfriend, telling her it wasn't her, it was me, I was
interested in somebody else and didn't want to string her along, and so on. She
didn't take it so well.

The day of the party, my buddy and I decided we needed to get in shape for the
events that were going to occur. We bought a bottle of black label and drank half
of it in cannonball form before going to the parking lot to get on a bus.
I saw her sitting in a window, but they wouldn't let us on. First bus was
fraternity brothers and girls only, and it wasn't our frat. We went back and drank
the rest of the bottle with more cannonballs.

When we got back to the lot, the next bus was boarding, and we were loaded. When I
got there, I scoured the place while I made my rounds and greeted friends. I
didn't see her anywhere.

I was complaining to a friend when the song changed. To what, I don't remember.
But the entire crowd split apart like Moses parting the sea. I was standing at one
end, and as I turned and looked, she was standing at the other. Our eyes locked,
and I walked straight to her.

The first thing she said to me was, "Where have you been?"

"It doesn't matter," I said, "I'm here now." I took her hand and we started
talking. We sat at the table and talked for the rest of the party. When it was
over, her obnoxious friend wanted to take her home. I suggested we go to my house.

We got on the bus, and I took the back seat. She came down the row, and sat across
the aisle. Her obnoxious friend stood in front of us. "Hey," I said, "come over
here." She got up smiling, and plopped down beside me, my arm around her on the
seat. I pulled her in.

Her friend sat down in the opposite seat and tried to convince her to go straight
home, but she was going to my house first. The Angel turned to me, pouty. "Why did
you have to date her?" she asked of her sorority sister.

"That's over now, I broke up with her already."

"Why?"

"Because I like someone else. One of her sisters."

"Who?"

"You, silly. I want to be with you."

She squealed and I hugged her tight. I went to kiss her, and her friend grunted
loudly. She pulled away. "We can't do this, it's too soon."

"I'll take care of it, don't worry."

We got to my house and listened to the Beatles, both of ours favorite group. I
kept trying to kiss her, but her friend wouldn't leave us alone. I walked to her
to her car, and asked for her phone number. "I can't remember," she told me, "I'm
too drunk. Call me tomorrow and I'll tell you." She probably shouldn't have driven
home that night.

As I was standing in the driveway watching her drive away, a car squealed to a
stop across the road and my ex got out, crying. I walked over to talk to her. She
wanted to know why I’d broken up with her, and I told her that I wanted to be with
someone else, and I was sorry if that hurt her. I tried to comfort her, and she
got back in her car. I said, “Maybe in another time.”

She shook her head. “No. Goodbye.”

The next morning, I realized the impossible nature of the Angel’s suggestion to
call her to get her number. After going over several chapters of the bro code with
a friend, I knew what I had to do. I called my goony frat bro, and asked for her
number. Oddly enough, he told me before asking why I wanted it.

I called her, and we went to lunch that day.

---

I would take her hand and we spent all our time together, but she wouldn't kiss me
at first because of all commotion in the sorority from my maneuver. I took the
blame for everything and called the Scared Beauty several times to apologize and
ask her to not be mad at the Angel who hadn't any idea what I was up to until
after SB and I were broken up.

A few weeks later, one of my roommates came into my room and closed the door. “I
need to talk to you about something.” He wanted permission to date the Scared
Beauty. Thinking of my Angel, I gave him my full support and encouragement.

That matter resolved, we began fucking like it was a competition. We'd spend days
in bed, calling in sick to work, or just wasting a weekend. After a month of
watching her take the pill at the same time every day, we started having sex
without any protection or even pulling out. It was glorious.

I was sitting on the edge of my bed one night, with her head in my lap. I was
explaining something to her, she loved it when I did that. She started getting
grumpy and insisted I hated her and was going to leave her. I told her I didn’t
hate her, I couldn’t, and would never leave her. She demanded to know why I
couldn’t hate her and would never leave her. I couldn’t, I told her, because I
loved her. I could never hate her, and never leave her, because I loved her. She
cooed and breathed a sigh of relief, falling asleep in my lap.

---

It was weeks before she said she loved me back, but in that time she found many
ways to pry it out of me again and again. Years later, she told me it took her so
long to say she loved me back because she couldn’t believe that a guy like me
loved her and wasn’t just saying that to get what I wanted, but that I really
meant it. And when she finally said it back, and I saw in her eyes she meant it, I
knew she was the one for me. She was the first person to say she loved me and mean
it without ‘having’ to.

We dated for months without ever having a fight or serious disagreement. Our
personalities, interests, and tastes meshed almost perfectly, like we were mirror
images of each other. But even though the sex and relationship were great, we were
still poor young college students, and money was tight.

I’m very careful about the girls I bring home, so I don’t often introduce anyone
to my family very quickly. She would bring me lunch at work and would sit and eat
with me and talk. One day we were having lunch, and I glanced out the window. “I
forgot, my mom was going to come by today,” I said to her.

“Oh? Why’s that?” She asked as I watched my mom walk up to the door through the
window.

---

She moved into a house down the road from my frat house, and asked me to come over
and help her paint her bedroom. I declined, because I’m kind of a dick like that
sometimes. Later in the evening I went over to see how it was going, and some guy
was painting her room for her. I asked what was going on, and she said that she
was complaining at work and he said he’d do it for a six pack. I stuck around
until he left and didn’t think anything more of it.

About six months into the relationship, we were talking about getting engaged. She
was short of cash one month, and couldn't afford a checkup to get a new birth
control prescription. We held off unprotected sex until she could get more pills
and take them for a month.

Well, about three weeks in to that month, we were getting daring, and one night I
pulled off the condom and really dug into her. She was going wild, and it was all
around an epic screw. Right as I was getting ready to cum, I started to pull out,
then hesitated. It was one of those moments where time stopped.

God spoke to me. I shit you not. He said, "You can either cum in this girl, having
her only for pleasure, and lose her; or you can be responsible and pull out, and
keep her forever."

I don't know if it was the heat of the moment, or my irresponsible youth, or just
the immediate gratification you get from cumming inside a gorgeous, amazing girl
with a soaking wet pussy who's begging for your cum inside her.

Whatever it was, I made my choice, and blew it in more ways than one.

---

She was my best friend, my constant companion, and my insatiable lover. We

couldn’t get enough of each other in any form. One day a few months after we’d
started dating, I was sitting in my room listening to the Beatles and smoking a
joint. Blackbird came on, and verse boiled in my head. I took a pencil and paper
and started writing a poem. It was about the blackbird that Paul was singing
about, and a metaphor for our relationship. She loved it. It was taped to the
mirror in her bedroom for years.

Blackbird

A song he sang
That I just heard
It told the story of a bird
A man who sad
Could not abide
To keep his blackbird by his side
So let her go
His words were true
It seemed his song he sang of you
Of pain and break
Of wings and heart
Of you and loss in your depart
Your wings then broke
As his once were
Made life uncertain, days unsure
Then found within
A barn one night
Two birds who sought to set things right
Both broken once
But now made whole
And set to strive towards life’s goal
This birdie now
I must confide
Sleeps with me and at my side
So hear these words
I now expound
Two lovers lost, two lovers found

We had some great sex. Maybe I’m not the person to judge, but if it can be done we
tried our best at it. One time I always look back on fondly is when we were laying
side by side fucking, and her pussy would get so wet she’d soak the both of us.
While I was pounding her like that, she reached back and pulled my slippery cock
out of her dripping pussy and slid it effortlessly up her ass and just kept
pounding back on me the whole time, begging it deeper into her while I squeezed
her big, soft breasts.

About a month and a half later, she was two weeks late on her period. I bought
some tests. They were all positive. We were terrified. Both 21, in college, what
would my family think? We didn’t know what to do. That’s not true. I knew what we
couldn’t do, and I made the decision about what we had to do.

I made the appointment. The night before, all I wanted to do was forget about what
was happening. My car was broke, so I called a friend to come pick me up and have
a few drinks and a smoke. I was waiting at her house when he pulled up. She
started crying and looked at me with such sad eyes. I apologized to my friend and
told him I forgot I’d promised her I’d stay with her that night.

She was seven weeks pregnant. She didn’t have to have a procedure. They gave her
some pills to swallow and some other stuff. She laid in my bed with me and cried
for days. Over the weeks, she cried less. We couldn’t have sex for three months.
No matter, she didn’t want to. She started spending more time with friends from
work. A couple times I had to come pick her up from her friend’s house who painted
her room. She swore nothing was going on, he was just a friend, and she needed
some space for a while. I had to be okay with that, there was nothing else I could
do.

We were walking back to my place after I picked her up from her friend’s house.
She was pretty drunk, and we started to argue about her spending time with him. “I
quit.” She said as she sat down on the sidewalk.

“Please, no, get up, talk to me, we’re almost home.”

“No. I quit. I can’t do this anymore. I always do everything wrong. I mess

everything up. I quit.”

It took some talking and love, and being more ‘understanding’ than is enough to
test my patience, but I got her off the sidewalk and back into my bedroom.

---

I would pick her up from his house a couple times a week at that point. I tried to
reason it was no big deal, it was just down the street from my friend’s whose
house I was hanging out at anyway, and when I would head home for the night, I’d
call her, and we’d go home and usually have lots of sex. I would drop by there
randomly to make sure nothing funny was going on, and hang out sometimes. It all
seemed friendly until he said he was moving away.

I came over to pick her up one day, and purposefully didn’t call or knock, just
opened the door. He was laying on the couch on his side, with a cat sitting in
front of his chest. She was sitting on the couch at his waist, petting the cat.
She said she had only sat down to pet the cat goodbye when she heard me pull up. I
wanted to believe that. But he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and I’m pretty sure I saw
her pull on her jacket right as I stepped in the door.

---

It was Valentine’s Day, and I had brought her flowers, taken her to dinner, and
done everything a good boyfriend is supposed to. Afterwards we were at her house
having some drinks when her work friends came by. We were all hanging out,
drinking, and it got late. I wanted to go to sleep, so I tried to get her to come
back to my place. “No, I promised my friend I’d give him a ride home.”

“I’ll take him.”

“Nobody’s going home yet! You can sleep in my room.”

I didn’t like her bed. It was a twin. I had a queen, not a block away. “Let’s just
go to my house.”

“I’m not going to bed yet. I’ll come down when I’m done.”

I’m a fool. Can you believe it? I went home. But even though it was 5am, I didn’t
sleep well.

---

The next morning when I woke up I went out on the porch. Her car wasn’t in the
driveway. I tried calling her, no answer. I walked down and talked to her
roommate, who said that they’d left a few hours ago so that she could take her
friend to work. They’d stayed here last night? Oh yes, in fact, her friend had
slept in her bedroom ‘because it was quieter’. She swore it was on the floor, but
I looked, and there was nothing on the floor evidence of that.

I knew she didn’t have to work that day. I tried calling her but she didn’t
answer. Eventually her phone was shut off. My car was broken down still, so I
couldn’t go anywhere. She never came home. That night, I went to a party with her
roommate. She was supposed to be there. She wasn’t.

I was torn to pieces. I finally asked her roommate to borrow her car, and went to
her work friend’s house. Her car was parked out front. His wasn’t. I knocked.

His roommate answered the door, sheepish. He let me in, and told me that the work
friend was at work, and my girlfriend was in his room. I went in and opened the
door. She was laying on the bed sleeping. I shouted at her. She woke up sad. She
said she was only sleeping, that nothing happened. She was just so tired of
everything. I shouted some more. She implored me that nothing happened. I wanted
terribly to believe her. I wanted so badly to believe her. But she was only
wearing panties.

She did always sleep only in panties, or naked if we’d had sex. But sleeping like
that in another man’s bed? Present or not, I don’t even want to imagine the
scenarios. He moved a few days later. She swore she never cheated on me. Those
were the only two reasons I didn’t leave her. Maybe I’m a fool for that. But I had
already made one mistake big enough that I couldn’t leave her for making a few.

---
She got drunk one night, and I helped walk her home. When we got to her house, she
collapsed on the couch. “Why are you here?” she asked me.

“I’m your boyfriend. I love you. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“I don’t love you anymore. Leave me alone!”

It was heartbreaking. “Honey, you’re drunk, you don’t mean that, please, let’s
talk about this tomorrow.”

She argued with me a bit more about how she hated me before she started crying and
asking me why I put up with her. I assured her that I loved her, and we went to
bed. I even slept in that horrible twin bed with her just to prove that I would
sleep with her wherever she was. That was important to her.

---

A few months later we were keeping it together and I thought, recovering pretty
well. It was our anniversary dinner, our first. We went to our favorite
restaurant. Over the entrée, looking out the window, she said to me, “We gave it
a good shot, didn’t we?”

“What?” I was confused.

“Haven’t we tried long enough? Shouldn’t we just end it now? I mean, it’s going to
end sometime so why not now?”

Suddenly my stomach hurt. I wasn’t hungry any more. I just wanted to go home. Why
couldn’t things be like they were before?

---

She used to always want a backrub and an ass squeeze before bed all those years,
it was a little ritual we developed. Sometimes during the ass squeeze I’d reach a
finger down and tickle her pussy lips, sliding the wet, tasty vulva apart. Quite
frequently after I’d rub her back, she’d reach over and start playing with my
cock, feeling it grow in her hands. When it was hard, she’d stroke it a bit, then
climb over and start sucking me off, her soft, ample breasts swaying in rhythm as
she swallowed my cock. This was a regular event any time we were dating.

She’d deep throat me as I played with her breasts, rubbing her soft skin, and
squeezing her little nipples. She’d suck on me until I came, or until her pussy
got so horny she couldn’t keep my cock out of it, climbing on top of me and
sliding my hardon deep inside her body, rocking up and down with myself inside
her, feeling her deep inside, probing her, searching for an orgasm, pounding up
and down on top of me as I held and sucked her breasts and rubbed her tight little
asshole, sliding my finger inside her.

She’d ride me until the juices poured out of her hot pussy, then slide my dick out
of her and suck all her delicious cum off my cock before putting it back inside
her tight little snatch. I always wanted her to rub her wet juicy pussy all over
my face so that I could suck her off, but she was a little shy about that.

No matter, she’d ride my cock, squeezing her tight little pussy in kegel exercises
to jerk me off with her twat, juicing me until I couldn’t stand it, then she’d
slip my dick out of her wet, dripping pussy, suck all her cum off it, then suck me
until I came in her mouth, her hands sticky from her own cum soaking my cock. She
always swallowed. She wouldn’t dare have it any other way. She loved a tummy full
of cum, a pussy full of cum, and a booty full of cum. She wanted me to fill her
every hole with as much cum as my cock and balls could give her. She was the
perfect playmate. I once fucked her to completion 28 times in 24 hours.

---

From that point on we were off and on for about a year, we’d spend a few months
apart, then be together for a few months, on and off. We were spending more and
more time together, and things seemed to be stabilizing. We’d have fights, then
leave each other love notes, apologizing and asking the other to come back. I
found out she was seeing another guy, and because I’m insane, left a flower on her
car. She wrote me a note, and stopped seeing him.

We were so innately drawn to one another we just couldn’t stay away for too long.
I thought the curse was broken, and that things would work out, until her work
friend sent her a postcard from where he’d moved inviting her to come visit. She
loved the mountains, and apparently there was something unresolved with him. She
came to me before she left, asking me to be her boyfriend again, that she loved me
and wanted to be with me.

I told her if she went to see him, they were obviously going to have sex, and I
wasn’t going to put up with that. I was certainly not going to call her my
girlfriend and then drive her to the airport to have sex with another man, and she
could forget about getting me back when she came home. I held her as she laid in
my bed and cried for hours, but I wouldn’t let her kiss me.

I wasn’t surprised that she did go see him. I was true to my word, and didn’t have
anything to do with her when she got back. She started dating her ex-boyfriend who
had been the ‘asshole’ at the beginning of the story. As I later found out, he’s a
pretty good guy. Everybody does dumb shit. After she got with him, we started
talking again.

They dated for, I dunno, six months or so. He was somewhat out of the picture,
living in another city. She and I were always good friends even through all our
troubles, and we still spent inordinate amounts of time together. I eventually
moved to another house, and she came right along. We started fooling around again
even though she was supposed to be dating her old boyfriend. She went to see him,
then he came to see her, and soon after he left, he dumped her over the phone.

---

She came to me again that night, the Crying Angel. He had dumped her – again – and
here she was without a man to call hers. She was drunk and yelling my name in the
street. I went outside and brought her in. She wanted me back – again. I told her
I wouldn’t have it. She had said she didn’t love me, that she loved him. I wasn’t
going to be good enough, the stand in, the one who isn’t quite what you want but
will have to do because you’ve got nothing else.

Again, she laid in my bed and cried. She wanted to sleep with me again, for me to
rub her back and squeeze her butt. She just wanted things back to how they were. I
told her she couldn’t sleep with me, that it wasn’t right. I drove her home in her
car. She begged me to sleep with her in her bed. I told her that she’d just shared
it with him not a week before. I walked the mile home. I didn’t know what else to
do.

---
We slowly started dating again, and things seemed to be right. We were together
for almost a year without any trouble. We were talking about engagement again, and
when her lease came up, she wanted me to move in with her. I was very uncertain
about that proposal for many reasons. I’d been heartbroken enough in all this, I
didn’t want to move in with her and have it all fall apart again. We practically
lived together anyway, and if things kept going well, maybe I’d move in next year.

She didn’t take this well, I think it really upset her to think that I didn’t want
to live with her. I started to reconsider, and changed my mind. I went to her new
apartment to tell her I wanted to move in when my lease was up. She wanted to have
a talk. We sat on the porch.

“I want to break up. I don’t love you anymore.”

We both started crying. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I just can’t do it. I’ve tried so hard, and I just can’t do it
anymore.”

I was frustrated. I couldn’t take it anymore either. It hurt so bad all the time.
When things were good, they were so good, but when things were bad, it hurt so
much I couldn’t hardly stand it. I’d given it all I’ve got. I tried all I could
try. If she couldn’t do it anymore, I didn’t have anything left to put in to it
either. We’d tried so many times, and it was always so hard. She wanted to quit
again, and this time I didn’t have the energy left to try and keep us going. We
gave up.

“Can we still be friends?” She asked me as we cried.

“We’ve always been friends. You’re my best friend.” I told her. It was true. It
always had been since the day we went to lunch for the first time.

We hugged and cried. I left.

---

She called me one morning and told me she’d done something bad and needed to talk
to me. I told her to come over. She was going to lunch with her roommate. I told
her she was coming to my house or going to hell. She was over in five minutes.

She had done something bad. The night before, she got drunk at her house with some
friends, and had fucked this loser that she worked with. I was frustrated and
aroused. She was open for about anything, and if she was going to fool around, I
wouldn’t mind being included. I didn’t want to admit to her that it turned me on,
that I might like to watch her take a pounding from a stunt cock. I told her she
disgusted me, that I wouldn’t want to have sex with her for a while.

Ten minutes later, I peeled off her jeans and fucked her in the ass, hard. She was
screaming in pleasure while I bit her neck, massaged her huge chest, squeezing her
hard nipples, and slammed my rock hard cock up her tight, velvety asshole. I loved
fucking her in the ass, her pussy drooling girl-cum on my balls as they slapped
her lips and clit while I pounded my dick up her tiny hole. I was horny and angry
and blew about a gallon of cum in her tight little sexy butt.

---

We tried to be friends. We gave it a shot. She kept picking me up for lunch, I

kept trying to kiss her. She wasn’t seeing anybody else, but she wasn’t giving me
much headway. I got frustrated again. I tend to do that. She called me for lunch
one day. I told her I was busy.

It was the first time in the nearly five years I’d known her that I had ever told
her I was too busy for her.

I didn’t call her when I got off work. She didn’t call me. I waited to see if she
would. After a few weeks, I was determined to not care. I was on a crusade to
forget her. I swore her from my life. If she would give up all of what we had, I
would too. I wasn’t going to break.

---

I was the one to break. The New Year went by and I hadn’t seen nor heard from her
for six months. The longest we’d ever gone since we knew each other was three. I
called her. She sounded flat. She called me back. We made plans. She blew me off.

I went to see her. She got a phone call. They seemed to be asking a lot of
questions about me. I asked who it was. “Oh, that’s my friend. He wanted to know
why you’re here since you haven’t been around in so long.”

They weren’t seeing each other, she said. She wasn’t ready to date anyone right
now and he knew that. I felt sick. I had ridden this train before, and knew where
it was going.

I couldn’t tell if I had made a huge mistake by being stubborn, or if it was for
the best. I never could tell. I never knew if I should leave her alone, cut my
losses, and walk away, losing so much that I’d had, all the time we’d spent
together, all the love we’d shared; or if I should dig in, try a little bit
harder, wait a little bit longer, do a little bit better, and fight to hold onto
what I had with every ounce of my strength.

---

The next I heard they were dating, and quite seriously. She would text me
occasionally, or we’d send each other messages on MySpace, but every time we
started going anywhere she would tell me it was too confusing to talk to me, and I
wouldn’t hear from her for months. She got an apartment back in her home city
eight hours away, and moved in with her boyfriend. She was pursuing her dream of
being a musician, something she’d always talked about and aspired to. I tried my
best to be happy for her. In time, I genuinely was.

It became years between communication with the person who at one time had been my
best friend I’d ever had in the whole world, bar none, who knew me and understood
me better than anyone I’d ever known before, and I understood her better than she
understood herself. It was heartbreaking. It took me years to get over her and
move on with my life.

---

I did, however, move on, and start trying to find that spark with someone else. I
date when I find someone I’m interested in, but after an affair like that, with my
needs fulfilled so thoroughly, it’s difficult to find solace in a lesser match.
Mere physical attraction is nice, but the connection on such a deep level is so
hard to find. She sent me a friend request on Facebook, but remembering our
earlier encounters on MySpace, I just left it sitting there unanswered. I thought
it for the best.
A few months later, last November, about three and a half years after we broke up,
I got an invitation to a wedding. Scared Beauty was marrying my fraternity brother
who had asked my permission to date her. And my Crying Angel was going to be a
bridesmaid.

Well, I wasn’t interested in getting my ex back, and I knew she was quite content
in her relationship with her boyfriend. However, I had to look good in my first
appearance in nearly four years, and that required a hot date.

I asked several good prospects – the nurse, the model, the girl I was trying to
get with, but nobody could or would go, so I asked another gorgeous little thing
that I know, a ballet dancer, who quite cheerfully agreed. I took her out shopping
the day before so we could find her a sexy little black dress to wear. And man,
could she wear a dress! Girls shaped like this don’t come in multi-packs!

We were out shopping one of the local ritzy districts when I saw a person
approaching who I recognized but couldn’t place. She obviously recognized me also.
As we passed, it all clicked. We turned to each other and slowed to a stop.
“Angel?”

She was petrified. She squawked something about having to meet someone and took
off down the sidewalk. Inside, I chuckled. I just won this round.

---

The next day at the wedding, my date was stunning. Her dress fitted her like a
glove, and she was 10 for 10, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off my ex standing up in
the wedding party. She looked magnificent. Glowing. I tried not to stare. I
couldn’t help it.

After the wedding, I met her boyfriend for the first time. We chatted for a while,
as my ex made fuck-me eyes at me and I did my best to ignore her and attend to my
date. I marveled at this inside, was she really giving me those old come hither
looks that I knew so well? It seemed I’d unexpectedly won this round also.

I had one glass of wine at the reception before my date needed to go home. I went
back, chatted with some old friends, and went to meet some new friends to drink my
sorrows away far away from my ex. I was over her, but I’ll be damned if seeing
ghosts doesn’t startle you. And the way things were going, I seemed to be holding
all the cards. I just had no idea how to play my hand.

---

I didn’t really think about it, though. I was busy chasing tail down here, she was
living her life up there. It was what she’d always said she wanted. It wasn’t much
concern to me, and it’s always nice to see an old friend doing well. I was
pleasantly surprised by her reactions to me, but it was no matter.

Imagine my surprise when I awoke a month after the wedding to a message on

Facebook. I had received it at 3am. It was from my ex, no subject. The message
content was “Hi”. I tried to let it sit, but couldn’t leave it alone. I replied.

She asked if I hated her. I told her I couldn’t hate her, after everything we’d
been through it was proven impossible. We started messaging regularly, catching
up. She said she’d been mortified to see me while we were shopping, that she was
certain I hated her, and when I was nice, it blew her away. I asked her if she’d
been making eyes at me at the reception, and she said of course, she couldn’t help
it when she saw me. She could never refuse me.
We started chatting regularly, constantly. She asked me if my phone number was the
same. I said it was, was hers? It was. I received a text from a number that hadn’t
been programmed into my phone for many years. I still knew that number by heart.

---

Texting led to phone calls, and phone calls led to phone sex. I’d get a call late
at night, she’d already be breathing heavy, then I’d talk her off while listening
to her gasp, moan, and scream, jerking off while listening to those incredible,
erotic sounds. She’d tell me what she was doing, and describe herself in detail,
while I’d tell her exactly what I would like to do to her. She’d picked up a few
new tricks, including multiple orgasms, and listening to her cum time after time
because of what I was saying to her was one of the hottest experiences of my life.

We set up video chat so that we could watch each other masturbate on our laptops,
but that seemed like a step too far. She was already having problems in her
relationship with her boyfriend (obviously). Seeing me had sparked something long
hidden and long denied. She had never forgotten me, never gotten over me, never
moved on. She just buried me and tried to forget me. Seeing me brought it flooding
out, and brought her relationship to the brink. She wanted me back.

I spent all these years getting over her, thinking she had moved on and was happy
with a new man, but she wasn’t. She was in denial this whole time, still madly in
love with me. I had moved on with my life, but much to my surprise, she hadn’t.

This was something I had to think about. I mean, listening to my old girlfriend
have incredibly hot orgasms over the phone was one thing, talking about reviving a
long-dead relationship was very much different.

---

New Year’s Eve last year, I was on a party bus. This affair with my ex was
ongoing, and destined for disaster. She was sending me texts throughout the night,
and describing what she wanted and where she wanted it. I was responding in kind,
though as I got drunker, the quality of my texts went from questionable to
illegible. The last one I remember came in after midnight. It was the first time
she’d said it in four years. The first time she’d said so since we broke up the
last time. It was what she had denied when we broke up then. It was simple and
obvious. It was long overdue. It was something I’d missed, it was “I love you.”

The next morning I responded in kind, I had to, there was no avoiding it. It was
true, and it was relevant. It was undeniable and it would be foolish to try. I
wrote her back. “I love you too.” She called me and we masturbated together. It
was glorious. I just wished we were in each others arms, instead of holding a
phone in one hand and ourselves in the other.

---

But the writing was on the wall. There was serious trouble in her relationship.
She had been with him since six months after we had broken up, and he was all
she’d ever asked for in a man. Again, I knew that I was the not the one who was
preferred, just the one who was there. I was an easy way out, a pressure valve, a
way to blow off steam so she didn’t do something really damaging in person with
someone up there. I knew this. I accepted it. Such is my lot. I made that choice
when God spoke to me.

I told her. She hated to admit it but knew it was true. She felt like a terrible
person for using me like that, and again was at a loss as to how I didn’t hate
her. I’d given up on hate. I couldn’t have ill-will toward this woman, I’d spent
nearly a quarter of my life with her. She’d shaped who I was.

But, I told her, this cannot go on. You have to devote yourself to him, to make
things work. Our love is so uncertain. All we know is that it is there, it’s never
proven strong enough. We harmed it irreparably in its infancy. It never stood a
chance afterwards. All we had done since was keep it on life support. She had to
make things work with this man. If she came back to me, I would not take her. We
both understood this was the only way. We have both accepted it.

We had our time together, and no matter what romantic fantasies our dreams may
bring us in the night, what we had simply cannot be again. We made our mistakes,
and we have had to live with them. When God gives you a choice, you don’t get any
takebacks.

I fucked up. It was my fault. She did the bad things she did, and it hurt me
terribly, but she could never hurt me the way I hurt her. I promised her a future,
a family, a loving husband and devoted father. Instead, I was a coward, who at the
first sign of responsibility, I ran from it, and ran from her. I made the easy
choice, and had to live with the hard consequences. My pain was my own fault. My
life is what I have made it.

---

We should have talked more. Instead, we clammed up. We were scared, and we didn’t
know what to say. We ran from the problems instead of facing them. It all started
that night God spoke to me. I made the wrong choice. I knew that then, I have
experienced all its unfortunate results. When God speaks to you, friends, you
ought listen to Him.

In talking to her years after the fact, during this getting back in touch period,
I discovered what I had always feared. She resented my decision to have an
abortion. She wanted to keep the child. She wasn’t playing house when we talked
about engagement. She wanted to marry me, she wanted me to be her husband and the
father of her child. But I didn’t have the courage for that. Despite claiming all
along that was what I wanted, at the first opportunity to have it, I threw it
away. I paid $350 for pills to make it not happen. It was my choice, and I am
responsible for everything that happened to us thereafter.

Follow your heart, friends, and follow your head. And if God speaks to you, listen
to Him. But do not listen to your dick. It’s a fun toy, but it’s not a great
leader.

We love each other. We do. That’s an undeniable fact. We will never not love each
other. We may even on some level wish it were all different. But that’s not how it
is. That’s not what happened. She has her life now, and I’m not the same part of
it I used to be.

I told her this. She understood. We’re still friends, but we no longer have phone
sex or discuss any idea of ourselves as anything other than inordinately close
friends. The man she’s with doesn’t believe in marriage, and doesn’t want to have
any children. Sometimes I wonder what will happen with that, I know she wants to
marry and loves children, but I don’t have any false hopes or pretenses. We both
know our place in life.

---
Her and I have discussed this tale many times, and she’s suggested I write it up
because it’s such a fucked up, beautiful love story. It has everything it needed
to turn out so right, but it all turned out so wrong. In the past, when we’ve
talked about my writing this up, I always resisted. “I don’t know the ending,” I
would tell her, “How can I tell a story with no ending?”

“Just tell them what happened, and end it in the present. It doesn’t have to have
an ending. It just has to end.”

“What if it’s not over?”

“So what if it’s not? We’ll deal with that when we come to it. We’ll write a new
chapter if we have to.”