I was at Ken Doll II’s house. He was making me dinner and for a split second I thought to myself, “Maybe I could actually do this.” (Obviously by “do this” I mean “seriously date him”). We ate dinner, grabbed some cocktails and jumped into his hot tub. Fast forward a few hours, a few more cocktails, and much laughter. We ended up on his couch making out to Lady Gaga’s “The Edge of Glory” (It felt horribly cliché). Things got heated quickly, and one of us (me, I think) suggested making the move up to his bedroom.
He went to the kitchen to make another round of cocktails and I made a grievous error by checking my phone.
It had been a few hours since I’d last checked my phone, which for an addict like me is pretty impressive. I had some texts, tweets, and facebook notifications that I browsed as I walked up the stairs to the bedroom. Then, as I sat on the edge of the bed I innocently hit the e-mail icon. The inbox contained one e-mail. The e-mail contained one sentence. My mind contained an overwhelming mass of confusing thoughts. The Ken Doll II walked in the room and immediately asked me what was wrong. I picked my jaw up off the floor, assured him it was nothing, and tossed my phone onto the floor along with my bikini top.
Of course, it wasn’t “nothing”; it was “everything”.
I tried to focus on the gorgeous man I was kissing and undressing, but I was essentially being fucked – and not in the good way – by another man.
After 17 months of mental purging, one simple sentence brought every blurry memory into perfect, yet unwanted, focus:
“I’m not really sure what I want to say, but I want to talk to you.”
The Devil is back. Shit.
Watch to 1:35 --> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8i047XZKUM0
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