18 Years Part 3

"Hey bub"

I was instantly back under his spell.

He had called for phone sex, of which I had NO IDEA what was let alone how to go about it. I wasn't into it. I was so fucking bad at it my mind went into white noise and I just giggled in response to his advances. I tried to talk around it and he kept coming back to it. I felt so awkward, all I wanted was for him to call and talk to me like he cared, not for his own kicks with his dick. Despite that, I was so happy to speak to him

One day I saw him in the street. I smiled so much and we hugged. I don't know how he was feeling but my heart was in my mouth and I was shakey. He still took my breath away with one smile. He shyly admired my curves and told me how I had grown into a woman. It felt so nice. He always managed to remind me that I was insatiable in his eyes. I told him my move away to the north was working out well and how life was good, and we ended with his usual "I'll call you."

Pfffttt. He never called when he said that, EVER.

Occasionally he would drive past me around town and call out the window. It was like he was showing me off to his mates in the car, usually his cousins who knew who I was. I'm sure he told them some shit like "that's my woman" etc etc etc.

Anytime I visited home and was single, we would meet up.

Sometimes he must have known I was in town. Did people tell him?

One would contact the other but it was usually him first. He never seemed to have the same phone number, or his phone was on private or turned off unless he contacted me. From my side of things, it was always so distressing seeing him around, or him telling me he would contact me, only for him to disappear back underground. I would base all my childish hopes into our next rendezvous, his next phone call, his next text. Anxiously checking my phone every five seconds in case I missed his call. Trying to swallow the crushing lump of disappointment when day turned to night without any word (yeah we all know that fucken horrendous process right?). Waking up the next day thinking, "Ok he was probably busy, I'm sure he will call today," desperately trying to talk myself into giving him the benefit of the doubt. Trusting him. Another night heading to bed crushed, and another, and another, and another until I travelled back home hating him and telling myself I would NEVER fall for that trick again. Another visit home, another bout of anxiety and waiting, another car park rendezvous late at night, another promise to myself he was a selfish player to be avoided. And on and on it went.

Yes, I said it, car parks. The only mutual turf we could find with privacy. Secluded car parks or beaches after hours. Not for the kinky risk, but for the desperation. In my defence I was a good girl, I made him wait for 10 years before we finally had sex. That muthafucker tried so damn hard from every angle he could find but I guess something told me deep down that if I gave it up he would have less and less reason to see me again. One night he took me back to his house, I refused to have sex but somehow he ended up getting head. The details are a bit hazy, but I just went with whatever. I was tired, and the moment he was done I drifted off to the sleep I so desperately wanted, only to be woken up by yelling in the street and him saying he had to take me home so he could sort out the drama. I didn't want to! I was so warm and comfy and sleepy! I had him all to myself, indoors, finally! Why was the fighting in the street suddenly his problem? Something about kids he had to go and get from the house to protect them? He had to hassle me to wake up and kept repeating he had to take me home. I'd like to think he was telling the truth, but I'm still not sure to this day if he was actually involved, or if it was the perfect way to get me out of his house. I reluctantly dragged my groggy arse and ugg boots into the cold winters air and out to his car. I don't remember much else, but he always made sure I was home safe. He never drove away until I had walked down my driveway and shut the gate to our yard. Followed by a text or call to make sure I was inside my house.

Every... single... time. Always.

When we finally did the deed it was so many years of pent up chemistry that it happened rather suddenly in the back seat of his car. I put up almost zero fight. Heavy making out turned into him suddenly pushing me onto my back, ripping off my pants and burying his head between my legs to give me a most exciting and delicious first, before pulling me onto his lap. I kept trying to put up a weak amount of resistance as he kept saying:

"Just the tip, I won't put it all in. Just the tip babe."

(You know the emoji of the woman face-palming herself, yeah, insert that one here).

Next thing I know we are face to face, tongues down throats and bodies pushed hard up against each other as 10 years of desire and passion let loose. Every inch of my body was on fire with pleasure and my head was spinning with emotions as we were staring right into each other's eyes with intensity.

"I love you."

I tilted my head up and pushed his head into my chest. Stop saying that!

"I love you, I love you, tell me you love me."

Every time he said it my little ecstasy bubble was popped and I was back to reality. I tried to avoid his eyes and move my head, tried to pretend like I hadn't heard it. I couldn't speak because there was a massive lump in my throat preventing any sound. Why were the words I so desperately wanted to hear causing me so much distress? Pretty soon he abruptly pulled out and came. I was annoyed by that, and seeing as I was feeling all 'grown' and 'strong female' at the tender age of 24, I pushed his head back between my legs and let him do his thing, which he did with so much enjoyment and eagerness to please that it was hard to remain disappointed.

After we were done he took me for a drive around town, aimlessly. I guess it was his way of trying to make me feel like he wasn't just using me. He put on Bob Marley and started telling me about him and the song but I was feeling a variety of emotions and confusion and that made me moody.

"Is it bad that I don't like Bob Marley?" It was a blunt statement.

I don't know why I said that. I think the music was just pissing me off. No, I think the fact I wanted more time with him but I knew our 'date' was over was pissing me off. He kind of apologised and turned the stereo off. Reflecting on it now I realise that he was opening up and showing me a part of himself, and I completely shut him down with my selfishness. His vulnerability had been hit with my complete disregard for him as a person.

Over the years we went with this weird little pattern. Us not speaking for weeks or months or even occasionally a couple of years. Then reconnecting, hooking up quickly followed by him turning back into a ghost. I never cheated on anyone with him, I stayed true to every relationship I had. But he would appear in my dreams, and suddenly no matter how happy I was, I would end up thinking about him. And it would upset me.

I will explain 'the dreams' part because it was one of the things that made our hold on each other that much stronger and that much weirder. One would have a dream about the other, and then the person who didn't have the dream would call the dreamer. Get it? The space between dreams and contact was months long in the early years, but as we grew older the gap between dreams and contact grew closer and closer. It ended up being several days by the time I was in my 30s. 95% of my dreams were me trying to find him, in a crowd or at an event. I could never get to him no matter how hard I tried. Sound like real life much? I think his dreams were more sexual-based (guys). He said once he had a dream I was pregnant to another guy, and that he spent the entire next day shitty and upset. I explained mine were always trying to find him. He deflected that. He deflected most things that were deep, yet constantly made an effort to remind me he loved me, that he was going to marry me, that he wanted me to have his baby (omg he said that so dam much it was weird). Did he? I always believed it because his eyes said it, yet my gut always churned when he spoke in that way. I knew I loved him, but I never wanted to admit that his way of loving me was one-sided, unfair, selfish and manipulative. He had me tightly wrapped around his finger... and I let him.

As per usual I tried deleting him and cutting him out of my life with no success. One day I decided the best way to do this was in person, face to face, desperately hoping it would work. We arranged a time and he promised he would meet with me. Yet again I put all my eggs in that little hope basket, only to be stood up for the millionth time. I was SO MAD! My super 'amazing' boyfriend at the time got fed up (his narcissistic arse is another story) and hammered me with guilt about being attached to this guy. Fair enough I guess. So I did something horrible, extremely horrible. I sent an angry text. Not just an angry text, but a nasty, spiteful horrible text. I said anything and everything revolting I could conjure up and fired all the years of hurt and betrayal into this message. I even went as low as to say that I hoped one day a guy would treat his daughter the same way he had treated me. Low. Did sending it make me feel better? Nope. I felt disgusted in myself and angry at my boyfriend for encouraging my rage. He responded with a text saying something like:

"Wow, ok."

And that was that. Then three years of silence, besides the odd seeing him drive past me in the street, my life stopped revolving around him. But I never forgot him.

There is just so much to remember, and trying to get all the details for you is difficult when I'm remembering almost 2 decades of history, and trying to piece it into a timeline. I do hope the confusion, love and hate are coming through. I so desperately loved this man, with some magnetic force that I have no words to explain. Like our souls were connected, great lovers from a previous life. The damage it created, the toll it took on me, indescribable. Did he ever suffer as much as I did?

Let's skip into recent years.

My grandfather died. My only Grandfather and I was devastated. I hadn't seen *Johnathon in over 2 years. And on my way to my hometown, freshly single, I contacted him and told him I was coming home. We arranged to meet up that night (I couldn't wait out the nerves) and in the dark by the beach, his car pulled up. I was waiting on the park bench, shitting bricks, as he melted out of the dark and I heard that voice

"Hi bub"

He gave me the biggest, most sincere, most heartfelt bear hug that melted away so much sadness and stress. We were shy at first, and the urge to kiss each other was tingling in the air. But we didn't. I explained I had been single for a couple of days, and it felt wrong to do anything with someone. He was so amazing about it, and I felt I was finally seeing the real him. It was beautiful. We talked and caught up in his car, I offloaded some of my upset and he consoled me, ever the gentleman. We parted ways with a single gentle kiss and so many big hugs. I felt good!

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(Photo by Syd Wachs on Unsplash)