First, a qoute: "There is no such thing as a hyphenated American who is a good American. The only man who is a good American is the man who is an American and nothing else. We are a nation, not a hodge-podge of foreign nationalities. We are a people, and not a polyglot boarding house." -Theodore Roosevelt
I am reading:
Domestic Enemies: The Reconquista by Matthew Bracken (interesting)
As much as I'd rather not, I can't help but think of my ex-girlfriend Cheryl.
Ex-girlfriend. I hate that term. It's so clinical and clean. It hardly describes what she was to me, or what she is. She's my former lover. The lock to my key. She was the first person I ever really synced with on every level. The first person I ever felt every kind of pleasure and happiness there is to feel all at once with.
I don't know what it is about waking up at three or four in the morning, but she's always on my mind when I do.
I told her once, though I don't know if she ever remembers it, that I would always remember the good times, and they would always be what I remembered her best for. And I do, though I remember the painful things too. But if it weren't for those happy, joyful memories the pain wouldn't be as bad as it is.
The sex. Early on, that's all it was. And it was great. Later, it went from being great to being so good it could leave us both sweaty and tangled, giggling and laughing about how wonderful it felt to be with each other. She's the first woman I ever made love to. That isn't to say the first I ever had sex with, but I refuse to use call sex making love when love has nothing to do with it.
Her pleasure mattered as much to me as my own, and after a bumpy start early on in the relationship I was determined to do my damnedest to make sure she felt as good as I did. I won't say her pleasure ever meant more to me than my own. The idea is preposterous. But it was essential to my own.
To me, every intimate touch became an act of love. It wasn't about using another person for my own pleasure. It was the best gift I could give to another person. To me, it was a sign of highest respect.
I can, and have, used women. Sex then was a mere means to an end. If I gave them pleasure it was only enough to keep them aching for more so that they'd always be there when I called.
With Cheryl, I wanted every time to be as good as it possibly could be. I wanted the mutual satisfaction, the lying there and looking into each other's eyes and knowing this is nothing better on the face of the earth, to last forever. And since it couldn't, I wanted it to happen as often as possible.
I still wanted that in the end, when we were more than friends, but less than a couple. I don't think she believed it, though. To her, it was just sex, nothing more. I sometimes wonder if it was ever anything more to her. I think she tried to deny it. Sex was a sore subject with her.
But I remember when it was more to her. I remember her lying in bed, hypersensitive, laughing because she felt so good, so full of joy, so loved. I saw it, I recognized it for what I felt. It was there. But the first sign of trouble and she buried that side of herself. Hid it away.
I think that was the real breaking point in the end. It had to be as good for her as it was for me. And not just the sex. All of it.
In the end, it was the sex that clued me in. I started feeling guilty. She started to believe sex was all there was. That I didn't care about anything else.
I don't think she ever realized that I wanted it so much because it was the only time she let herself feel. She stopped feeling when we watched movies together, when we had dinner, when we talked, when we sat close to each other. Slowly but surely she turned herself cold to me. Closed herself off.
Because sex for her could mean nothing, could be just a thing of pure selfish pleasure, see assumed it was the same for me. The thing that, when it came right down to it, meant the least for her in the realm of love, meant the most to me. Her view was so fucking inverted at the end. Probably always had been.
For me, our relationship really ended when my greatest form of showing her love and respect was to her a sign that she meant nothing to me, that she was just someone to fuck and nothing more.
I always felt guilt afterwards with other women when it was just about getting off, when they meant nothing to me. I had never once felt guilty with Cheryl. There was always an emotional element even before we had sex the first time.
But when I realized she thought I was just using her for sex, for selfish pleasure, when she couldn't see that no matter how much pleasure I got out of it physically that it was the pleasure I gave her that made me feel the best, that's when it ended for me.
I couldn't live with the guilt. It didn't matter that I wasn't using her just to get off. All that mattered was that she was convinced I was. It put a taint on it all.
And so it was, and is, truly over. She's moved on with her life. I have as much as I can. Eventually I'll find someone else and I'll really move on too.
I learned a lot with Cheryl. I experienced love at it's best. I know I focused here on the sex, but that's because it was the best of the bests. I can honestly say I know what love is. I know what it requires. And I know that I deserve it.
I wish it had been forever with Cheryl, the experience of it, I mean. The emotion will always be there.
I'm smart enough to know it can happen again. At least now I know what I'm looking for. Sure, it'll be different. But the end result will be the same: Happiness.
My name is Robert McDonald. I've been shooting and handling firearms for over 20 years. Over the last few years I've focused on seriously developing my skills in firearm self defense and competitive shooting. I've reached the skill level at which I can competently begin giving individuals training in the basics of firearms safety and use. Visit Taptraining.us for more info.