He was the love of my life.
I am introducing a new segment to my blog called The Pink Pages, because I started this blog to see if I have any writing ability, and where I will post something I write; like a story or something and see if you like it.
I am very lucky to work with some lovely people (I’ve mentioned some of them in my previous posts) who are as obsessed with reading as I am. Natasha has been telling to me to try to write for the last 2 years now – her last inspirational pep talk to me was, “Just write, dammit!” – and with the encouragement of some fantastic people I’ve met via #Bookstagram, especially my #BookstaBestie Frankie Brazelton, I decided to give it a go.
I hope you like it.
He was the love of my life. We met at church; can you believe that?
I would never have spoken to him if he wasn’t as gay as I am. I was so happy to finally not be alone amongst these wannabe Christians and Holier-Than-Thou clergy, with their words filled with hate and their looks filled with judgement. We became really good friends and we would take the Town by storm every weekend; our circle of friends grew ever bigger. I can’t remember a happier time in my life.
Then it happened!
Him, his brother and a mutual friend came to visit. They brought “party favours”; vodka and some really high grade weed. There we were just chilling, shooting the shit, all of us as high as kites, me being my usual flirty self, when he pounced on me.
Surprised, suffering a chemical imbalance in my body, my mind cruising on cloud 9, I kissed him back! God, it was fantastic; his lips were so soft against mine, yet it felt like he was crushing the life out of me, his tongue darting here, there and everywhere. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, I just drank from his lips like he was an oasis in the middle of a desert, as if my life depended on it.
Oh, he was an amazing lover (he was quite shy about such things in the beginning). We were together for 10 years; we had our trials and tribulations, like all other couples I’ve ever seen in my life, and we were happy together.
I even asked him to marry me once.
That was 13 years ago. Now he’s just someone that I used to know. I see him, sometimes; we don’t speak. I know I deserve better.
As always, your feedback is important to me and highly appreciated, so please fell free to comment down below: Did you like my story? Should I write some more? Should I just break my pen in 2 and chuck it away? Let me know!
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