The X Factor

My dear blog friend Mom the Minx, asked some very interesting questions about past relationships. It got me to thinking.

The X factor
Do you still talk to your x?
Do you still consider yourselves friends?
Would you come to their rescue?
Would they come to yours?

Loaded questions.
I guess the first thing I have to ask is what constitutes and ex?

Were we married?
Engaged?
Fuck Buddies?
Friends with benefits?
Dating?
One night stand?
A kiss?
A wish?

Because there are so many levels to relationships, if I am to be totally honest with myself it depends on the level of commitment, not the level of attraction.
As I ask myself this question I can honestly say, I looked over the list. If it is either of the top two, just forget it--- I'm not going there with them again!

I am not friends with my ex-husband (s), nor am I friends with any man who has given me ring and I actually said yes.

I could still talk with these people. I could imagine running into them and having a conversation. But when I think about “those” people, truth be told, the longer we were together as a couple, the less I liked them, period.
The more I found out about these men, the less I wanted to be friends with them in general.

No really bad break-ups, not for me anyway. I just didn’t like them any more--- grew out of the relationships. Reasons? Hmmm.

Various.
Drinking (them, not me)
Cheating (me, not them)
I didn’t want to be someone’s mom or bank account or excuse.
Yep, that's about right


Then we move down the list.

There some friends I have, that in our younger days, we took our relationships into a different direction.
Yes, today, even though we have been more than friends in the past, today I would die for these guys. Not because we slept together. I almost think doing that just kind of confirmed that we were not ment to be a couple. It is that we are friends. There are only a few people I feel this way about (male or female) But yes, some of those friends were more than that for a brief time.

We don’t talk about those moments. And most people who love us are mature enough and smart enough to know not to ask. That is one of the great things about being all grown up, you don’t so much worry about how the person has gotten to you—you are just glad they did.


Which brings me to the last few… the wishes and the kisses. These are the hardest for me.

There are not many of these in my life. Very few as a matter of fact. But these are the ones that still haunt me. These are the guys who make me dream that I am more than I am.

These men are my deep hidden and forbidden desires. We were friends, maybe lovers, maybe it was one date, or a glance across a room.

These few men stir my soul. These few still make me think what if. They don’t pop into my mind or my life very often....

However,

Every once in a while, there is a dream

Every once in a while there is an email

Every once in a while a friend will say “ I ran into him and he asked how you were”

Every once in a while I come across an old picture, and I’ll linger there.

not friends, not lovers, just memories and dreams

There were two beds in the damp room,
that much I do remember.
It's such a fog.

The air felt oppressive and sticky .

The smell was old
a combination of paint,
and smoke,
and mold,
and rain .

When I lifted my head from under the covers and up off the pillow,
the wretched smell hit my face like a cold rag.
I had an instant head ache behind my brow line.
I gaged, but some how managed to remove myself from the bed .

"We should get ready" I said to the figure laying under the blankets in the second bed.
There was a stretch,
and a smile.

"Okay, I'll get in the shower" was the reply.
But the lump didn't move.
It lay still.
The form was barley identifiable under the cheep 1970's hotel spread just twitched as if to regain a comfortable sleeping position.

"Never mind, I'll take my shower first", I said in a reassuring voice.
"What? No, it will take me forever to get ready we'll be late."
"No we won't, i'll be quick about it that way you can still sleep." my voice smiled as I said the words.

The door to the bathroom wouldn't close all the way.
I pushed the not-so-white bath mat toward it to keep it from swinging open.

I began to undress to get ready for my shower. The bathroom smell was made more of a sweet sick by the lavender soap.

Off came the pajama bottoms and I let them lay on the floor, rather than picking them up into a neat folded stack.

I examined my face in what appeared to be a medicine cabinet mirror .
A rusted sliver edge surrounded the the place that should have held my refection,
but i couldn't see myself.

I noticed a light appeared from the other room. There was movement and music.
I tried to move away from the crack in the door, so i wouldn't be seen.
I made my way to the claw-foot tub with torn white shower liner
I felt an unfamiliar bashfulness as i watched shadows play against the walls of the other room.

The tub fixtures were old and porcelain; white and cold to the touch.
My modesty prevented me from undressing any further as i adjusted the water.
I heard him speak.
I don't know what he said.
I know I responded with a forced laugh.

I saw my bottoms and a old cream colored robe on the black and white tile of the bathroom floor .

I removed the silk panties that covered my intimate parts,
but I left on the long button up shirt as I placed my feet in the tub.
I continued to adjust the water; there was just a trickle on my toes.
It was warm.
The flow increased
and steam began to rise up under my night shirt.

I stood up to continue my undressing.
As I adjusted the shower curtain I observed strange things.
The shower head only came up to my chest.
It was attached to a thin metal ring that held the ratted shower liner in place.
I found it odd to have my head show over the curtain,
but it was an old tub,
and an old place.
I continued to unbutton my top.

That is when the tall thin figure walked into the room.

I remember it in flashes.

I jumped, startled .
My jump moved the lever
and the shower started.
The warm water soaked my shirt.

The water hit me blow my shoulders
and above my breast,
absorbing into the material

I remember feeling the slick fabric sticking to my skin.
Cold.
My nipples were hard and erect like pink gum drops under the silk.
The shirt danced free from below my breasts.
The water flowed like a river on the fabric
and when the fabric ended just above my thigh
it was a waterfall
so that somehow, my stomach remand dry.
Even now, if I close my eyes, i can still feel the water
and how the fabric attached itself to me.

I remember his golden hair.
It shined as if the rays of the sun burst out of the ends,
all around his face.

I remember his luminous smile was framed by perfect pouty lips. Thin and moist.

I remember his dimples.
And when I remember,
I can't help but grin.

His cheeks puffed up toward his eyes when he smiled a sincere smile.
And he was smiling.
Smiling at me.
Smiling at the way i jumped when he entered the room.

I know there was dialog
but for the life of me I can't bring it back into my my mind.
My other senses were on overload.
There is too much to remember.

How can one human
in one moment
feel so much?

As I adjusted the shower curtain he continued to grin.
Why i tried to cover myself
I still don't know.

Words.
I know there were words.
It's so frustrating.
I remember so few of them.

"Are you dressed?"

I know that questions was asked.

Did I tell you I adjusted the curtain in front of me ?
I did, yes
I told you that.

I remember feeling flushed,
and red
and hot
and cold
cold from the way the water now dripped from my nipples
down the silken fabric and on to the tops of my feet .

But i told you that,
didn't I?
I'm sorry.
I can't get it out of my head.

He came so close to me.
Resting his arms casually on the shower curtain rod.
He leaned inward.
Ht first i thought he would glace down at me;
at my body.
Instead he looked directly into my eyes.

More words i don't remember.
I only remember the smile,
and the water ,
and the touch of his hand on my cheek,
and the kiss.

Oh I so remember the kiss.

How soft those lips were.
How they were steady
and sure
and confident
and warm when they were pressed against mine
and the turning of a head
and our tongues dancing
and the palm of his hand
the weightlessness of his fingers
as he gently touched my face from ear to chin and back again.

Oh I so remember the kiss

An nothing afterwards.

Wait, maybe...

Maybe there was music.
Maybe light.
Maybe.

I don't know.
I don't want to wake up.

Please..
Please...
Why won't you let me continue to dream?
Please let me dream.