These are the kinds of emails I get from my Mom:

I agree with the  nodes.  And sun and moon placements.
Saturn brings longevity…need to have some connection or it won’t last.
Bob’s Saturn was on my Sun and South Node.
Karma   He felt responsible for me.  He let me die in one life.  Some guilt thing.
Chris’s Uranus is on my  moon.  And I have had stomach issues (Moon) since being with him.  We have chemistry.
But I just can’t relax with him.  Uranus….  hmmm
I will look Jon’s up when I get home.


Sea Salt
On our first trip to the beach together I cut my foot on sharp rocks lining the shore and watched the ocean lick the crimson clean off, the salt on my tongue a slight distraction from the deep blue, the wide open, the playground sting. I’m sorry my flesh is softer than it has to be, my skin thinner than yours. I’m sorry there are parts of me I have scrubbed raw, hurt; I only wanted to be polished, untainted, good as new. I’m sorry I didn’t see the waves crashing, didn’t see any of this coming; I’m sorry I wasn’t careful, or strong. When the
sea soaked up my blood that day I thought maybe it needed to drink too, needed to kiss, needed to need. I thought maybe you had always been right — when you drain my body of tears you also drain it of salt and dust so that you can shrink me down two sizes smaller and I can fit neatly into your life without taking up too much space, so that you can carry me with you wherever you go, to cities and mountains and valleys and all the oceans you’ve never explored. Tell me, please, if you find something. Tell me if you need me to search, too. Tell me if there are places you still have to visit, things you still have to unearth. Tell me if there’s any way to love you, deep blue and wide open, soft and scrubbed and thin, flesh and skin, shrinking bones, raw parts, any way at all, without letting myself bleed.

I have an actual real live date with Highland Park tonight. It was my idea. He is picking me up at 6pm on his motorcycle; we are riding to get a beer, be in public- my request- then back to my place to smoke a joint and fuck each other’s brains out.

I am deeply in love with this man. He has taken my body, my mind, and my heart, Completely. And he doesn’t know it. Or maybe he does. He holds my anxiety so gently, like a baby bird, lovingly and kindly. I have never experienced that before. I don’t want to give that up.

But I have to.

I have decided, beforehand, that this will be our Good-Bye Date and not only that, but it will also be the night that I break my eleven-years of sobriety. I am going to have a beer with him. And smoke pot. Both my ideas. I want to do this. With him. On this night.

Go big or go home, I always say.

He picks me up at 6.

I am waiting, sitting in a chair in my living room, facing the two open french doors to my front patio when I hear his bike pull up. My blood starts pounding. I hear him open the gate and watch him walk towards me as I slowly stand up and walk towards him. It is a perfect Summer evening in Los Angeles. The sun is still up, but not too hot. Birds chirp gleefully in the distance. I can hear my heart beating as I wrap myself around him, hugging hello. He tells me I looked ravishing. We stand there for an eternity, holding each other in the doorway, slowly feeling each other, touching, kissing. Dear Lord. HIs skin. His smell. His collar bone. That spot on his neck. I lose myself in him.

We go for a ride on his old BMW bike up the 2 freeway and through Angeles National Forest. I can smell the sage. I hold onto his waist as we weave around the turns.

I want each moment to last because I know, and only I know, this will never happen again.

We eat at a Mexican restaurant. I order a beer. He is surprised. I tell him that I feel a need to test every old idea about myself and that I have been discussing this at length with my therapist and have decided that trying drinking is definitely something I want to do but only with someone I trust and that I trusted him so, therefore, bring on the beer. He understood, but seemed trepidatious. Understandably.

Then I proceeded to tell him how I needed to end it, for now. That the chemicals he inspired in me were too intense, and I needed to take a break so that they could die down. Although secretly, I doubt they ever will.

But I assure him, that in every polyamory book I have read, this is what they say you should do if the feelings get too big. Take a break. And my feelings are too big. He says he gets it. He has big feelings too. And he has no plans to leave his wife, in fact, their sex is better than it ever has been. Ouch. He also tells me that she said the other day that it seems like I want him to be my boyfriend. Shocked that she saw that when I thought I was so clandestine. I take a moment and recognize she is right. I do want him to be my boyfriend. That was why I have to walk away. But not until we have one last awesome night together.

We talk about how insane our chemistry is though, how easy it is for us to communicate and how good our sex is.

I didn’t even finish my beer.

We come home to my place.

We smoke some pot.

I tell a few bad jokes.

He laughs charmingly at me.

Not at the jokes.

I feel stoned but good. Super good. Not too stoned. Just happy and giggly.

Then we touch.

His hands moving up my thigh, His hands all over my body. His head in my lap. My hands through his hair. My dress is off. His mouth on my breasts. Everything is so languid and tactile. His shirt is off. His skin is velvet. I lay on top of him. He is inside of me. He fills me completely. I am for once, satiated. I feel calm. I never feel calm. I come right away. It doesn’t take much. I wonder why I haven’t smoked pot for so long? This shit is amazing.

He picks me up and lays me down. His turn. He builds and builds to the sexiest climax I have ever witnessed. Being stoned has slowed everything down so deliciously, like eating melted butter on toast. Immediately afterwards, he whispers in my ear; I want to kill you. That was epic.

He uses the word epic. I didn’t. He did.

He thinks this session was epic. I said it was a sexual peak. He agrees.

We also agree that the pot makes everything really big but focused. We lay naked together for a long time listening to Willie Nelson’s You Were Always on My Mind. I didn’t plan on that song playing right at that moment, but man, if this were a movie, that would have been the perfect soundtrack. I try not to cry. I feel him sigh.

Finally we get dressed and sit up, next to each other on the couch. I can’s stop myself from touching him, his back, his earlobe, as we silently sit there, avoiding the inevitable end of something we both don’t have words to describe or name.

I tell him I will only say it once. That I love him. He says he loves me too.


He says he needs a break too. It is getting too intense.

But he doesn’t think it is the REAL end or the last time we will ever see each other.

I say we will be friends, for sure.
And if the opportunity ever comes up for us to have that threesome with another guy, to not hesitate and give me a call.

But other than that…

Let go.

He finally stands up and goes to leave. He says it’s really fucking hard to do this.

But it has to be done.

I tell him to walk out and don’t look back.

He does.

My sobriety is gone and so is Highland Park.
What have I done?

As my front gate swings shut, I sit on my front step and bury my face in my hands while Willie Nelson continues to croon in the background.

“Always On My Mind”

(originally by Brenda Lee)

Maybe I didn’t love you
Quite as often as I could have
And maybe I didn’t treat you
Quite as good as I should have
If I made you feel second best
Girl I’m sorry I was blindYou were always on my mind
You were always on my mind

And maybe I didn’t hold you
All those lonely, lonely times
And I guess I never told you
I’m so happy that you’re mine
Little things I should have said and done
I just never took the time

But you were always on my mind
You were always on my mind

Tell me
tell me that your sweet love hasn’t died
And give me
Give me one more chance
To keep you satisfied
I’ll keep you satisfied

[Instrumental Interlude]

Little things I should have said and done
I just never took the time

But you were always on my mind
You were always on my mind
You were always on my mind

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s