So, there he was, he stood, the one that got away, my very own unicorn.
A while ago I heard rumor that he had an interest in my whereabouts, no, can’t be real, I waited for him, I actually waited, I worked extra hours in the hopes that maybe he would come in, whether intentionally or by accident, I dream of him somedays. I’d had this hope that maybe there was a truth in all I’d heard, who knows, but it feels now as if my desires were being fed. A temptation to go to him, and snuck my way there once or twice, drank myself sick in the parking lot wracked with nerves if he would be there or not. I’d scramble through the car searching for fresh clothes and a stick of gum, tonight would not do, and it didn’t. He didn’t show.

Another time, I’d catch myself drifting, I’d made plans with a friend for reasoning to get moving, to think maybe this fruit would appear and I could have another taste.

Looking back, those lips were possibly the smoothest I’d felt. We danced slowly in the stray of lights, a beer in one hand, me in the other. He asked me my age. ‘Eighteen.’ How cliché, but I had him. I had him nuzzling my neck, asking me questions, eating out of my hand. I had him shyly move in for a kiss. I’d had him straddled. Those were the days where I was lost in a dream. I’d known I was unhappy and had been bored with the previous flavor.

I remember each moment vividly, the details, the first phone call between us, where both of us just laid in bed and talked about anything and everything for hours. For a moment, he seemed to be cracking. Thirty-two was much to old, but he’d started to break. He’d begun talking about meeting up with me in a quieter setting, getting to know me, he was curious, and I was intrigued. I never once dared to tell him I had a boyfriend. He hit me like a drug, one that should be kept secret from who’d be concerned, but I couldn’t restrain myself. Only a few scattered evenings of chance and I was hooked to him. I breathed him in when he was close. My sexuality had been naturally timid to the obvious, but with him I didn’t care. Every sweet gesture was perfectly complemented with a moment of eroticism and I wanted him.

Then of course, Gemini rolls into place and he ages. Thirty-Three. I never heard from him again. Mistakenly I’d been near a telephone too much while I had been drinking. I had decided to destroy my existing relations just the night before over a fully backed bowl and a bottle of Old English. That enough, had been an experience in itself. From here, I have a bleeding pocket struck into my skin, needles and ink, and it’s permanent.

I curled further and further into desperation, when an opportunity to attack struck. One single person satisfied so many different desires and questions. I got what I wanted, no matter who I hurt along the way. In a quick high rush, when everything had gone so fast, I run into him and time stands still. That was it. I’d had my chance to see him again, both of us fresh with someone in our lives, we pretend for that moment they don’t even exist. ‘I saved all your messages.’ he told me. ‘Call me when you’re single.’ he tells me. ‘Ah, well, he’s much closer to your age, it’s better off.’ he says. His date stumbles into him and you could see the grimace across his face, the look of embarrassment and he knows that I know. I spend the rest of my evening more focused on the encounter than the boy from Brazil who had been wrapped around my finger. With a final awkward step towards me at the end of the night, repeating ‘Call me.’ He’s coursing through my veins all over again, and I’m high off this encounter. ‘Call me.’ one more time. I never did. This was my regret.

An offer lands on the table in front of me, but I have to turn it down. I know if I get this I can’t come back from it. I won’t be the same. I’ll have taken it, and I’ll need another hit. I’ll need hit after hit after hit. Breathing him in during my free time, crossing thoughts more than he should had. The offer is purely sexual, but I know I will expel everyone to get my own personal satisfaction in place before his desires.

And you’re absolutely right, it is terrifying, but he is like a drug. Addictive. Appealing. Forbidden. And I, I am a teenager. I rebel too much.

I meet too many men like this.