Dreams wake me and a song is playing in my head… and RH is here, large as life.
i get up to get a glass of water… i coax the song out of my mind… the laptop hums awake and i find it on youtube.
He was a high school dropout with an affinity for wife beaters, scuffed boots, and dirty baseball caps.
He reeked of cheap cologne and testosterone. His car belched oil and his fingers were stained with nicotine.
His mother had a love for Elvis that bordered on pathological. Memorabilia lined the walls and filled her shelves. i bit my tongue… always wanting to shout, “The King is dead, He is Dead!” Ah, but i let her have her love affair with “the pelvis” because Mr. H was one part cuckold, one part violent misogynist (depending on how much whiskey was left in the bottle). She needed the fantasy.
i fucked their son in the basement of their house “If we’re together in October, I’m going to ask you to marry me” he said once absentmindedly. i think he believed it.
i didn’t want to marry him, but i loved the fear i saw in people’s eyes when they saw me with him – bad boy that he was.
i chose him to be my first real fuck and i and took his cock in my mouth and pussy before ever kissing his lips.
Why is he here tonight? Why visiting? He did not victimize me. i did, perhaps, use him to victimize myself. i can’t blame the man-child for that. He was an idiot, but he was honest – or at least – as honest as he could be.
There really never was pretense with RH.
Case in point? This is what pulled me from sleep… this is what i listened to as i looked at the basement walls clad in faux paneling … splashed in fluorescent lighting… as i “lost” what i didn’t really have … on a bed that shared a room with a washer and dryer.
Meat Loaf’s “Two out of three ain’t bad”
And now? i bid the ghost goodbye and return to my bed.