For the last week I have been frantically (and unsuccessfully) trying to clean and organize my life. As I went through the millionth bag of papers last night I found a picture of my first, a boy who was a chocolaty delicious specimen with a crazy body and the common sense of an ant. But I digress. Attached to the picture was a short letter he wrote me in which he described how he missed making love to me and couldn’t wait to see me again. Reading it brought back memories of how angry he would get if I told him I wanted to screw him. People he would get beyond irate, throwing hissy fits and insisting that he doesn’t screw me, he makes love to me. Now I might’ve been young, dumb and very naive when it came to him and our relationship (I made the typical young and dumb mistakes…forgiving the unforgivable, staying too long, etc), but I was smart enough to know that you can’t call the sex you have with someone “making love” when behind that person’s back you have sex with someone else and produce three babies.
See that last line…that would be where the young and dumb came in.