Michael Pt. 2

Things I do poorly these days whilst stoned: Play the Piano, Act, Spell, Function.  I'm counting on my wizard psychiatrist/drug dealer to have an answer to this, but Lord knows he won't.  I don't believe in a solution to my insanity.  And you know what they say about believing in fairies.  If you don't, they die.

When Michael took my anal virginity, that movie in which Natalie Portman shaves her head was on.  When he put his shnitzle in my pooper I almost cried it hurt so bad.  I thought I was gonna throw up. So I let him do me in the face.  He pounded my head like a ferret breeding with his mate.  I gagged on the stench of his balls.  I came back the next night for more, making the foolish assumption that sex got better with practice.  It still hurt like bloody Satan. After he was done humping my mouth for a second time I got up, gathered my things and announced my permanent departure.  The next day was my first day at a new job, being a cashier at a Target in Colma, CA and I waddled tellingly for the length of it.

Did you know that there are more dead people in Colma, CA.  It's true, they exhumed all the graves in the neighboring towns and put them in Colma.  You can see a cemetery from almost every intersection.

I met the next Michael at a straight bar in San Fransisco.  I was there with a lonely girl I had met on Craigslist.  Michael was so drunk he had trouble standing.  When I went up to dance with him (knowing he was gay), Michael put his tongue in my mouth and his hand down my pants.  The straight people around us clapped.

We had sex that night, more crying on my part.  Those who told me anal sex was fun...wait, no one told me that.

The next morning we cuddled while he nursed his hangover.  I showed him my collection of poetry, we wrote together.  His breath was so bad it lingered in the room for 30 minutes after his departure.  I loved him and we started dating.  The next time he came to my place, I cooked him spaghetti and then we made out in a bath tub.  I put opera on the boombox and lit a candle.  It was hot.

Michael and I became inseparable.  I had, after all, moved to San Francisco on a crazed impulse with the sole objective to quit being single.  I was 20 and I had never dated a soul.

Michael and I spent 30 magical days together where we challenged the meaning of a 'toxic relationship'.  One time he abandoned me at a house party in Berkley after I discovered he was a cocaine addict.  He had been snorting in the bathroom all along.  I managed to get back across the bay with the help of a telephoned friend and Mapquest. 

We did mushrooms one night and he told me I smelled bad.  I chastised his hypocrisy by calling attention to his epic bad breath on the night of our meeting.  To this day, it is the most romantic relationship I've ever been in. Where are you Michael?  I love you.