The 90's

Now this thing has sent me right down memory lane. The 90's and myself. What exactly was I trying to prove back then? So I started out with a bad boy and loved it. Bad was exciting, I looked down snootily on all the other girls who had boyfriends who had curfews. Mine was so bad he didn't even know how to spell curfew (really), he had only gone to school sporadically, he was illiterate, at 15 he was a grown man. At 14 I was still a child. Numbers can be really deceitful. And he was the best-looking boyfriend around... at the time. Now, he's gone bald, toothless, dirty, a drug addict among many other things. He certainly isn't good looking now. And yet, then he had these beautiful curls which I would have died for. He was my first man, and boy was he sexy, and oh boy was he an expert in the sex department. There was no fumbling around with him, he knew it all. And it was so exciting that it fulfilled my department of being bored. I was getting a degree, he was riding on the horse with the guy 'tal-pitrolju'. True, I swear. Nobody has ever understood my need for this man, it was as if I were on crystal meth or something, the need was that bad. I thought I'd never live without him. I have, I've lived a much better life without him. But I guess I had to exhaust the bad boy feeling. It took 6 years and a lot of tears out of my life. Because bad boys come with excitement which includes them breaking your heart many times. And they promise they'll change... they won't. So I just got out and made him cry. And secretly I liked seeing his tears. There, I'd cried enough, it was his turn. But I'd entered the relationship when just a child and emerged a woman who knew every dirty trick in the book. I knew I had power over the male population. I knew I only had to flask my perfect pins and they'd come panting. I still don't know what I was trying to prove. I'd read enough Hardy, Austen, Greene, Bronte, not in that order. I was now out for the kill. And that paved the way for me starting to behave like a Madonna-whore without even knowing there was a name for it. I am not proud of what I am about to write but what's done is done now. I wanted another bad boy, and since, at 20 there weren't many around, I turned to look at 40, 50, 60 year olds. They weren't necessarily bad, but there was the bad aura about them, because they wore a wedding band. And that made it bad, terribly bad, fantastically bad enough for me. They were starved because they came from another generation and once they found me they were not going anywhere. I know it's bad, but I can smile even now. I became a performing monkey. The lengths men go for a job done, whether it be a hand or a blow one. The lengths men go for a doggy, or for something else which is too wicked to describe in here. And there they suddenly had them on a silver tray and would not withdraw (pun intended). They had it all, including a girl young enough to be their granddaughter, and it suddenly cured their erection problems as well as their imaginary prostate syndromes. And of course I loved the attention all the more because they wore a wedding band, and I would not make out unless they had the sacred wedding band on. It is really a kick if you cheat and open your eyes for a minute and see that the hand that is holding your face has a wedding band on and that the wedding band is not yours. It doesn't matter if that hand is making a mess of your hair, it's got a wedding band, so it's nasty. And I guess I was trying to prove one thing; the power of the female sex. It is really powerful. And that's how it was. But then came the millennium. And Love got in the way. And suddenly perspectives change because the dynamics of life change. And yet again suddenly I was thrown into agony, and the dynamics of life changed suddenly, too suddenly for my liking. There was I, once powerful, then a timid girl chained by her fears. I thought it would never be over. But I guess God forgave my nasty past. Perhaps by being a Madonna-whore God somehow thought I was offering a valuable service. Perhaps not. And perhaps he took pity on a girl hurting beyond description. Perhaps he thought I'd hurt enough. And I slowly walked away from it all... into the arms of another man. I thought he'd be bad again, which was perfect for me. Turned out, he wasn't bad but I loved him anyway. Because the best thing in life is to love and know that you are loved in return. And that's now.