Member-only story
Dean
I met Dean when I was 43. He was a one night stand I pushed and pushed and turned into a relationship. I met him in a bar on the Fourth of July. A gay bar. I was eating shrimp and chips and drinking lemon drops. He came up and sat next to me. I offered him some shrimp and chips, we shared. We were both drunk and just got drunker. He was awfully friendly, and if I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was coming on to me.
“This is a gay bar. You know that right?” I asked.
“Yes, but I’m not gay!”
We decided to go to his place. We had sex. I remember there were condoms on his bathroom floor. He’d had a guest the night before. He asked me to get on top. So not my thing. And he kept putting a pillow under my ass. He’d clearly never been with a big girl. We don’t need pillows. Our asses are pillows.
He was Native, tall, strikingly handsome, charismatic. When he walked into a room, all eyes were on him. All female eyes. His skin was brown and smooth and hairless. His muscles were long and firm. I was madly attracted him. He always dressed well. He never wore jeans, always Dockers and button-down shirts and never athletic shoes. His jet-black hair was always stylishly cut. He was a player.
He was an alcoholic. A bad one. And when he drank too much, he was mean. There were blue lights in my driveway more often than I care to admit. One…
