Melissa: Toens

Melissa was a friend. She is in the more modern sense. Cynically speaking. I never see or hear her, none of the five senses.

I heard Britain was that way. You never really see your friends. But I don't mean it that way. Wished I could see her for a long time after I made her mad. Melissa was like me in one respect. She grew up going to church. She loved hers and I had to go to my church, listen to the church organ tuned to the same D sound week after week, month after month after month. It was not a very good organ. What a croc that was. A great big excuse. I sat and listened to Methodist theology. Pure theology. Meant nothing to me or anyone else. Very stiff. Which church? Who cares. Melissa said her church was fun. Real ascension and not a metaphysical bore. Melissa said someone spoke through her. She said the whole congregation was in a frenzy. That was when she was young. She said she stopped going a year or so before I met her because she felt guilty.

I met Melissa down in South Carolina. She was moving up here. She did move up here and lived about 30 minutes from me. Don't look at me like that. Why I am being mysterious, well there are a variety of reasons. When I smoked dope I was with some guys. One said that you are not paranoid if they are really after you. You are not paranoid if you are on the Wild, Wild, Web and think somebody is watching you. It's their job. Besides, the watchdog groups are there to just agitate you and me. Unless you are committing one of 57 different real crimes. So who bothers to watch the rest of us. The Treasury Department is one. The Feds.

What that has to do with Melissa is Melissa loved me but Melissa loved everybody. Melissa said I was special. The other guys got massages with happy endings. Our relationship, a word she didn't allow, did not have a happy ending. Rodney Dangerfield said it. His hooker said it was over between them. There's no happy endings. I am OCD and made problems. I don't have to take a test to prove I am. When the psychologists decided I was OCD, and also addicted to everything I enjoy(AP) they noticed I am not a workaholic. Took the P.H.D.'s a long time to get to that malady.

I am physically all man. I am not gay. I love women, except when one is pissed at me. That's logical, don't you think so? I saw a movie that came out recently about a guy in Paris, France who met an angel. The guy engaged in very dangerous behavior. He did not make good decisions, mainly about who he borrowed money from. While this smoking, drinking, sexed up angel was helping the little guy get out of debt, she also showed him the errors of his thinking. Told him how to love himself. She delved into the nature of him as a man, saying to him he was a man but he was part woman. The angel told the fellow he thought and felt at times like a woman does. The movie was very recent and was an international film, with subtitles.

Melissa was a country girl. She was the accommodating one. There was no reason for her being accommodating except kindness. I can make love. Melissa said when I first met her she was horny all the time, a line. I mean, come on. I saw her as much as I possibly could. I cut out all the top shelf liquor I liked. I have not done that badly. What I really mean is I make do. I made do to see Melissa. Thinking about her now, I wish I could have bought her a babydoll. Melissa came over one night, and she said she had something in her purse. When she came back out of my bedroom she had on a dark green satin babydoll. Melissa was curvy. Very curvy. She told me once she knew I loved her boobs, but she had to carry them around. It was hell on her back, she said. That was the kind of thing she told me later on. She was there for me. Maybe for herself, I can't be sure.

The first time I saw her naked for my pleasure she did what I asked her to do, anything at all. I felt like I made her happy, I really wanted to. She had a smile that me feel special just in the way she looked at me. Like I was the hottest thing around. I went down on Melissa, doing everything slow. I wanted it to last. Melissa was turned on. A guy my age has to know a woman is really in passion or he is just covered with issues of Time magazine. He has too many issues, as they say. Making love to this woman was what I was doing. I did not have to try. She was pretty, and she was soft. Voluptuous, yet firm and she was in shape. I was able to cup her breasts while taking her doggy style. I still believe Melissa was holding back. I wanted to here sounds of passion from Melissa.

I was able to see Melissa in the comfort of my own surroundings at home. It was easy being with her, and I wanted to be with her again. I made it a point to take care of her without it appearing to be I was paying for something. Right now, I don't know how I did that. Then I don't know one guy messed everything up later on, when Melissa and I could have kept on, and on. I look at him every morning in the bathroom mirror. What a dumb jerk you are, and my reflection gives consensual validation.