Brown hair and brown eyes; skin dark with a Mediterranean heritage. He was the first to own my heart and I loved him with an abandon that only the very young have. We tore each other apart in a search for some kind of understanding that we were frankly too inexperienced to have. We hurt each other on principle and cried in each others' arms. We loved as only a disaster could hating each other in the end; but we shared the early bloom of blushing cheeks regretting only the harm we could inevitably do each other. Our love was too much to last and he went off to find the children I could never give him. In the many years since that time, with the pain now a distant memory, I only hope that he found that family he was searching for and has grown happy in the intervening years.
Black hair and blue eyes; blue eyes absolutely treacherous and dangerous in his possession. So obsessed with himself that he could not see how he affected others. My returner; for some reason unable to give me up. I marched away over and over again; screamed in his face, explained with cool reason, or simply ignored his calls, but still he darkened my doorstep with a near clockwork series of reappearances. Every time his heart is broken he seeks me out and I simply can not say no to those villainous blue eyes.
Long brown hair and an accent; a voice so sweet with a mystery so deep that I could not stop my curiosity. No matter how many hours we spent talking or languishing in each others' arms I could not entirely ferret out all of his mystery (usually such a simple task for me). Flirtation became a game, a long standing battle of who would break first. All though our encounters were brief, the intensity surprised me every time and I have never forgotten him.
Light brown hair and dark eyes; a beautiful poet I stole from a darkened rain-drenched street on a fast-paced night. A short affair with all the trappings of whirling dance of flaming hearts; in and out of each others' beds as fast as we could. My life so unhinged at that point I could barely eat; he saw what I was clearly and fled before I could sink my teeth into his heart. A short game, but significant none the less for no other reason than the quick work of words I made upon his departure. You gave me a lovely poem, boy.
Blonde hair and blue eyes; that long hair slipping into his eyes as he leaned over me with a gentle smile to plant a kiss upon my lips. How could I not fall head over heels for a man who took me home to meet his dog? He pronounced his love for me shyly over the pounding speakers of a vibrating dance floor; told me tales of far off places I may never go; told me stories I did not want to hear, cooked for me naked with a silly grin on his face, kissed my shoulders to wake me up when he felt randy. We locked ourselves in a small room for a year much of it spent in the bath; raced from new adventure to new adventure and took the dog for long walks by the beach. I loved him to the point of near insanity which unfortunately was too much for his delicate sensibilities; I was a pressure on his life he simply did not need and I needed more than he could give. He is my life's single greatest regret and single most cherished memory but I will always need more.
Hair of many colours; my lover of many, many years all seeming to bleed into one another now. Over a decade we have known each other; first thrust together on a very drunken night on the pitch-black floor of my, then, best friend's bathroom; banging my head against the door. Funny how many years pass between meetings and how we just seem to pick up where we left off. We each write the other into our lives for a short affair then he wanders off to find someone he can actually love. The nights are hot, the skin sticks together, we fight each other for control but neither of us win.
Red hair; a funny man whom I met in a funny way. Our entaglements always brief, naked and unusual. No other man has made me feel like more of a whore and more adored. His explorations into my closet always amusing as I assured him it was not strange for him to pick out shoes for me to wear. Believe me, I have had stranger requests. Poisoner. The last time I saw him he was tripping over his tongue with apologies as I turned my back full of anger marching on. I doubt we will meet again.
In these years there have been others; quick encounters, names I have forgotten, a girl whose virginity I took, names I did not even bother to get, bathroom stalls in loud clubs, strange ceilings I woke up to, a queen who kissed the skin off my lips, an inexperienced young man I taught all my tricks to, quick mistakes, lively bed-mates, and a good story or two. These years have not been uneventful. I think I will close my eyes and go to sleep now.
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