good because that’s what she reminded me of when she would get aroused. She was hot-animal hot, and just my type).
No one would ever understand this part of us. It was just...explosive.
When I would call her a maniac, she would laugh and say:
“I love you Angela. I love you baby-so much. Don’t ever forget that, okay.”
“I love you too,” I said to her. I was whipped. I loved it when she would call me her baby. I felt so special. I loved when she would be this way.
She wanted to step it up:
“I want to be able to tell you. I want you to hear me tell you how much I love you and how you’ve changed my life Angela. I could call you. I could call you from my mobile phone…no, I couldn’t…I can’t...but you can call in to me though. But I’m nervous,” she said-wanting virtuosity.
“Why, why are you nervous?” I asked.
“I can’t wait for you to hear me tell you how much I love you and how much I want, and need you, and how much nothing else matters but you,” she confessed.
In my mind, I was so happy-swinging from vines screaming: “Weeee!”
She paused. “Call me, call me: 011 612 9489 xxxx.”
I figured she was telling the truth about being in Australia [because when we get back over on our role-playing game, the name she was using right now: Kajira” was in Australia]. I really didn’t care where she was anywhere across the globe, all I knew was that I wanted to hear her voice, and hear her tell me how much she looooved her some me dammit. I was feeling so very emotional at this point. Both of us were. I was scared shitless but I didn’t tell her. She didn’t mind sharing her fears with me, though.
She posted: “I’m so nervous, my stank voice right now…LoL,” she said.
I replied: I don’t even care about that, you don’t have to sound “pretty” AND YOU’D BETTER NOT TRY TO SOUND PRETTY EITHER! Just be you, okay? ‘Cause if you don’t, I’m gonna get scared. She replied: “Ok. I’m nervous, I can’t lie.”
I responded: I have to call you on one of my two calling cards because I got the ghetto phone-complete with long distance blocks so I know I sure as hell can’t call overseas without my calling cards! LoL.” We both laughed.
“Here I go,” I said. (*cue the last two beats of the Jeopardy sound-bite*)
I tried calling the overseas number on both calling cards and neither card would let me dial it. I came back on line to tell her.
“THAT’S TOO BAD! THAT’S TOO BAD! THAT’S TOO BAD!” she said regretfully.
I sat there waiting for her to suggest calling me from that mobile again, but I figured it must had been a bad idea the first time she said it-because she reneged on the suggestion, so I didn’t press the issue. I knew the rules.
Like two happy people, we just sat online telling each other everything-learning one another more; cracking jokes and crapping on one another for the next couple of hours, until she got sleepy. Throughout the day of my seven days and in between my schedule and her happenings; we were always stuck like glue-hours at a time. At this time, she was good and off tour. So for me, outside of home, school, and work; it was hard-very hard to squeeze anything and anybody else in. So when I would go into the room and her people would post *gone*...that was like my unexpected surprise free time.
She had another request:
“Angela, the time that I am talking to you from, here...it’s a time that’s really hectic. What time do you usually get up in the mornings?” she asked.
I told her that I get up about 6 a.m.
She asked if I could log on at 5 a.m., because that would be perfect for her time. Of course I told her that I would (although truthfully, the time was not good for me and my much needed rest). I had to set my alarm clock an hour early to get me up, but I would have done anything for her-including losing sleep-I can’t lie. I was terrified to not oblige anything she asked because A: I was loving it and B: It was like PURE DE’ HELL jumping off track with her. They would all get suspicious. That part was about as nightmare-ish as the role-playing was. She was my heart though…*puts my fist to my chest* I cannot lie. I was loving all on her and was confident that she would not break my heart, and I promised not to break hers...
At this time, from my comfortable black Futon chair on my CD Rom, I was listening to “Love Ballad”-another song off my old school LTD Greatest Hits CD.
As if all that I was doing to honor her requests wasn’t enough, it wouldn’t be until later that I found out that every song I popped in that very same CD Rom, she could hear too. She. Did. Not. Miss. A. Fucking. Beat! (literally and figuratively).
I had zero secrets from her-in, or away from home.
She was not going to, and I mean she refused to get fucked by me literally (and...literally).
The next morning (5 a.m.), there she was-prompt as me:
“*smiling* Hi baby, I miss you,” she said.
(She appreciated my honoring what I said I would).
“I miss you too, and I love you so much baby” I returned.
“*Nodding my head slowly* Mm.Mm.Mm..I love you...I love you,” she wanted to overpower my way of telling her the same. She got quiet.
“What are you doing babe?” I asked.
“*W” this Maniac responded. “Oooooh, and I just got out of the shower too,” I revealed, virtually laughing and thinking about the look on her attentive face (paws on the keyboard). “Oh...?” she said seductively-with her one brow up: “I’m licking the water beads off of your neck and shoulders while I drop your towel,” she said.
I let her have me how she liked to, and wanted to. She proceeded to lick the water beads off of my neck down through my thighs while the sounds she heard from the pleasure she was giving me drove her crazy. My wetness and my wetness drove her wilder. “I can’t help myself, I love your sexy ass girl!” she confessed.
She then snatched, applied pressure to my clit, and teased me like I like it. She wouldn’t let up. I froze. She dug in. She wanted her to give it all to me, and I took it while she gave--like crazy, like I never had it before...
No one would ever understand…
“I think I’m gonna like this. Letting you have some of my first thoughts when I wake, I love you,” I confessed.
“You’re on my mind all day every day, when I wake through to when I go to sleep. I love you,” she revealed. She paused for a long while. “Baby, what are you doing?” I asked.
“Oh nothing. Just on the line with Rix as well...and I’m also about to call this guy called Michael who acts likes he’s so damn busy and “imPO’ent” all the time. We talk on this one kind of program on the computer where you can communicate but hear one another’s voice as well.” Of course I thought “hearing one another’s voice and communicating” was one in the same, but who knows-they’re probably both paranoid and don’t trust each other without being face-to-face (my knowing her and [of] him). Or maybe she did mean “communicate” (like she and I do) but too, can talk online (voice-to-voice) via headset. I dunno. I didn’t pry or ask any questions-only in my mind I did.
She continued: “I’m dialing him now, again-because he’s had me on hold like...forever…” she said; sounding like the spoiled baby sister that she is (hence why he too, got invited inside her Velvet Rope: Track 3 “You”).
I sat there. I didn’t respond to the comment about Rix being online (or anything about Michael) because I knew that she was only showing me that she was removing her mask and trusting me, and that meant a lot to me. I just took the comment about Rix being on line as my warning: “DO NOT FUCK UP. BECAUSE LIKE A HAND IN THE (LITERAL) NET, YOU ALREADY KNOW BY NOW THAT ‘WE GOT NEXT’ ON YOUR COMPUTER ANYWAYS…” (with her one brow lifted).
Our thing was unique for sure. We sat and talked for hours about everything.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, my first class was at 8 a.m., and on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; my first class was at 9:30 a.m. Sometimes we would talk in the mornings for so long and about so much that she would hate for me to leave. I would call her a spoiled big baby and we would stay on until around 11 in the mornings sometimes. I eventually dropped the 8 a.m. Tuesday/Thursday class because if I wasn’t late, I was at home cuddled up online with her in my comfortable black Futon chair-listening to her just be her, and loving it. I was loving the fact that she was just being her real self: telling me what makes her happy, what makes her sad, what makes her mad-all that. I enjoyed her-immensely. She was enthralled and ecstatic to learn everything about me too: listening to what makes me happy, what makes me mad, and what makes me sad. We were like two kids sometimes. And she was happy as heavens to have someone to love and play with, and well…I was overjoyed that she chose me.
We’d Go Deep. And we would get no sleep, ‘cause we’d be up all night until the early light...
Sometimes we would talk about movies and the stage (Broadway) plays we liked.
Other times we would have senseless silly conversation and (pretend) to break into some kind of fight while we were naked because one of us did or said something out of line, and I said to her: “Man can you imagine that? That would look a trip!”
She wrote: “tusslin’ and shit, LoL.” I just busted out laughing-thinking of the two of us booty butt naked trying to fight each other. We had so much fun together, all kinds of fun. I would bring her into my little bitty world, and we would talk about how I liked to drive around for hours at a time-wasting gas-absorbing and ingesting my music (because I always preferred to be in motion when listening to music) “whether it be driving, cleaning up the house, or making love...in slow motion...” I told her.
“Oh goodness I love you Angela,” she sighed. When I would catch her off guard and say stuff like that she would put her paws on that keyboard-ready to go there. I would giggle like a high-school girl. She told me that she wanted to share all of that with me, and promised to ride around with me listening to music for hours-absorbing it together, and make love in slow motion to music (together)...
We would talk about a favored spot of hers that she liked to go. She called it her sanctuary-a place where she liked to sit and think. She said she had never taken anyone there with her before, but she wanted me to share it with her. That made me happy. And I promised I would share that with her-whenever she was ready to.
“That’s fair. We’ll share each other’s world,” I told her.
“Oh Angela,” she gasped. She was sooo smitten with me. I felt so special.
Other times we would (pretend) to go dancing together and freak each other all wild, while laughing and acting silly. Later, we would slow dance and cuddle up-all alone in our own little world with nobody bothering us.
Sometimes she would make fun of my lazy slang when I would post words in chat or in private with her. She said to me: sometimes you write and say words just like the way you talk sometimes-your lazy slang” she specified.
I didn’t quite understand what that meant but I do know that I was comfortable with her by this time, and I would post things like: “Imma” or “I’m ‘bout ta” (I’m going to), “tal’mout” (talking about); things like that. She insisted that I “sounded” like I was from Alabama...“Alabama!? I asked again-and prepared to make her laugh: “Well I wonda how a p’urson wrat like dey soun l’ack dey from Alabama!,” I posted-in a country/southern twang.
She burst into laughter: “lololololololololol.” We laughed our asses off. But little did I know-the joke was on me. Because the funny thing was; she was laughing for reasons more than just a joke. She was also laughing because she had been actually listening to the sound of my voice a long time ago, Iiii just didn’t know it...yet.
One Saturday afternoon, I was going to a carnival and was looking forward to getting a funnel cake.
“A funnel cake? What’s that, like a potato pie-a potato cake thing with holes in it?” she asked greedily.
I laughed: “No baby, it’s like a deep fried piece of dough with holes in it. It’s shaped like a circle and it has powdered sugar, or hot cherries or hot apples poured across the top of it. It tastes really good. I look forward to this carnival every single year! Baby I wish you could go with me, I would be soooooo happy,” I said to her. (We “baby’d” each other to death-always).
“Baby, I hate that you’re going alone. I wish I could go with youuuuu. We will put that on our list of things to do ok?” she yearned and promised.
“Ok,” I said (acting like a baby). I was so happy. I had to make her laugh again:
“Hey Baby,” I posted. “Yes my love,” she replied.
“Picture me on my carnival windmill ride-gripping the bars really tight and looking over at the person next to me with that scared/fear/ready to take off look on my face, as if I really know them!” I posted.
“Oh my goooooooooddneesss. I’m clutching my stomach. Oh noooo lololololol. You’re going to give me a heart-attack!” she laughed so hard.
We talked while I was getting dressed (the usual). Both of us would always do that: talk while we were getting dressed until the exact time to leave. It would be like pulling teeth to get either one of us off line Monday through Sunday. Sometimes when she would have things to do and I would wait patiently while she showered and got dressed-she would do the same for me. “Let me talk back at you when I get out the shower/get dressed” was unheard of for us. We would type every single detail: “hold on, I’m putting on...” or “hold on, taking off…” we were crazy like that. We were like two happy lovestruck teens who couldn’t get enough of one another-like each other’s other half. We were ridiculous. I was so in love with her.
At this moment in time, she could do no wrong in my eyes-nothing.
When I got back from the carnival with my funnel cakes, I was eating sharing one with her greedy self. She liked it. She made sure she interjected: “Baby...now let’s save the other one for later.” I frowned, stopped chewing and posted: “Are you still trying to call me fat!”
“LoL. No. No. I promise. LoL!” she posted-reminiscing on the January 21st morning that she and “Drama” (Shawn) were calling me names.
“I’m sooooo sorry baby, just...mixed up emotions...” she said-apologetically.
“That’s ok, I got you whipped now,” I laughed-catching her off guard again.
“Lolololololol,” she replied. “True though!” she finished-seriously.
Her paws hit the keyboard: “Baby, did you think of me when you stuck your tongue in the hole of the potato pie thing?” said this maniac.
I busted out laughing (she knew how to catch me off guard too). She was so funny and so cute.
We promised that we would go to the carnival, the theatre, the movies, her sanctuary, my Think Tank in motion, and see plays together as soon as possible-no matter what, and nothing but death would keep us from it.
She already won me over.
“Head Over Feet” by Alanis Morrisette was blasting from the speakers of my computer’s CD Rom while I sat in my comfortable black Futon chair...
I’m on with her. We were talking about love, trust, pain, and our personal definitions of it. She was very defensive about the pain subject. She yelled: “DON’T TELL ME WHAT PAIN IS, I’VE HAD MY BILL OF PAIN. I KNOW WHAT PAIN IS AND WHAT IT FEELS LIKE. I’D RATHER DIE THAN TO RETURN THERE AGAIN. AND I MEAN IT.” She talked about how hard she loved before, and the hurt and pain that she had gone through. She told me that she had really never gotten over it, but had learned to move on. It was pretty sad...the way she spoke of it. I could only assume she was talking about her first marriage and all the rumors (and truths) that happened surrounding it.
She then asked me what my definition of love and trust was. I told her that (generally speaking) love is something that can only be mirrored by that which is love itself. If you love you, then you are all the things that love is (and should mirror): trust, honesty, patience, care etc. If you are all the things you believe love is, and you feel those things; you will give, and be open to receiving those things, too-accepting nothing less than that. I told her it was my experience that romantic love should come with conditions: conditions of mutual and like reciprocation. I told her that for me, romantic love is not unconditional. People only say it because it sounds good. A mother loves her children unconditionally, but if a lover crosses you, watch how quickly our so called “unconditional love” changes. I’m true to myself. I love myself in a way that I would never accept anyone who couldn’t match those ways. Romantic love should be mirrored to the extent of the love that you have for yourself. If you are not being loved the way you love you, then I believe that kind of love deserves conditions: to be loved from afar (unless you do not love yourself as you should, or say you do).
“I disagree,” she said, as we debated back and forth about the subject.
“I...I just have a place inside of me that I just can’t get past, I can’t get over. I’ve been hurt so bad in the past that sometimes it stands in the way of the way I love now...” she confessed.
“Well, that’s not good baby. That’s no way to love. It’s just like that quote that we discussed. Your approach to love can’t be with hesitation because of an experience that stunted your growth in love. It’s not good to let one bad thing spoil it for you in love. It’s not healthy. In love, you don’t come to lose. You come to win. Remember? Even if it doesn’t work, you know that you tried and gave it your all—and that’s how you approach the next relationship.” I told her.
“Angela. You have my all. I gave you my all. You have all that I have to give,” she promised and assured me. “All that you have inside of you to give?” I asked.
“Yes, all that I have to give Angela,” I promise. I promise you that.
I smiled softly, loving her more.
It was her turn to talk [about one of her favorite plays]: “Miss Saigon.”
She started rambling on about it non-stop. I listened and adlibbed.
She paused in spurts, wondering if I was tired of her rambling. I wasn’t-it gave her a different kind of energy. I like to hear and feel people’s energy when they begin to talk about things that interest them, it’s so varying-the octaves and excitement.
I replied: “No-go ahead baby, I’m listening. I want to enjoy what you enjoy. You do the same thing for me don’t you? “Yes, right. I do,” she replied. “Well go on, I’m listening,” I said. She didn’t want to stop.
I cued, probed, and adlibbed until she got it all off her chest. We talked about it for about an hour. When we got done, she told me about how the original character that played Miss Saigon was murdered by her husband in real life (just like the character-on stage).
“Asshole,” she said. I got quiet. “Baby, are you there?” she asked.
“Yes, I was just thinking. Thinking about how ironic it was that her life ended in the play as it did in real life. That’s all. What a shame. Talk about life imitating art,” I said.
Everything around or that held Janet’s interest and attention was life imitating art in some way or another-and even I knew that included me, this, and us-too...
“The Closer I Get To You,” by Donnie Hathaway and Roberta Flack was blasting from the speakers of my computers CD Rom while I was sitting in my comfortable black Futon chair--emotionally, mentally, sexually, and artistically imitating something like life for this woman who so badly needed it. Here I was, months in, tangled way too deep into her web of “life” now-imitating the art of every single lyric of countless tracks from her very own CD: The Velvet Rope.
Back to going behind hers (behind her own velvet rope)...
Finally, we got real busy.
After our last few conversations about love, pain, and loss; it was like she was feeling a bunch of things inside and needed to let off some steam.
She started off by leading me to the sauna,
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