Every Speck of Bitterness

Word Count 1980



The Prompt:  With Valentines Day done and over and my birthday just around the corner, which day I dare not say lol, weave me a tale of birthday plans gone awry and how the two lovers make the best of a bad situation.



    Forgive me dear reader, forgive me.  Nothing is more tedious than listening to an old man reminisce about his past.  It is particularly pathetic when said trip down memory lane centers on a past love.  If you quickly click “random read” I won’t blame you.  A roll of the dice will probably get you something more entertaining than this wandering, pointless story will be.

    Still sticking around?  Are you in the mood for the ubiquitous, romantic tale of boy meets girl?  I can promise you that the following story, despite its shortcomings, will at least contain; birthdays, sweet words, wine, nakedness, romance, sex, the healing of old wounds, and playing in the sunshine.

    Act one, scene one.  Our heroine is hitting a tennis ball against a concrete wall in the city park.  She is tall, slender, blond, and very pretty.  Our hero (that’s me) comes up and asks her if she would like to play.  (I mean, of course I do – didn’t you read her description?)  And me?  Except for the fact that I am short, otherwise I am rather nondescript.  Despite this inequity in our appearances she quietly says, “Yes.”

    We commence playing.  No games, just hitting the ball back and forth.  I am decent.  She isn’t, but this doesn’t matter.  I am in shape and fast.  I chase down the shots she sprays around and hit them back right to her, nice and easy.  I like doing this.  It has a cooperative feel to it.  In a lot of ways this is more fun than trying to kick someone’s ass.

    We take a break.  She says that her name is Jessica.  She is very shy.  Extremely.  I tell her my name, Andy.  I do most of the talking.  “Blah, blah, blah, blah,” is what I say.

    We hit.  We take breaks.  I talk.  And then we are done.  We say goodbye.  I watch her leave.  More specifically, I watch her ass as she leaves.  You can’t blame me, it is a very cute ass, and I’m a man, flesh and blood.  I think to myself I am going to looking out for her – everyday.

    So every evening I go down to the park and look for Jessica.  And, voila!  A few days later I find her again, hitting against the wall.  I ask if she wants to hit.  She says, “Yes.”

    We hit.  It’s fun.  We talk.  Slowly, she opens up more, parceling out some information about herself.  I hang on her every word, drinking them in.

    Somehow I summon the courage to ask her for her digits.  That’s her phone number, not her fingers.  (It was a different day-in-age back then.)  She gives it to me.  Then she leaves.  I check her ass out as she leaves.  Still very cute I think.

    We begin to go out.  We play more tennis, but we also bike ride, jog, go out for ice cream, do dinner, do drinks, go to the movies, hang out at each others apartments…the usual stuff.  All the while I’m thinking Jessica really rocks.  All the while Jessica thinks Andy really thinks I rock.  We do all of these things together before I kiss her, although every day I want to.  Months later she will tell me it took me way too long to do that.  It is kind of romantic if you think about it.

    She is very shy.  It is one of the quirky things about her that I like.  Rarely do you run into someone that beautiful who is shy.  So, one day I’m pressing her for information.  She usually won’t share anything too personal about herself, but on this day I succeed in breaching her defenses.

    “So this Mike guy was really the only boyfriend you’ve had in your life, right?”

    “That’s right, we went out all though college.”

    “Well, what happened?”

    Jessica gets this pained look on her face.  “He broke up with me.”

    “He broke up with you?  Why?”

    Then suddenly her face goes red and she snaps, “He broke up with me on my birthday.  Just after he convinced me to move into the area for him.”  Jessica is furious.  It sounds awfully stereotypical, but she is Irish, and when she gets mad, she does it right.  It’s frightening.  I soothe her, then quickly change the subject.

    That was the wind-up, now here comes the pitch.  So her birthday is rolling around.  She will be twenty-seven.  I want to take her out for her birthday, for two reasons.  First, I simply want to because I like her.  I like spending time with her.  Secondly, this is an opportunity to do something good.  She is going to receive some queenly treatment.  I’m going to try to take that whole bad-birthday-taste out of her mouth.  It should be easy.  All I have to do is gush over her, and that comes quite naturally to me.

    “Jessica.  I don’t know what to get you for your birthday, so I want to take you out for dinner.  I want to take you out somewhere really nice, were the food is really good.  Somewhere fancy.  I want to get dressed up.  Somewhere that’s a favorite of yours.  All my treat, of course.“

    “OK,” says Jessica.

    “You just tell me where.  I’ll make the reservations and pick you up.”  She tells the name of the place, and I set it up.

    So, her birthday comes.  I get dressed up.  Funny, I hate getting dressed up, but on this day I actually enjoy it.  I go to her apartment.  She answers the door.  She looks beautiful.

    I remember, to this day, what she wore.  A white blouse, a black skirt and black stockings.  I remember looking at her over and over again on the way there (particularly her legs).  I remember consciously thinking I need pay more attention to the road or I’m going to get into a car accident.

    We go in and sit.  It’s posh, yet comfortable too.  The waiter brings us menus.

    “Look at the price of a glass of wine,” she says.  “I think I’ll stick with this water.”

    “No you aren’t.  Henceforth you must ignore the prices.  We are both getting glasses of wine.”  We do.  We clink them together.  “Happy birthday Jessica.”

    I try to be gentlemanly, complimentary, polite, but entertaining too.  It’s hard to know how I’m doing.  Jessica is a hard read at times, and although she appears relaxed and happy, there is something different about her demeanor tonight that I can’t put my finger on.  (That is what they call foreshadowing, in the literary world).  I, however, am definitely loving her company and enjoying myself thoroughly.  That I know for sure.

    Appetizers, entrees, more wine (for her), coffee, desserts.  And then it’s done.

    I drive her back to her apartment, hoping she had fun.  She invites me into her apartment, so I think she must have had a decent enough time.  She asks me to come back into her bedroom.  I, naively, say sure.

    Now this is the part that throws me for a loop.  I’m in her bedroom.  I’m looking at her music collection, with my back to her.  I’m distracted.  And then BLAM!  I turn around and there she is lying, completely naked, on her bed.

    And not only is she naked, but she looks absolutely gorgeous.  She is Aphrodite incarnate.  Her long limbs, her pretty face, and her delicious girlie parts are all flawless.

    So, what do I do?  Nothing.  I just stand there.  Frozen.  Speechless.  In shock.  I am stunned by her beauty, by my excitement and by awe.  I think I may have drooled on myself a little as I stared at her.  I don’t remember.

    After a time Jessica gets a concerned look on her face.  She does this funny thing with her arms.  She holds them out just a little and opens her hands up, then lets them drop to the bed, as if to say, “What you don’t like?  Here I am?  This is no good?”  (Which to me, to this day, is still very funny when I think about it.)  But what she actually verbalizes is, “What’s wrong Andy?”

    At this point I am caught in a quandary.  I have a problem.  Do I fess up, or not?  More uncomfortable silence ensues and my embarrassment mounts.  All right fine, I think, I’ll come clean.

    “Jessica, I’m sorry.  I don’t know what to do.  I’ve never done this before.  I’m a virgin.”

    Then she does another thing that I think, despite the agony of all this, is very funny.  Her eyes widen from surprise.  Why do her eyes widen from surprise?  Because she isn’t the only one in that room that is twenty seven.

    How does someone go that long without losing their virginity?  That is another long and boring story in itself (I mean obviously it is, right?).  However, you may recall my description of myself at the beginning of this story; that is part of the answer.  Anyway, back to the epic tale at hand. 

    I proceed to sheepishly take off my clothing.  Isn’t it funny how the beautiful get naked at the drop of a hat (a la Jessica), while us homely people go about it slowly and reluctantly.  She produces a condom.  Painfully, I read the directions.  Then I fumble around with it for a ridiculously long period of time.  Finally it is secure and, seconds later, I’m not a virgin anymore.

    And then, seconds later, I’m all done.

    No, that part doesn’t go down exactly like that, but it’s funnier if I tell the story that way.

    A month or two later we are riding around town in my pick-up.  She says something about her old boyfriend, Mike.  I ask her, “What are you, still bitter about him?”  I am prepared for a torrent of anger.

    “No, Andy.  You took all that bitterness away,” she says quietly.

    When she says that I experience something I have never felt before.  This warm feeling runs through my body.  It is so intense, it’s actually a little scary.  To be able to have that effect on her, the woman I have fallen in love with, makes me feel great.  I can’t help but think of the irony of her declaration though - I took your bitterness away?

    So what happened?  Did my love for her grow and grow?  Did she become my wife?  No.  She moved.  She had been accepted to graduate school weeks before I met her.  She went, as planned.  I wanted to do the long distance relationship thing.  She didn’t.  The fact of the matter was that even though she was extremely fond of me, even though she cried and cried when she left, she never fell in love with me like I did with her.

    We kept in close contact for a while, but it was painful for me, so eventually we lost touch.  I haven’t talked to her in over fifteen years, but you know what?  I’m still very fond of her and I still love her.  She was awesome.  And, like I said, she took my bitterness away too, every speck of it.

    I am almost done with this “story”.  (Speaking of bitterness, thank you dear reader, for hanging in here until the bitter end.)  In a moment, when I am done, I will toast you, Jessica, with a glass of wine.  I’ll wish you heaven, wherever you are.  I’ll hope you are happy.  I’ll toast you with sweet words, kind thoughts and well wishes.  And then I will drink my wine.