To The Man Who Will Always Be My Greatest Deception

Painting by David Agenjo

Painting by David Agenjo

You were as experienced as they come: a kaleidoscope of girls hanging off one arm and a bulletproof glass of excuses on the other. You were a beacon. A beacon of platinum blonde hair and ice blue eyes (a well known lethal combination). But you weren’t conventionally attractive (you weren’t my type…you were my height, smaller than me, not what I considered a man), but that wasn’t your selling point; and it wasn’t what ignited my curiosity. Still, wherever you went, you were a beacon. A bright burning silver light that had  seasoned women giving you a second glance and enough of a spectacle to attract innocence. Perhaps that will always be your greatest victory: attracting innocence and being the one to destroy it.

When I saw you that first time, you didn’t see me. It was in a church courtyard (the irony of it all), and I was standing there, new,  just shy of eighteen and watching you in all my purity: I knew. Even then, I knew that something would happen between us. I didn’t know when, but I knew it would happen with a divine certainty.

Over the next few years, you became my friend and I yours, but it was nothing worth narrating. It evolved into a normal friendship, we did normal things; and as I progressed in years, now just shy of twenty, I began wondering it perhaps I had been wrong…maybe I’d witnessed a glimpse of a projection I had put on you myself. Maybe you weren’t that spectacular after all.

Painting by David Agenjo

Painting by David Agenjo

But suddenly, as if you felt my wavering interest one moment, something changed. I don’t know if it was a single text or the subtle change in the way you would gaze at me. Something just changed. Our relationship became a calamity, a confrontation of two predators who found solace in the sameness of each other (although I wasn’t yet a predator, merely prey with a sassy mouth and pretend confidence). I still don’t know how you didn’t see right through me, right through the lies I sprouted that one night we went out drinking. Lies about my naughty nightly escapades and devious sexual fantasies ( I was as innocent as they came, not even a touch on the lips). Till this day I still I don’t know what possessed me to lie, or what possessed you to believe me; what with my blushing cheeks and slight stutter, and jittery hands that could barely hold my drink straight. How could you not see?

Now as I write this, hanging precariously at the jagged edge of losing every bit of innocence I have to you, I can only justify you as seeing in me what you wanted to see. That you, the self proclaimed fuckboy who had still so much maturing to do, so badly wanted a companion that shared your tendencies, your sexual appetite.

God knows why you chose that in me.

Maybe you saw a mutual vulnerability and trust in both of us that would either be exploited or nurtured. To me, it begs a question of soul mates. Maybe I am just like you…craving the ecstasy, the pleasure…but it has yet to be awakened…maybe I have to lose all my innocence to you first…maybe we are one and the same. But that’s an exploration for another time.

So we carried on, everytime we went out for drinks we talked about sex and all it’s dirty crevices and corners; and as time went on, I became confident in my deception…talking like I had experience, like I knew…and you lapped it up, like a desert man finding an oasis.

You were always turned on by my words.

I didnt even have to touch you to notice you squirm in the drivers seat of your car or to see the hard on joggling in your jeans.

But I didnt come back from our chats unscathed either. I learnt things, experienced things of you that you will always be my first. My first kiss, my first touch, my first swallow. (You had always been a touchy person, and you broke my touch barrier, my aversion to physical closeness…for that I will always be thankful)

You were my first for a lot of things, and I will probably recount our experience to my daughter one day…except I wont describe what you looked like, or the fact that you manipulated me and I let you. I wont recount how I craved you at one point, because you were so sure of who I was, in a time of my life when I hadn’t found myself yet.

I will recount you with warm wisdom and an experienced heart. Maybe Ill smile slightly at the fond memory of the recklessness of my youth…the rebel I thought I was.

But I’m not sure if I want to remember you for taking all my innocence. Because then you will be ingrained in my memories forever… do I want to lose that last piece of innocence under the pretense of a lie? I dont know how I feel about that.

Painting by David Agenjo

Painting by David Agenjo

But I won’t ever tell you the truth of my deception. Maybe it’s because I feel special, a ‘little bit more’ to you than all those other girls you text and flirt with, than the ones you play with and fuck; because I managed to play you. I managed to play a notorious player…and you still don’t know.

We were never destined to be a couple, we knew that (we spoke about it once); it would break our dynamic and the unconditional trust we had somehow found in each other. Maybe what’s make what we are so raw, so true, is the simple fact that we have no expectations of each other to be disappointed in. (Well maybe you do, but you’ll never know that about me).

I will never tell you the truth.

But Maybe it won’t matter in a year’s time, or ten years time; when either we are still best friends, maybe married (possibly to each other or to others); maybe it wont matter later on that now in my twentieth year,  we could absolutely destroy each other…because we both have that power. Maybe it won’t matter because we will find true people, people to love that wont have a shelf life.

Maybe we’ll find a love that isn’t self mutilating. That isn’t a fire and gasoline fighting for dominance.

Maybe we won’t.

But darling, you’re laying next to me now, on your bed, as I write this. You’re holding a cup of coffee, your head is resting contentedly on my shoulder.  Every now and then you snuggle closer, pulling the blanket higher up to cover your chest and secretly you pull your mouth into a little smile.

It’s winter, and we’re both in the best places we could be…with each other, and with ourselves.

But still you don’t know.

And I won’t ever tell you.

I’m using you and you are using me.

You will always be my greatest deception.

Written by Sarah Davis