March is for Memories

Lately I’ve been flooded with memories, both good and bad.  So I’ve decided to dedicate the majority of my posts this month to memories and stories that I rarely remember, either due to my terrible memory or because I’ve subconsciously blocked some things out, but that resurface as flashbacks now and again.  I also plan on sharing some stories handed down by family and friends that I find amusing, touching, or for some other reason that we’ll find out later.

These aren’t in any sort of order.  I’m just going to post them as they come to me.

Memory #1 – My first tattoo.

When we’re young (I was 25) we tend to do stupid things.  This particular act of stupidity was getting a tattoo at 1:00 am while drunk.  The tattoo shop was right next door to the bar that my friends and I frequented quite often.  More on that later.

Springsteen performing on the Tunnel of Love E...

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The night in question was one where I was out with my friend BSL (short for Bruce Springsteen Lover).  We had spent the night at the bar drinking and having fun.  Although my relationship with him was yet another rocky one, he was someone who I cared deeply for at the time.  We are still friends, but you know how it goes, things change and people change and we all move on.

He and I started out hot and heavy even though we never actually had sex, which very much disappointed me, but in the end I was glad that we kept our relationship from getting to that point.  We met through his brother, who was interested in me, even though I didn’t really know it.  I was still young and naive when it came to men and relationships.  I was recently separated from my first husband, the Con Artist, and in a very venerable state.  The fact that this good-looking Guido type of guy from Brooklyn showed interest in me made me feel special and sexy again.  As with many of the men I’ve dated, he had issues, mainly that he drank too much and was a commitment-phobe.  Of course I didn’t find all of that out until later.

The first night that we met we hung out at his brother’s apartment for many hours drinking and laughing.  When it was time to go home we were waiting at the bus stop and then realized that we had missed the last bus so we decided to take the train back to my apartment.  On the train ride we continued talking and laughing, he was a very good at making me laugh.  Then out of no where he leaned in and kissed me.  I melted.  Once we got back to my apartment we had a few more drinks and then finally went to the bedroom to crash as we were both very drunk at that point.  I do remember taking off all of my clothes except for my under-things.  We sort of cuddled and talked some more until we both passed out.  No sex that night.  I assumed it was just because he was too drunk to perform.

Now back then I was used to getting any man who I wanted and made an effort to get.  This guy was different.  For some strange reason he didn’t want to have sex with me.  This completely confused me.  He was willing to make out with me, sleep in my bed, but yet he wouldn’t get down and dirty with me.  I don’t think I had ever been so confused in my entire life.

The next morning we woke up, stayed in bed most of the day just talking, watching television, and cuddling.  Still, no sex.  At that point my insecurities were in full-blown overdrive and I couldn’t stop thinking, trying to figure out what I had done wrong or what was wrong with him.

Finally it was time for him to head home.  Just as we reached the door and I was about to open it for him to leave, he pinned me against the wall and gave me the most passionate kiss that I had ever received.  After peeling myself off the wall and watching him leave, I was left more confused than ever.

It took several more months for me to piece together the reasons he wouldn’t have sex with me.  Through information provided by his brothers and friends I found out that he had serious commitment issues caused by women from his past that he had been involved with and who had treated him like just another piece of meat or either found him cheating on them and left him.  At that point I should have been relieved by the fact that we never got sexually involved, but time can be a killer.  The more time I spent with him and his brothers and their friends, the more they became like my second family and the more I fell in love with this man who I couldn’t have and shouldn’t want.

Even though we never officially dated and never were sexually involved, he still liked to treat me as if I were his and his alone.  He would get upset and jealous anytime he would see me with another man even if it was just something as innocent as dancing with a guy in a bar.

So, back to the tattoo.  I had already decided that I wanted one and I knew that I wanted a small cherry with a bite taken out and I wanted it on my chest.  Since I was drunk and towards the end of the night BSL was in one of his drunken asshole modes I decided to go next door and just do it.  BSL didn’t even bother waiting on me, he just went on home.  So my first experience getting a tattoo and I was drunk, all alone in a tattoo shop and had some old man getting more than an eye full while tattooing my boob.

Still today when I happen to notice that first tattoo I think back to that night and the tattoo’s significance.  It not only signified my feelings of being impure, tainted, and alone, it signified the new path in life that I had chosen to follow.

10 thoughts on “March is for Memories

  1. oh dear. oh dear. what a way to get a tattoo!
    You can still put your memories into practice as I know you do. My are still memories and that is where thery will stay…unfortunately!
    Ah well…

    Another interesting piece of writing and a pleasure to read but what happened to BSL?

    Have a great day

    • Thanks Patrecia! BSL & I are still friends, but that’s all we’ve been for a very long time. We rarely speak, but I do still visit with him and his brothers whenever I get the chance to go back to NYC. Last I heard he had was single yet again. He’s been through more women than I can count.

    • Thanks Mousie. I definitely feel better now. That first tattoo was about 11 years ago. I’ve learned a lot since then, or at least I hope I have.

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