The Cult of Melinda

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Sunday, December 09, 2007

FLASHBACK: The Worst Melinda Moment Ever!

I'm still in a reminiscing mood, so you'll have to indulge me again.

Bienville Hall Dorms, University of New Orleans Winter 2000 (I think)

The woman of my lustful dreams back then I'll just call E.M. for discretion's sake. I'd gone home for the holidays, but E.M. had agreed to let me crash in her room for a few days to get some business done on campus.

E.M. was sitting cross-legged on her bed. I was on a plastic dorm chair next to the bed. We were chatting about who knows what random topic when E.M. started spouting a love poem. I sat thinking about which of my favorite poets it could be since it was so familiar. Then, I realized that it was mine, a poem I'd written to a lover years before and publicly recited only once, months before that moment when E.M. would sit reciting it to me out of the blue. I don't know if I can describe what it's like to have an unbelievably sexy woman reciting your poetry back to you after having heard it only once months before. It was amazing, but somehow I let the moment pass.

It got later and I headed for the shower, emerging still a bit wet and clad in my favorite "formal" pajamas, a white pair of jogging pants with a silly white T-shirt with a tie painted on it. I made some stupid joke about my being naked in her room and waited while E.M. started getting the second bed ready for me.

Now, in my defense, before I get to the horrible part, I'd like to point out that I'm extremely polite when it comes to being invited into another person's space. I believe firmly that you don't judge another person's hospitality or the home you've been invited into out of friendship and generosity. So, I was on my best "ask for nothing you are not offered" behavior when E.M. started pointing out the limitations of her room.

It went sort of like this, with E.M. turned away from me making the bed while I stood waiting.

E.M.: "I don't have a fitted sheet, but we'll wrap this one around and tie it so it should stay still."

Me: "That's fine. It's no problem at all."

E.M. "And I don't have an extra pillow but I have this really soft comforter that can work as a pillow. I hope you don't mind."

Me: "No, it looks really soft. It'll be fine."

E.M.: (In an almost whisper) "Or you could always sleep in my bed."

Me: "That's okay. I'll be fine over here." (DOH!)

E.M.: "Well, if you get lonely..."

I can't tell you how long I laid awake mentally kicking myself. Every few minutes, I'd look over at E.M. lying on her side with a big empty space behind her in the bed, obviously meant for me. I told myself over and over that I should go over there and crawl in, tell her I was lonely. I never got up the nerve and I can't tell you how sorry I still am for that.

E.M., you know who you are. For all the stupidity and youthful indescretion, for the fear and nervousness, for the times I stopped when I should have kept going, for all the things I should have said but didn't, I'm sorry. I miss you.

For those of you interested, this is the poem as best I can remember it:

Two lovers embrace on a warm spring night.
Soft lips meet soft lips in a kiss of pure delight.
Emerald eyes lock with a blue grey pair.
Ebon hair entangles with ebon hair.
Cool ivory brushes against warm olive skin.
Two lovers partake in a most delicious sin.
Two hearts pound at an erratic pace.
Low moans and sighs fill the once silent space.
Two loins burn with uncontrollable desire.
Two souls are licked by the flames of passion's fire.
Rivers of sweat pour from feminine forms
And rise like steam in the night's dark warmth.
Two hot bodies melt and merge into one.
As lovers explore with fingers and tongues,
Soft lips meet soft lips in a kiss of pure delight.
Two lovers embrace on a warm spring night.

Okay, I was 20 when I wrote it. Give me a break.


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