She's gone
I still loved her when she died. She'd had some other guy inside her, as I referred to it back then (and still sometimes now) since she'd left me.
It took me several months to come to terms with the fact that the girl I'd lost my virginity to and therefore had automatically, and teenagerly loved had had her head pulped inside a crash helmet.
I kept saying if she'd stayed with me, with no fucking motorbike, she'd be still alive with me inside her. Feeling all warm like we had with our skin all over each other, tired from our first pieces of sex. The music we had playing back then I still can't listen to without her wrapped all over it.
Then it came to me that she'd probably fucked around for that very reason - she knew it was coming. I wouldn't be surprised if she got on the back of that bike, with her latest suck-and-fuck job, knowing that it was going to fling her fifteen metres in the air - a missile made of her skin and bones.
Years later a medium described her to me - that she sometimes stands next to me. Not sure about that. I guess she doesn't anymore at least.
She doesn't anymore because I wear the story on my sleeve. I've walked into pubs with it, gone to work on the train with it, taken shits with it. Fuck - I've even picked up other women with it.
I think I still love her a little bit. It's been over twenty years, but I can imagine her in hairstyles she never had and in clothes she never wore so, so much easier than I can with her brain all fucking mashed in that helmet, hanging off her neck, with someone else's cum inside her still.
RuKsaK
It took me several months to come to terms with the fact that the girl I'd lost my virginity to and therefore had automatically, and teenagerly loved had had her head pulped inside a crash helmet.
I kept saying if she'd stayed with me, with no fucking motorbike, she'd be still alive with me inside her. Feeling all warm like we had with our skin all over each other, tired from our first pieces of sex. The music we had playing back then I still can't listen to without her wrapped all over it.
Then it came to me that she'd probably fucked around for that very reason - she knew it was coming. I wouldn't be surprised if she got on the back of that bike, with her latest suck-and-fuck job, knowing that it was going to fling her fifteen metres in the air - a missile made of her skin and bones.
Years later a medium described her to me - that she sometimes stands next to me. Not sure about that. I guess she doesn't anymore at least.
She doesn't anymore because I wear the story on my sleeve. I've walked into pubs with it, gone to work on the train with it, taken shits with it. Fuck - I've even picked up other women with it.
I think I still love her a little bit. It's been over twenty years, but I can imagine her in hairstyles she never had and in clothes she never wore so, so much easier than I can with her brain all fucking mashed in that helmet, hanging off her neck, with someone else's cum inside her still.
RuKsaK
posted by RuKsaK | 11:04 am
It's beautiful.
A truely heart-rending story, you tell it well.
I want people to try this: read this post while listening to the theme to Twin Peaks (by Angelo Badalamenti). It really brings out the emotion.
Beautiful and moving. So well written and so sad that I found myself crying.
No bullshit humanity is right...it's exactly right.
Thanks everyone - it's all true as well - although very condensed. I should write the thing in more words perhaps one day.
seriously though - thanks for commenting
I recently lost a close friend as well. Sometimes I wish that it was just a mistake, that I was misinformed, that it was just a test, and now that I really appreciate what I had I can have it back and start all over again.
such violent emotion can be inspired only by love
After all the bullshit of a few posts ago we are really back on track. This post typifies two of the three spirits of this site - rawness and intelligence. The last one of the 'unholy Trinity' is humour, but it nice to see some serious writing.
Anon: You missed out the fourth typical item, which would be anonymous know-it-all fuckwads commenting above their station. Though I do agree with everything you just said.
As for the post? Brilliant. Thank you.
we are the sum of our history and the people who were in our lives.
beautifully written.
What a desperate and lonely idiot you are. It sounds like you are pounding off a fifth of Jack Daniels, while you slobber on the closest drunk for support.
And all that talk about inside her ----- where the fuck else would you put it?
Hey, she is gone. She doesn't see you crying, and I guarantee that the last thing she would be doing is standing next to you.
Maybe I can reach out to her, and see if I can get another unearthly contact with a female spirit. I had one before, and it was totally wicked. I am willing to bet that I will be the first to take her spiritual virginity.
No chance of her getting pregnant, but then again,I should be able to curl her toes.
Give me a week, and hopefully I will be able to give you a further update.
See if you can get her helmet back. It would make an interesting cereal bowl.
Now, if you think that I am an ass ...... then try to read your pointless pity story.
Later, boobie
thank all and Reg - I think I'm falling in love with you.
I like your style. angry and blunt.
I lost my husband 4 years ago, and it still hurts like hell.
The narrator's pain and anger were both believable.
finally, someone who is ruder than I.
Wow.
"She'd had someone else inside her" sounds so horrendous. I love your style of writing, the abhorrence you manage to project. What an awful experience.
grim. gritty. touching. real.
and all written with that spark of RUKSAK style.
This is the best piece of writing I've read in years. Breathtaking...
Reginald,
How very brave you are sitting behind the blue light of your computer terminal. Maybe later you'll send some anonymous abusive texts or phone a stranger for some heavy breathing.
That would be really 'Out on a Limb' you shivering worm of a man.
Twat.