Stan, Paul and Lily

Once you leave the security of need, a person can recognize true depression. It’s crazy how a person can dive into ice cold water and come out dirty and emotionless. A woman doesn’t know what she has until she sits on her toilet; with blank walls looking back at her and men looking through the bars of her prison. I never realized that living in the dream world seems to only throw you into the depths of despair. The dream worlds are chains bonding us to fantasy so that we may never leave. Reality is not real, while fantasy is clear as glass. It is a scary concept that even with love to support you, its vines will grab and twist the very innards of your heart and tear it out. Love is nothing; if anything, it is a crutch so that we may not have to walk down the road of life by ourselves. The very concept of being alone scares the regular person, simply because humans are social animals. So I thought that if one person can live happy for their entire life with a single person, what would happen if someone spent her entire life with two people, who she equally loved? Wouldn’t that make life so exciting, a life worth living. When I first met Stan, I had the idea of it in my mind. It was just a seed ready to blossom, but I didn’t know how to proceed on such a crazy notion. It fell in place as Stan told me of Paul, his roommate. They have been friends since grade 5. They shared everything together and had lived together since leaving their homes and going to university.
When Stan invited me over to meet Paul, I was ready for anything. Let’s get this straight, I am a shallow woman, I do prefer looks a little more than the actual personality. I cannot help it and it’s better to accept it then deny it. Stan was a looker, so I really hoped for Paul to be just the same.
It took me forever to look good. I wanted to look decent, but as if I hadn’t tried. I put on a black skirt, with a high belt and a blouse. I put eyeliner on; my eyes are the most attractive part on me, since I lack in the department of breasts. I am hot, and I know it. What guy cannot deny that? Sure there are guys who prefer big boobs and round hips. Others prefer intellectual conversation, which I can provide. Stan is a shy guy, who looks for dominant women. I can provide him with it.
When I arrived at his house, Stan`s eyes lit up when he saw me. I felt a rush of happy adrenaline. It felt right being here. I was looking around the house when I came upon pictures of Stan and Paul. Paul was even better looking than Stan, which in the least is saying a lot. Stan is a looker, but Paul, Paul was a god among men. I couldn`t wait to meet him and start our relationship. Paul came in and I knew instantly that he was the alpha male out of the two. His smile, his loud ego and readiness for being heard the first. He was a dominant man; he would want a woman who submitted to him. He would be the Sadist, I the masochist. I knew I could be that for him. There was a point in the night, where I asked for Paul`s number. He was reluctant. He is a loyal friend, but I knew he liked me. I knew he would go further with me if we hung out more. I reassured him that we would only be friends. That won him over, he handed me his phone and I put my number in his phone. I heard footsteps and I saw Stan’s shadow. I think he might have seen us. Not to worry Stan I slept with him that night.
My first date with Paul was in a way, awkward. Paul kept his distance, I knew if I went too far he would walk away and never speak to me outside of hanging with Stan. So all we did was go for coffee and tea. He took me to a café on main-street. It was quaint and simple. We talked of politics, favorites, movies and what does sex mean to us. I sipped on my chai tea. It escalated quickly as we talked about our fetishes. I was right when I guessed he was sadist. There was an awkward silence after he said that. I wanted to reassure him that we are both adults, but he got up before I could say anything and left.
Paul didn’t text me. So I would text him. He would only answer with one worded answers. I decided to let the fire cool and just focus on my relationship with Stan. Stan was a hopeless romantic, to the point of complete cuteness. Our third date he bought me flowers and a teddy bear. He took me out to a Soup Kitchen and we helped with whatever needed to be done, such as serving. It was too cute. I laughed inside at his ability to copy every romantic movie out there. It was obvious something was bothering him. I knew what he wanted. I was ready. It was about time, but he needed to be more dominant. Stan is beta. If I weren’t looking for a guy like him, he would still be single.
After the Soup Kitchen we went for a walk in the park, dogs were running around, children playing and Stan sweating. Finally, he had us stop. He looked at me, his eyes full of worry and nervousness. I didn’t say anything; I knew he had to do this for himself. His lips opened, he tried to talk but no words came out. He looked away and took a big breath than looked at me again.
“Lily, I want to know if this will go any further?”
“You have to be clearer Stan.” I pretended to be confused.
He looked around, “Lily, will you be my girlfriend?”
I looked around, pretending to think it over. He was sweating excessively. Before he could do anything I grabbed him by the face and kissed him on the lips, and with the all the sarcastic tone I could muster in my vocal chords I whispered, “No.” and kissed him again.

The world then seemed light. Whatever worries that I had blew out of my mouth as I kissed Stan. I didn’t know what it was; his lips were soft, gentle and knew exactly where to go. His fingers combed through my hair. He only went as far as he could without being nervous. He did everything according to the perfect romantic movie. Corny as hell, but I loved every bit of it.

My situation with Paul, you could say, was getting better and a lot friskier. When Paul heard that Stan and I were taking our relationship to the next level. I received a text asking if I wanted to go for coffee. We were to meet at the coffee shop where we first met. When I got there, he was sitting at a table. I quickly went in and sat down across from him. He smiled, and slowly slipped a chai tea. We talked about books, work and life generally. It was good time. We both wanted to go, he knew another hangout where poets came and did Poetry Slams. It was walking distance and so we began our small journey. Yet again we had our small talk, nothing too big and broad or complicated.
The Mae Wilson Theatre was a small theatre perfect for the city it lived in. Inside people disappeared around the corner. So we followed them in. On the stage was a single woman, on a stool, with a classic poet look. She had on a toque, scarf and loose clothing; a relaxed look. We sat down in the back where it was the highest point in the theatre. The woman sat there her eyes, looking down, nervous and ready. The entire theatre went silent as she spoke.

I walk through the dangling door, finding her rough and dirty.
As though many men and women traveled her body, and explored her lands.
I came out to see her, to hug her, to kiss her…
A smell of dandelions in the air.
The hint of grass on her hands.
Her stare, told all, her need for love and the pleasures that made her thirsty.
 
I was crazy to want her, to hold her, to know her, all over again She is my lady, as I am her never-ending Knight.
Memories of youth, travelled her face, as butterfly wings brushed her cheeks Patience her virtue, myself ready for any fight
The ignorance of youth made us fall in love then.
 
It started in the ripe years of adolescence We sat on the twisted tree branch, unsure of what to do.
I was merely a boy, she was just a girl.
Staring at the moon, unsure of what to say, something inside brew
The art of conversation slipped through my mouth, my mind with no sense.
 
I never felt this before, she made me feel. Our lonely hands crawling to each other, lovers by destined rights.
I just wanted to feel, to know her; that was all I wanted.
As kids, it was simple, no arguments, and no fights. Not a fist rose to her face, no one broke her pride, make her kneel.
 
 
In this room, I stood looking at her ravaged body, weak from all the thrashing.
Pain is what I felt, standing over her now.
All I want now is her to make me feel as she once did.
My spirit crushed, hope in her eyes, crying, the ring still on, the reminder of her broken vow.
I didn’t want to weep for her, unzipping my pants, her hopes went crashing.
 
I took what she owed me.
Every time I grabbed her head I reminded her of my love.
Her devotion every time she cried I kept going, harder, watching as her spirit died.
I didn’t stop.
Hours went by until I stopped; my tears had nowhere to hide.
I walked out the dangling door, leaving her rough and her spirit dead.

I was amazed by the emotion that was sung into the poem. The poem itself could not pack a punch without her emotion. The audience was silent, and then a whisper of approval crashed into silence. I looked at Paul, he was in silent, his mouth slightly open. A sudden urge to kiss him on the cheek came over me. I did so. He looked at me and suddenly grabbed my hand and guided me outside. We walked pass the coffee store and came upon his car. He pushed me against it and kissed me. He was rough, tough and pressed against me hard. He put so much force on me he took my breath away; he had his arms surrounding my body and just squeezed me even more. I moaned from so much pressure, he loosened up, but I grabbed his arms and made it so he gripped me that hard again.