How This Whole Thing Started: The Husband, the Pizza Delivery Boyfriend, the Acapulco Parking Lot (recap), and The Sexophone Player

Three weeks prior to the night before my ten-year high school reunion when I went to an Acapulco for a 300-dollar karaoke contest and cheated on my boyfriend (for whom I'd left my husband) by having sex in the parking lot with a guy I didn't even know, I had punched my husband square in the jaw during a melee struggle over a box of bills that I was trying to get from the apartment to file for divorce.

The only explanation I can give for a five-foot, hundred-and-ten-pound woman giving a six-foot, two-hundred-and-ninety-five-pound man a concussion is that he's a Muay Thai/Boxing/MMA aficionado...and a very good teacher. Of course, I didn't know that I had given him a concussion, because I left in a flash of victory, box in hand.

The next day, when I went over to pick up our son to spend time with him, before I could unbuckle my seatbelt, my dear mother-in-law flew towards me down the steps with papers in hand, outstretched towards my now-cracked window. She dropped them inside and flew away again, without a word. I read them, and I wept. And I wept, and I wept, and I screamed at the top of my lungs until I was completely spent, and I sped to the courthouse to see if there was any way I could get that restraining order lifted, but no - there was not. I would have to wait until after Christmas for the court date. And the only way I knew to medicate that indescribable, excruciating pain of having a mother's not-even-weaned child taken away from her was with: karaoke.

I started off with a beer at the brewery across the parking lot, and I was tipsy. I had also tipped and tumbled over that cliff of insanity upon which I had been teetering. I didn't invite my new boyfriend to go with me and because I went to the bar alone, of course, a man came up to me, sat down, offered to buy me a drink, I accepted, he bought me more, and more, I tore up that Adele in not a good way - I was completely drunk - and I realized...I don't even like this guy. What the hell am I even doing here?

I tried to get rid of him: I hid in the bathroom, but he waited. I went to my car to "charge my phone," but he followed me. I told him about my husband and my son, and he told me about his wife and his son. We exchanged pictures and stories of pain. He invited me to Salsa and I tried to wear him out...but he wore me out. I wasn't accustomed to heels.

Finally...he asked if we could go to his car to charge his phone. We started kissing, he wanted to go further, and I conceded, because, well, nothing else had worked to get rid of him and I figured this must be the only way. I acted like it was good, like any not-self-respecting bar slut would.

Aww, but he was sad when I told him afterward that - oops, actually - I had a boyfriend, and, I really didn't like the fact that I'd just cheated on him, so, "Sorry, Angel...I can't see you again. Take care. Bye."


Rewind:

My husband was drowning in alcoholism, verbally, emotionally, physically terrifying. He punched holes in walls, kicked doors down while our son and I hid, took my phone so I couldn't dial 9-1-1, blocked the front door. There was no escape, nowhere to go, except to work, where I went, leaving our son with his award-winning father.

There was a new delivery driver at Pizza Hut where I was assistant manager. He was kind, funny, had beautiful eyes, tall, was single, my age, an artist, had been to three universities, like me. He had been living with a Chinese lady while going to school #3, but when her house was foreclosed, he dropped out, moved home, and was living with his mom in his stepdad's mansion. They had just moved into our little town from the OC.

We sometimes worked alone together, and on those days, Evan and I shared the most intimate colloquy. I cried about my marriage, and he said, "You should leave your husband"...and in my head, I inserted the words..."for me."

I finally did leave him, five months after I met Evan, after Ronnie had made out with some women at a bar and threatened me with divorce for the sixth time. It was a violent fight. I tried to get a hold of our son to protect him and take him with me, but Ronnie grabbed him and wouldn't let him go. I hit Ronnie and tried to get our son away from him, but he was too strong. And then I realized that I'd become my mother...and I left, crying.

I texted Evan while driving, nervously, beside myself: "I did it. I left. I don't know what to do now...".

He responded, after a moment, "Come over." It's exactly what I hoped he would say.

I said, "I can't...I'm scared." It was the truth. Could I? Should I?

And he texted me, "Then let's get to the scary part."

He sent his address, I drove over, we did get to "the scary part," over, and over, and over, starting in his driveway before making our way inside, for three hours - then, we took a break to eat the exquisite salmon dinner he prepared, with buttered collard greens and paprika mashed potatoes, over wine - and then we did four more hours of the "scary part" all over his parents' house.

So this is what sex is supposed to feel like, I thought. This is what love is supposed to feel like.

I told him I loved him after only two weeks. I really felt it. But Evan didn't react he way I'd hoped, this time.

"Oh no...don't use those words," he said.

I couldn't believe it. I was shocked as he was. "Oh...I'm sorry," I said, sheepishly.

I was heartbroken. How did this happen? This is who I left my husband to be with? I tried breaking up with him, but he didn't want that, either, of course. But I couldn't be with him any more. It hurt too much. Pain on top of pain.

So, since I'd had sex with Evan for four hours a day for over a month, I'd had sex with someone totally random in the parking lot at Acapulco, I decided I'd go have sex with someone I really wanted to have sex with. I had just wanted this hot saxophone player I'd had a huge crush on in college, for years. And I thought, ah! This will certainly assist with the getting-rid-of-the-guy-who-helped-break-apart-my-marriage-but-who-doesn't-actually-love-me dealio, and, since I was having so much sex anyway...hey...what's one more?

I specifically did not invite Evan to my ten-year high school reunion the next day so that, before the event, I could stop off over at Rico's Vineyard. The way I saw it, we had some unfinished business.

Rico and I were in jazz together at SDSU in 2008. I sang Corcovado, and he got the sax solo. He was the sexiest man I'd ever seen. Italian, tall, dark, handsome, eyes that watched me intently from the moment we first saw each other. He'd look at me while playing his sax with his sensuous lips and hands, as if to say, I want you, I want you to know that I want you, and one of these days, I'm gonna take you, woman. I was tantalized. Powerless.

He invited me over to his house to practice before our performance at his parents' winery in Rancho Cucamonga. We didn't actually practice, although I actually thought we would. He made me a margarita and we went to his room, where he started changing into his performance attire, right in front of me. He asked me if I had a boyfriend while he was unbuttoning his shirt, slowly. I said, "Oh...well...yes". He was bummed. So was I.

But there was still an air between us, as if at any moment one of us might just grab the other in a sudden act of passion. I downed my margarita hoping it'd be sooner than later. No such luck. When he was done getting his clothes on, he offered to give me a ride over to the country club up the road where the performance was to be, having me leave my car at his house. Not too implicit.

Later, after the gig, he took a detour on the way back to my car. He wanted to take me on a golf cart around the winery. So off we went, at dusk. It was beautiful, like him. Between the vines, he stopped the cart, leaned over, and kissed me on the neck. I let his lips linger - they were warm, soft, and wet. My breath became heavy. My body was thrilled.

But I stopped him. I managed to utter, barely above a whisper, "I'm sorry...I can't." I had wanted to...so badly. But I still had a somewhat-functioning moral compass, at this time, and I didn't want to cheat on my boyfriend of six years with whom I lived (even though I hated him with an equal passion). So Rico dropped me back off at my car, and I drove home.

When I got home, Ronnie was drunk with his uncle on the couch, as usual. I was disgusted with both of them, as usual. Ronnie and I got into a huge fight and I ended up spending the night in my car in the driveway. I texted and tried to call Rico for hours, but, no response. I was pissed at myself for losing my chance. I cried myself to sleep, and I dreamt of Rico.

After that, Rico and I started sexting each other and chatting online. He told me one day in a chat that he wanted to - get this - fuck me in the ass. I wouldn't even let my boyfriend do that. And I still didn't want to cheat on Ronnie. And didn't know if I wanted to leave him, either, just so I could go indulge in some risqué activity? Would I leave Ronnie, give up my place to live, to fulfill a sexual fantasy? I emailed my best friend to ask her what she thought.

"Oh my God, don't do it! Don't let him fuck you in the ass! Ewwwwww! Gross!" she emailed me back her shocked response.

The next morning, Ronnie asked to use my laptop while I was in the shower since his had a virus, and I said, "Sure, honey!" I'd completely forgotten that the last thing I'd done was read my email. Eva's response was still open on the screen.

I was still showering when Ronnie burst in and demanded to know what it was all about and who the guy was and what I was doing and what I was planning on doing - and really, what the fuck? - and it caused the fight to end all fights (for now), culminating in Ronnie throwing some of my clothes into a suitcase and me finishing the job and storming out and taking the bus and train to Eva's house to live.

Ronnie got a hold of Rico's phone number. In my distress, I had left my phone behind. Before that, after Ronnie badgering me for hours, I had told him who the other guy was. So Ronnie called Rico and warned him to stay away from me (and Ronnie told me later that Rico cried like a little girl and blamed me for everything). I didn't hear from Rico again, and a couple of months later, I went back to Ronnie after we talked things out. He asked me to marry him. We would stop drinking, get married, and have a baby - that would fix everything.

In November 2011, three years later, I left Ronnie for good, for the pizza delivery boy. Now, I needed to leave Evan, too. As aforementioned I had already demoralized myself with someone totally random, so, I figured I might as well go ahead and do some of those nasty little things with Rico. He was the hottest guy on the planet, after all, to me - even though he was an asshole.

I got his number again from facebook and I texted him. I couldn't wait. We "sexted" about all the things we were gonna do to each other. He was okay with it now that Ronnie was out of the picture. He even agreed to meet with me that very night, before my high school reunion. So I went out and bought a slutty black dress and some slutty black heels and some slutty black thigh-high panty hose, a new bra, a new G-string - I felt completely ridiculous. I could hardly walk; the heels were so high, my feet kept tipping over. The dress was so short I had to keep pulling it down to cover the tops of the thigh-highs, and when I did, it would reveal my bra so I had to re-adjust the dress  some more, because come on, I didn't know who I was gonna see out there. I'm a T-shirt and jeans kinda girl - shy, book-nerd, tomboy-ish, don't even wear dresses - and if any one I knew had seen me, they really would have thought, WTF?

But once I practiced walking like a model in my room for awhile, I was good to go. I totally "tee-hee"d as I tiptoed out to my car after making sure that my aunt and uncle weren't around to catch me.

Tee hee...

I pulled up to the winery and waited for Rico to come pick me up at my car as planned, leaning against the bumper, half-sitting, half-standing, shifting around, trying to look calm, cool, sexy. Finally, he screeched up alongside me in his white BMW. It reminded me of the time I was his passenger the night of that gig, when we screeched past a homeless guy and he spit out the window, saying, " 'Get the fuck outta here, homeless trash!' Fuckin' bum."

Rico shouted at me to "Get in!" I did, walking carefully. He sped off for a short distance before pulling over on the side of the road in the darkness. I thought we'd be going to his house, but apparently not. I wasn't really sure what to make of all this. But I wanted to be sexy, so, I started to try and unbutton his pants from where I was sitting. But he snapped at me: "Did I fucking tell you to fucking touch me? Don't you fucking touch me until I tell you to touch me, bitch." I laughed and said, "Okay," like it was no big deal. I didn't let him know how fucking scared I was.

I wrestle with how much detail to go into here, so I'll just share the facts:

Rico made me shove my fist up his ass while he made me shove my fist up mine while he shoved his fingers inside of me and shoved my head so far down on his cock for so long that it hurt like fucking hell, and I threw up, and he made me swallow my own fucking vomit before he let loose his fucking load into my throat and made me swallow that, fucking, too.

When it was over he all but shoved me out of his car back at my car before pealing away. He might as well have spit on me, too. Hell, he might have; I don't remember. I was in a bit of shock.

I got into my car and I just sat there for a moment. My throat and my heart hurt. Before I knew it, I found myself holding my throbbing throat as I sobbed, hard. I screamed and I cried and I drove on the freeway towards the racetrack country club where the reunion was, but I pulled myself together so that I could change, while driving, into my jeans and into my plaid button-up shirt and into my converse shoes (and into me again). I re-did my smudged make-up and brushed my wet, tangled hair. I sprayed myself with perfume, because I stank like cum.

When I got to the reunion, I answered a call from Evan, and told him no, he couldn't come. I went in, said hi to a few people I hardly knew (Eva was my only real friend in high school, and she wasn't there), made my way to the bar, sat down, ordered a single-barrel jack-and-coke double, and downed it. Then I ordered another. And then another. And then...I was...sort of...okay.

If you thought it was bad with my husband, and you thought it was bad with #1: The Pizza Delivery Boyfriend, and you thought it was bad with #2: The Acapulco Parking Lot, and you thought it was bad with #3: The Sexophone Player...*laugh*. That was just the beginning. I still had numbers 4 through 8 to go...

...that very night.

The Propane Truck Driver

I wanted to be with him from the day I met him. He was sexy, masculine, a father, a traveler, fully employed, spiritual and sober. He stood tall and sat with his legs wide open, leaning back with his hands behind his head in ego, confidence. I wanted him to provide for me in as many ways a man could provide for a woman, because I knew he could….if only I could get him to.

At first, I was intimidated by his strength, sanity, healthiness. I was shy. Sick. Damaged. It wasn’t until I had some sobriety did I feel even worthy of speaking to him, of looking him in the eyes. When I did, for some reason I found myself telling him of my encounters with men. My boyfriends, my dates, my one night stands. I told him of the demoralization of each encounter, explaining to him that I just wanted to be treated like a lady, but it just wasn’t happening. I wanted a man to take me to dinner without expecting me to fuck him. Sterling was the caring but unaffected confidant, always willing to listen, always offering a consolatory hug. He had a girlfriend, so he was off limits. But he listened. Sometimes I would even cry in his arms. I wanted him to be the knight in shining armor and save me from the heathens…and then whisk me away and put me on his stallion for a good, long, hard ride.

Finally, after a year, I started to flirt with him a little, at first only indirectly. I would go to meetings just hoping he would be there, as I had done for the prior year. I started telling a mutual friend that I thought he was “hot”, within his earshot. I wished he would break up with his girlfriend. I wanted him for myself. But I knew that wasn’t going to happen. As a matter of fact, I let it go, and I got over him.

Then, a year-and-a-half after I’d met him, the unexpected happened. He and his girlfriend of two years broke up. I couldn’t believe it. I was extremely afraid. I had messed up so many times with men, I didn’t know if I had what it takes, this time, to do it right.

But attracting and seducing Sterling made me feel…worthy. Powerful. He expressed his interest in dating me, but I said I wasn’t ready to date any one. I kept him at bay while I played the mouse and made him the cat. We started talking every day. He said he respected me and didn’t want to lose our friendship – it was very important to him. We should remain friends, he conceded. I was invited to his house a few times. Invited to spend the night one night. We cuddled. I told him that cuddling clearly wasn’t something that “friends” do, so we should consider ourselves “dating”. So now we were “dating.” I was ecstatic. I felt like my dreams had come true.

I went to a convention that weekend and thought about him the whole time. We texted and talked the whole weekend, every day. When I got back he wanted to see me. I went over. This time, we kissed. It made me nervous. I asked him if we could date exclusively (I didn’t want to date more than one person at a time; once I had gotten sober, it just wasn’t the way I’d wanted to do things any more). He said he didn’t like “the dating game” either, that he was looking for a long-term relationship, and he liked the dating-exclusively idea.

He was looking for The One.

I wanted to be Her. 

I started telling our mutual friends that he was my boyfriend. It made him uncomfortable. He said he didn’t want people gossiping.

One day we started sexting. We had agreed before that we were going to take it slow, then one day – bam! The floodgates opened and the sexual tension broke with the force of a typhoon. We described to each other, in detail, all the nasty little things we wanted to do to each other. It was quite exciting. After the sexversation, he asked me out to dinner, and he would pick me up later that night. I went and spent money on lingerie and a dress and panty hose. Money I didn’t really have to spend.

At dinner, I didn’t care for the conversation, for some reason. I was actually turned off by his attempts at having me get to know him. He was all he talked about. So I mostly just watched the reggae singer on stage and sang along.

I pressured him to ask me to dance, to display his fearlessness. I wanted him to be a man.

After we danced, I had him take me home. It wasn’t working for me any more. I had a plan. I was going to go have sex with someone else. I felt uncomfortable with Sterling. There was something in him that I sensed wasn’t right. He was way too concerned with what I, and other people, thought about him. It was a turn-off. That, and, he had suggested a “view point” as our after-dinner destination. We had eaten dinner at a resort – the least he could have done was buy us a room! So high school, I thought. Been there, done that.

But…it was late, and I imagined that the other prospect and I would most likely meet in a parking lot, any way. So I went into the house for a more comfortable pair of shoes, and off we went, to the view point.

There wasn’t much of a view, though – a fence, and a freeway. And I was annoyed at his lack of initiative. Talking, talking – more talking? I hated having to try to be – or at least act – interested in anything he shared about himself. I really didn’t care about his kitchen remodel, or about his family problems. Finally I put my leg on his. “What kind of a man is this,” I thought, “not even willing to make the first move?”

He did kiss me, finally. We kissed passionately, hard. He had told me before that I was a good kisser. I knew I was. That’s how I do it -- I make them want me.

I just want to be wanted. My mom and dad didn’t want me when I was growing up. The only people who wanted me were men – older men. I felt it. They always told me how pretty I was. They came into my room at night, drunk. Mom’s friends. Mom was behind a closed door with her boyfriend who drank and beat her. She drank. He beat us. She let him. Dad worked hard and when he came home, his girlfriend yelled at him. Threw things at him. Yelled at us. Threw kittens against my bedroom door, and killed ‘em.

Sterling was ten years older than I. He was a man. He could take care of me. He could love me. I didn’t need to know him. All I needed was to give him me, and he’d be mine.

He got on top of me before he asked if it was okay. I said yes. I took off my clothes, and so did he. He put himself inside me. It was hard, fast, good, and quick. I feel good when it’s quick. It means I was good.

I had him take me to his house. I didn’t want to feel demoralized. I wanted it to feel like a relationship. We did it again in his bed. Longer, harder. Finally I couldn’t go any more. I wanted to stop, but it kept going for a long, long time. Finally it was over.

I got a urinary tract infection and was sore for days.

It took me four days to tell him I had an infection. I didn’t want to worry him. But finally I mentioned it, and he said – he had a habit of saying – “If there’s anything you want to ask me, anything at all, go ahead, okay? You can ask me anything.” Usually I couldn’t come up with anything to ask him. I thought it was a strange prompt. But this time, I responded, “Just be honest with me, all the time, about everything. That’s all I ask.” 

After a moment, he texted me and asked me if I could come meet him at his work. I thought that was strange, but it excited me. “I want to marry you,” I imagined he was going to say. Or “I want you to move in with me – today.”

I went the nine miles to meet him. I was there within fifteen minutes. He was filling up a propane tank in a church parking lot.

There was a lot of small talk. Shooting the shit. Beating around the bush. He picked me up and let me sit in the driver’s seat of the propane truck. He showed me what all the buttons and knobs were for. I wrapped my legs around him as he brought me down.

He was mine.

He finally started to tell me why he had asked me to come to see him. “I’m a very private person,” he said. “I don’t like gossip. I don’t open up to just anybody. But I know I can trust you.”

He continued, “I just want you to know that neither my last girlfriend or my ex-wife had any problems from what I’m about to tell you. I was with my ex-girlfriend for two years and my ex-wife for seven years. Both of them were fine.”

My heart sank. Something was telling me that whatever this was, it wasn’t going to be good. It had struck me early on that he must have some dark secret. “Is there anything you want to ask me? You can ask me anything you want.” I was starting to put it all together. But he was taking too long. Something in me just blurted out, “Look, can you just, cut to the chase – what, is it genital herpes or something?”

I was half-joking, hoping that was nowhere close to the truth.

But his face was dead serious, as he nodded, and said, “Yes.”

I kept my jaw from dropping, but I imploded from within. He began to apologize…but then the apology turned into an explanation about why he didn’t tell me. He was afraid of how I would react. He didn’t want anyone to know. Everybody gossips in this town. His ex-girlfriend and his ex-wife never got it, so I probably wouldn’t get it. It can only be transmitted if there are symptoms, but there were no symptoms. He felt so bad for not telling me. But when I had told him that morning that I had a UTI, he started to worry. The bottom line was – see – it’s just that he didn’t know we were going to have sex.

Outwardly, I was calm. I thanked him for his honesty. Inwardly, I wanted to rip his dishonest fucking head off.

I think the reason I was calm was because I could immediately see my part in it. I made him The One. I trusted him without knowing him. I didn’t want to know him. I just wanted him – for me. I was gonna get him – and I did.