Bio: Doug Gelsleichter. I’m 30, seen some crazy shit and enjoy writing about it. Hopefully you enjoy reading it. You can find it all – fiction and real fiction – at goodpulp.com. Enoy~
On love, and all its lastings.
by doug gelsleichter
I have loved three women – passionately and enthusiastically.
A Virgo, a Cancer, and a Scorpio.
I am a Gemini.
Gemini’s are warned not to seek relationships with Scorpios, Cancers, or Virgos.
Take it for what it’s worth.
So with that being said – and by that I mean having loved three women – then I think I can say, without estimation and with the utmost confidence – I know what I’m talking about.
When you tell me a story about love – be it comedy or tragedy – I’ll understand. I’ve seen it all and if love is a battlefield than I am a veteran of foreign wars.
And to make it clear – I don’t mean, in any way, sex. Sex and love are not mutually exclusive as many a slut or co-dependent could tell you.
I mean love – the act of knowing and understanding someone completely – accepting what they are, and living with them as a sum that is more effective than it’s parts. It’s two people pulling the cart to market – together.
I don’t think many understand what love is.
Once, when asked what I thought about love I responded: You cannot love someone until you hate them first.
I’m not sure if that’s correct but it certainly brings up questions.
Like everyone else, I’ve wanted to be loved – have a partner to share life with. When I was younger – my formative high school years – I wanted nothing more than to be in love – a hopeless romantic. And when I love someone I love someone. It’s one of the few things I believe you shouldn’t do half assed.
Yet, I have come to know – having won and lost – that whomever said it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all is a brilliant asshole.
So here is the short list.
The only ones that matter – at least so far – at almost thirty.
My first love, first girl friend, first time, first apartment, first child, first custody battle, first child support hearing. Met her at fifteen and dated for seven months, through most of sophomore year – then again at eighteen for six years. Seeing as that’s longer than some people stay married these days, some would also say first wife.
My second first love – my only great love. I met her summer of ’99 – an odd, retroactive metaphor. We worked together in a restaurant and had six of the best months of my life with. Third girl I had ever slept with and first girl I ever made love to. The only woman I’ve ever felt passion for.
I know many girls – she is one of the few women.
I not only respect her, but consider her a best friend – and although ‘us’ will never again exist I feel lucky enough to know her.
The third first love is controversial.
We never dated – although the tension between us was palpable. We shared more than one good kiss and got along very well. We were both very much an individual and respected that about one another.
She went on to date a friend of mine I thought was a douche bag, then went to college. I had a kid and sunk into the miasma of middle America.
I’m proud of her actually – she did everything she said she wanted to do.
She is accomplished.
Regardless – I loved her – as the little girl who’s mom watched us during recess to the beautiful vixen who came to my bedroom window during puberty, and interrupted Hellraiser 3.
There is no one else. The rest are people I’ve either dated or fucked.
So I suppose this is an anecdote – maybe a cautionary tale wrapped in an essay. Either way it’s what happened – the influences on my opinions and the source of my frame of mind. All three I met during these initial years before someone shits in your soul and you’re forever jaded. The period of life when youth fuels passion and sex is great. The years which shape a young man’s life – when there’s still possibility.
And that’s what they did – those first three loves – they changed me – each one. All three in distinctly different ways.
They have all earned my respect – one out of love, one out of soul, and one out of combat.
They have left a mark on me – a mark of self reflection – having forced me to look inward and ask myself questions I otherwise wouldn’t have.
They have effected change in me and helped to shape the man I am today – and with all but one, continues to shape to this day.
And with that being said I’d like to present my case – the feelings and beliefs born of thirteen years experience. I can’t say I was right, any more than I can say I was wrong. I’ve been both white knight and scum bag, and all I can do now is offer the truth – as plainly as I can put it.
Consider this my love’s suicide declaration.
I will start with mother to my child.
I met her mother when we were fifteen – and, as stated prior, experienced many firsts with her.
She was also the first to break my heart.
We broke up just before junior year and it was devastating to me in it’s suddenness and frightening in it’s callousness. Then again, I suppose that’s just white trash.
We began seeing each other again at eighteen – summer after high school. Then I flirted with college and broke up with her because I was in college and wasn’t passing up the pussy and don’t believe in cheating. I came home that summer and we reconciled over her having no place to live. I never went back to college, but that’s hardly her fault. After my stint of higher learning we got our first apartment – lost it four months later and bounced around because her mother had kicked her out top of the year and she had no family base to support her. Again, I’m stating facts – at the time, despite prejudices, I loved her deeply – and still love, much more shallow, today. So I promised her I wouldn’t walk away as everyone else had. Her mother had told her to get out, packed her bags for her and refused to discuss it further because the step father – a trailer park pervert who is a cartoon of a man – gave the ultimatum. Your daughter or me. Then – after discarding her daughter she later divorces him little over a year later and made no effort to say ‘hey, I fucked up’
Plain and simple I felt sorry for her – I loved her and didn’t want her to feel that pain. There was a girl I genuinely loved, and who was my best friend at the time being betrayed by her own mother.
I wanted to help her because I loved her and I understood the pain of a parent who can’t be bothered. So that’s what I did – helped her. For four and a half years, through the birth of my only child I wasn’t sure was mine initially. For four years I tried to make a hoe into a housewife – working two jobs from age nineteen to twenty-four and at one point working ninety-five hours a week, seven days, at two full time jobs for an entire calendar year. Granted she helped out with our daughter at home, but when the call came she wasn’t available.
The complaint was – you’re never home.
When I was home we didn’t have enough money.
Whether I did and didn’t.
The relationship rotted from resentment and imbalance and led to me talking to my daughter four times in three-hundred and sixty-five days and getting a handful of pictures after eight months of hope.
The result was a six month court case after I drove with my dad, to Kentucky, to pick my daughter up.
I won custody.
She pays me seventy-five dollars a week in child support.
The judge read the decision in a forty-five minute long prepared speech, discussing fourteen points – delivering his judicial opinion of who was better suited in each.
I won 13 – 1.
And all that love – all that intensity we had – all that strewed feeling brewed into the biggest rivalry since black and white.
She hates me now – I believe that. But not in the traditional sense of hate – I believe she hates me because she can no longer love me. I could be wrong, but doubt I am. She has managed to express her hatred and ability to ‘not care’ during our numerous court appearances since the judgement – six in 2010 to be exact. Yeah, that’s every two months.
I have proven her accusations false each time and have acted with respect toward her feelings with as unique as the situation is. She lives eighteen hundred miles away and only sees her daughter two and a half months a year, and married a guy she met on eharmony.
I suppose she feels the only way to win is persistence – trouble is she’s being a persistent pain in the ass and it’s obvious. It’s also daunting.
So to wrap it up – cause the details of this one will drown you – all I can say about my daughter’s mother is this –
I am better than her – yet she can always get the better of me.
She is my Lex Luthor.
My second first love, and I believe soulmate – is my Kryptonite.
This woman could kill me – wouldn’t matter. She’s second only to my mother and daughter as goddesses I know.
If she is in need of light – a torch I will bare.
We met, romanced, and fell in love in something akin to a Shakespearian dark comedy – the ongoing tragedy of not being able to ever be together, yet having taken parallel paths. Our daughters are nine months a part and to this day I’m accused by my daughter’s mother that it’s my child.
Truth of the matter is we’ve fought the same wars – and we’re both survivors. All I can say is my time with her is the greatest of my life – something I will cherish and continue to draw inspiration from.
She’s married now – and happy.
We still talk and her husband knows about it. I visited and hung out with both of them.
He’s a guy I went to high school with and is someone I respected even then. He’s exactly what she not only needs, but deserves.
He’s a man.
An honest, hard working man – being a Marine also helps.
I am happy she has found love – even if it isn’t with me.
I still love her and always will – but I respect him, her, and the sanctity of a solid relationship.
Let’s just say she stopped starring in my fantasies when I spent a few relaxed evenings with the two of them. They’re in love and compliment each other very well.
Who am I to disrupt that.
My third first love – I haven’t spoken to her in several years – actually more like a decade.
I told her I loved her – in my mom’s car, driving back into town on the old highway. She said she loved me too, but who knows – maybe she was being kind to hurry the uncomfort along. But that’s as far as it went.
Probably doesn’t help that I dated and broke up with two of her best – Power Puffesque – friends.
Circumstances withstanding I did love her and I believe she had feelings for me. May not have been love, but let’s just say she would have fucked me and not regretted it.
I wanted to know everything about her – but never got the chance to read much of the book.
However, I can still – to this day – claim it as a lost opportunity. It likely wouldn’t have gone far because she’s better than me and I have much less to offer than she does. I only regret not getting to make love to her – if it could have been that. She was that sensual and sexy – erotic even.
A half Mexican, half white work of art.
Any a man lucky to have her admiration –
Now these were the game changers, but there is one more.
This next statement is as true as I can make it.
I have missed being with few.
If I meet someone and we’re enamored – something happens – and I make a great fling.
But when it comes to women I want, my track record is impressive. Still, I have fallen short three times – all to much disappointment.
Two of them were just cunts who enjoyed knowing you genuinely like them and want them – but only ever let you dry hump a home run. It’s no more different then men subjugating women.
However, one of these – the subject of mythology and lore – is the one I’ve never touched, been with and barely talked to – the one who has eluded me.
My golden fleece.
The one who showed me girls weren’t all yucky. The one I was first attracted to – the very first arousal. From fourth grade until freshman year a running joke was how I liked her and she wanted nothing to do with me because I was gross, yucky, stupid loser, not cool, whatever.
I worshipped this girl and she became my first muse. A well I drink from to this day. I would ride past her apartment building on my bike until she threw rocks at me. She is the reason I’m heterosexual.
She is the most beautiful women I have ever seen – granted I haven’t seen her in about five years, but last time I did my opinion held strong. She is the yardstick in which I measure beauty – my ideal.
Although ideal – idealizing isn’t.
Yet with the exception of twice being in her presence at separate middle school parties and a few awkward jokes and even more so smiles, I don’t know her.
The only conversation we’ve ever had earned me the threat of assault from her long time boy friend – the son of a science teacher.
What all this did was turn her into a myth – a sexual Sasquatch of sorts.
To this day, I have been in her presence less than an hour – yet I am still captivated by her.
She’s has become a painting – a beautiful face I can always look at, but never know.
And what I wouldn’t give to fuck her. Just once – no bullshit or stings attached – just simple make each other cum, intense sex. All I need is one night to fuck the shit out of her – the way she likes it – however that may be.
I’d be up for that challenge – any day.
In encompassment – with all that has been said – I present the only women who has ever truly loved me.
April Day – and yes that’s her name not a play on words – used ironically or not, because yes, she was born in April.
The first could never give up control enough to ever love anyone.
The second is afraid to love me.
The third doesn’t know me.
And the idol – by nature – could never love me – otherwise she’s no longer an idol.
But April is my guardian angel.
Since seventh grade math class she has accepted me wholeheartedly and hasn’t left my side. She has loved and supported me through thick and thin – smile and grin.
My cheerleader and champion.
She’s also a lesbian.
I think that speaks volumes.
I don’t know what else to say other than – good luck.