May 30, 2011
October Seventeenth

Strange how someone you think you know slowly reveals himself to being a slut.

Everywhere we went, he’d stop and say hello to this woman, and that.  In the coffee shop in Los Feliz, at the Metro station in Long Beach, at the Casbah in San Diego: always a woman, always a hug and a smile, always a few minutes of conversation, and not once an introduction.  But every time after - after all the little pleasantries were over - he would take my hand and smile and tell me that this woman, and that woman, everywhere we went, was someone he used to sleep with.

And, every time he told me, and I remembered what each of these women looked like, what they sounded like, how they looked at me standing there, I thought, “I need to get out of this.”  But I didn’t.

Years later, I ran into him out in the street, holding a middle-aged man’s hand.  This was in North Hollywood, at some dive bar.  And he came up and hugged me, chatted me, asked me how I was doing.  But he didn’t introduce me to the man who was looking at me, thinking, “I need to get out of this.”

[full disclosure.]

  1. 405 posted this