Enjoy me slowly,
There’s no need to rush
Undress my mind
Like you would my body
Savoring every moment-
Every spark in between us.
I don’t want to skip all the sweetness,
For the sake of temporary pleasure
If you are patient,
You will get to enjoy my center.
I’m not impressed by
The size of your erection,
How much you can lift,
The places you’ve traveled,
The things that you’ve seen,
The wild sex that you’ve had,
The competitions you’ve won,
The fitness of your body,
Or the motorcycle you ride.
I want to know about your family,
The heartbreaks and joys you’ve experienced
What activities make you feel the best
What books you read
What gets underneath your skin
What challenges you
What stimulates you…
How do you feel about yourself?
Do you enjoy where you’re at in your life?
What else do you want to experience?
I want you to want to know my answers to these questions too
Because I want to share the deepest parts of myself with you.
© 2019 Vic Romero
All Rights Reserved
Trigger warning: aggressive sexual behavior
It’s supposedly good fortune to have a bird shit on you, but I don’t think anyone feels lucky when they get smattered with poop while everyone else around them is unsoiled.
Last weekend, however, this notion I had was challenged when a bird pooped on me while I was enjoying the chilly, albeit sunny, day at the beach. It was unfortunate that the bird shat while flying right over me, but fortunately, the poop had landed entirely on the beach towel I had wrapped around my shoulders in an attempt to stay warm.
Is that a sign of good fortune?
I kinda thought it was, especially considering that the following day, I began chatting with someone I quickly grew to become infatuated with.
I met this person through my new online dating hobby. I chat with people during my lunch break, before I go to the gym, while I eat dinner, before I go to bed…it’s gotten pretty ridiculous.
Although I’m judgmental of my own dating habits, I’m honestly having fun. I like chatting with new people, flirting, and the thrill of an adventure that is inherent to online dating.
Most of the people I have been messaging with have been older guys, not for any particular reason other than that they were the first few people I talked to. The guys are as follows:
- The dark, sexual/pervy, introvert without a social life and little family. Talk about some red flags, huh? He’s 29 and he is finishing his BA this academic year. He’s also a cancer, which is super compatiable with my scoprio.
- The insecure, angsty/poser guy who is also an aspiring chef. He’s 21 and is moving to Brooklyn for a new job. We have absolutely zero chemistry of any kind, but he continues to reach out to me for some reason.
- The very thoughtful and positive 31-year-old with a BA in psychology who works at Whole Foods. He is looking to switch careers and is pursuing higher education.
- The casual, friendly, local-to-my-area mechanic that actually lives in my town and goes to the gym I work at. He’s in his early late twenties, has an associates, and wants to be a mechanic engineer.
- The intense and persistent 28-year-old guy that served in the marines for five years, owns a house, and has a cat. He is a cancer too.
- The random older guy that works in supply chain and wants to smoke and hang out at his place AKA fuck.
The guy that I had been particularly attracted to was guy number 5. We had been video-chatting every night since we had started talking on Monday and we seemed to have an immediate, strong connection. A connection so strong, that he invited me to spend the long weekend with him in his home, and I actually went.
Despite my friends’ insistence that I meet him in public before I go to his house, I ignored their well-meaning advice and drove an hour and forty minutes straight to his house after working two jobs that day and on dangerously little sleep.
I don’t think I ever thought this was a good idea, but I was bored and curious. For some reason, I trusted him way more than I should’ve, considering I hadn’t known him for even a week. Perhaps my trust stemmed from how understanding he seemed to be about my disinterest in having sex that weekend. Perhaps the fact that he was a marine was enough reason for me to trust him…the only male that I had been with that had treated me decently was a marine too.
Well, twelve hours was enough time to break the unproven trust I had for guy number 5.
The night started off innocently with cuddling and kissing while watching Black Mirror, but it got rocky when we went to bed.
In his bed, I moved my arm across his waist and I accidentally touched his exposed dick. I asked him where his clothes went because he had been wearing them before, and I was wearing clothes myself. He blamed “comfort” for his decision to be naked, which is fine except if you are sharing a bed with someone you don’t know very well but are attracted to, shouldn’t you be more concerned with their comfort?
I was uncomfortable, but I ignored it because I was prioritizing someone else over myself. Despite all of the hard lessons I’ve endured that have informed me of my need to prioritize myself, I continue to put myself second, third, or even last. This is absolutely why I continue to undergo the same shit. Honestly, this experience I had can be comparable to the one I had when I was twenty with the douchiest guy I had ever known.
What I should’ve done was either sleep in one of the other rooms in the house, sleep on the couch, or leave. Better yet, I shouldn’t have gone to his house in the middle of the night in the first place. I should’ve followed the initial plan of meeting up Saturday afternoon and then deciding what to do after hanging out.
I didn’t do any of this though. I stayed and I dealt with the discomfort, which heightened when he wanted to masturbate while I lied beside him. Before I knew it, I was the one performing the hand-job because he, and I quote, “forced me to,” yet it was apparently, and I quote, “an ABSOLUTELY AMAZING” hand-job.
The other marine I had been with had ironically described my hand-jobs similarly, except he had never forced me to do them.
I wish the story ended here, but it doesn’t.
The next morning, I was feeling pretty good. Regardless of everything, I had slept better than I had the two nights preceding the forced hand-job night, so I was rather well-rested. The former marine was well-rested too, and aroused.
He got out of bed and stood stark naked, waiting for me to look at him. Embarrassed, I avoided looking in his direction as I gingerly made my way to the bathroom to get ready. Before I could escape, he shut the bedroom door and cornered me against the wall to make out, his erection poking into my belly. I stood stock-still as his arms wrapped around me. Then he lifted me up and threw me back onto the bed, crawling on top of me and wrapping my legs around his neck.
I then said, “It seems we have different ideas of what ‘not having sex’ means.”
He gave me a displeased look and then pulled away to sit on the edge of the bed. I sat beside him, and then we talked. I watched his erection deflate as he expressed illogical insecurities. Essentially, he was convinced that I didn’t find him attractive since I wasn’t trying to jerk him off in the morning.
The morning from hell concluded with him kicking me out of his house three days early, and I haven’t heard from him since, despite the fact that I reached out to him to apologize for hurting his feelings (I did not owe an apology at all. I’m disappointed that I even did that).
Although my morning was fucked up, I’ve been feeling positive. I had relearned the lesson about the importance of respecting myself and my boundaries, a lesson I seemingly, continuously forget. This time, however, I’m learning it for the last time.
I also learned more about what I want romantically. Initially, when I got back into dating, I thought I wanted something casual…but I don’t want that. I want romance. I want to learn the ins and outs of someone. I want to go on dates and I want the person I date to have earned my trust. I want love.
So now my approach toward online dating is a little more selective. It’s better for my well-being that way.
What’s even better for my well-being though is consistently choosing myself over someone else. I need to improve the relationship I have with myself first and foremost. The relationship I want and deserve with someone else will follow.
That evening, after a Nigerian BBQ birthday party, I went to my car to head home. As I approached, I noticed that a bird shat only on the drivers-side door of my car, and the poop was everywhere, except for the door handle.
Is that a sign of good fortune?
i relinquished my power to you and my better judgement at my expense because your so-called love and cheap affection caused my heart to pound against the bones in my chest and you felt my heart jumping when you caressed my breast but you chalked it up to being in the moment although my feelings for you ran and still run much deeper and i ignored the warning signs and continued running as the descent got steeper and it all caught up to me when i tripped and fell and tumbled to my doom maybe we just met too soon otherwise you may have been feeling the same way too…but you don’t. you never did. why did i think that you did? did you change your mind? it feels like you have just been manipulating me all this time…and it’s not okay. it’s not okay how you kept asking when i said “no” because i wasn’t going to change my mind at least not that night and it’s not okay how you reduced me to my body and it’s not okay for stringing me along leading me on convincing me that we’re something we’re not when you knew all along and you watched me comprised my wants and needs for this bullshit “friendship” like hell we were never friends and i’m still…unsure if i can keep trying to tie these loose ends don’t you see that you’re only hurting me why do i keep doing what you want you’re not the boss of me i want my fucking agency back because i’m tired of feeling mad and sad and anxious and scared this shouldn’t feel so hard and it shouldn’t hurt so much to cut you out you’re a parasite so get out of my sight get out get out get out
© 2016 Vic Romero
all this is, is a fling
i remind myself as you grab my waist
all this is, is a fling
i repeat in my head as you hasten
to pull your shirt over your muscular back
allowing my fingertips to explore the expanse of your chest
inhibitions, we lack
all this is, is a fling
i feel the words form in my mouth
but then your tongue pushes its way in
knocking them out
your body forces me down onto your bed
your body covers mine
and you seek to pull apart my threads
all this is, is a fling
i grapple with the meaning of those words
because i constantly seem to forget
my heart subverts
these fucking words in my head
your lips are kissing and sucking down my body now
i’m so hot and turned on now
you’re torturing me
both physically and emotionally
why can’t you fucking stay?
why can’t you please fucking stay?
all this is, is a fling
i clench my teeth when i remember
that there is no future come the spring
because you’re leaving at the end of december
this is just a fling, Vic
i finally accept it
and every time i do, i feel sick
but then that feeling is quickly replaced with elation
© 2018 Vic Romero
All Rights Reserved
You shift in your sleep, your knee moving to rest against my thigh. I stiffen as you exhale and tuck your head beneath the crook of my neck. I tentatively inhale, your hair tickling my nose. I’m enveloped in your scent as I lie here, awake in your bed. Acoustic rock had lulled us to sleep, and later, had woken us up. You must’ve turned it off at some point.
I want to roll over, but I’m afraid to move. More than that, I’m afraid you’ll move away. I would prefer to remain close to you, but I’m still unsure if that’s where you want me to be. I’m also unsure if I would be crossing a boundary if I got closer.
You roll over, turning away from my neck. I roll over to face the wall. Your leg, however, finds mine again.
© 2016 Vic Romero
This is an extremely raw write…I wrote this over the course of several days back in April-March…tears always stung my eyes as I added a couple of lines on my way to class or when I couldn’t focus on studying…I could edit this and clean it up, but I kind of like how…raw and therefore rough it is. I feel like it helps depict my mentality at that time…jagged edges and ill-fitting puzzle pieces.
At this point, I’m only torturing myself
Because I know well
That nothing will become of this.
I don’t want it to anyway
This relationship would drive
Because you’re too lazy
To treat me right
And you’re a vault
Locked up tight
I must love how you hurt me
Because I’m not coming undone from your touch
Only you get satisfied
So why do I keep entangling myself
In these cheap affairs
There’s nothing in it for me
In the end
We’re not going to last
I think I rather be alone
Than be with you and feel miserable
Our relationship isn’t transparent
And there isn’t a point in talking about it anymore
Since it’ll only fall on deaf ears
Like what has happened before
It’s exhausting trying to one-up you
I’m killing myself so you can’t
But there isn’t a point
Since I can’t accomplish anything if I’m dead
We aren’t friends
We don’t know how to be friends
I’ve known all of this for awhile now
Ever since I realized you aren’t lonely
You just want someone to fuck
Or a thing
I lose my autonomy with you
As you pursue sexual satisfaction
I remain still for you
Your hands graze my body
And penetrate me
To please you
And you alone
I am enough
You’re not allowed to make me feel less than
But I’m not gonna stop entertaining your texts
And I won’t stop spending the night
Until you stop inviting me
Because ending the hurricane that we are
Means also ending the rainbow in my life
I’m not really part of anything
A stray leaf floating through branches covered in leaves that match each other
But I’m different colored
Mixing everything together
You’re no longer allowed to camp out at the forefront of my mind
I have other things to think about
Other friendships to foster
And problems I want to solve
You treat me like I’m ordinary
And I deserve better
I like the idea of you
I like hooking up with you because I like you
You like hooking up with me because I’m convenient
I am just a body
A rag doll
© 1 March 2016 Vic Romero
The last couple weeks of the semester has caused me to feel glum due to stress over my academics as well as my social life. To sum it up: I am in the middle. The in-between. The grey area.
Every aspect of my life seems to fit that description. My sexuality and race/ethnicity, as noted in this post, my affiliated religion (I don’t identify as anything, I just don’t think about it), my majors (WGS and Economics)..I can’t seem to ever fall into one, absolute category. Perhaps it’s because I’m going and I’m still discovering myself and the world or perhaps it’s a false pretense that people can ever fall into one category. Regardless, this thought also applies to my friends.
I don’t have a clique or group of friends. Every time I think I do, I get proven wrong. It’s exhausting, hurtful, and lonely. I was complaining to my good friend, Steph, about it and she told me it was okay to be an outsider in the sense I don’t belong anywhere, I just have random friends here and there. She said I have years to figure out the friends I want to be making and who stays in my life too. She’s right but..I think the nature of college is extremely lonely without a group. Without a group, you tend to get left out and excluded. At least that’s been my experience. If I commuted, for example, I probably wouldn’t care at all about lacking a social circle.
Anyway..I’m writing because despite how much I feel like an outsider, a misfit, a loner, or whatever it may be, I’ve done some pretty badass things. Perhaps I wouldn’t have done them if I didn’t feel so alone.
Of course, he had decided to take the highway. There was no traffic on the highway, so there was no stopping. He must’ve known that if there was an opportunity to jump out of the car, I would’ve taken it.
I slumped down further in the passenger seat, my arms crossed over my body protectively as his words sliced through my skin. He said we were having this conversation because he loves me, but I wasn’t feeling loved at all. It wasn’t even a conversation; it was a lecture. A lecture about me. About what’s wrong with me.
I’m a little nervous for tonight.
Tonight I have a very casual, informal date. It’s not really a date..I’m not sure what it is. It’s with a woman though.
My best friend at college, Tatiana,* is amazing. She understands that I don’t want to hang out with the guy I mentioned in my previous post. He usually texts me but he’s stopped because he’s fucking other women, which proves he was only talking to me because I was willing to hook up with him. We were never friends, and we’re not friends now.
Anywho, she understands how I feel about him, and she knows how I want to connect more with her boyfriend because he’s super cool, so she brought us all together to go out to eat dinner and then party. I had so much fun, I got super drunk. We all took our shirts off and we were dancing on each other and it was just a ton of fun. I ended up going home with them because I was too drunk to navigate my way back home. Tatiana passed out and her boyfriend and I talked about the guy that they’re both best friends with and that has only made me feel like garbage, because he wanted to know what was going on. It was a great conversation, despite both of us being super drunk. Having that conversation caused me to want to do some snooping on my ex. My drunken logic was if she could treat me poorly and find love, then there is hope for me too, although it’s taking a hella long time for someone to come around.
The next day, Tatiana came home with me for spring break. She only spent Friday night at my house before flying back home to California. We went out to eat dinner because she’s vegetarian and I didn’t tell my mom, so my mom was ill prepared to feed her. My old job has very good black bean burgers, so we went there. I hadn’t been there in about eight months or so. The last time I worked there, only two people from the “original squad” were still working there, so I didn’t think I would see anyone I knew. Well, I was mistaken because the first person I saw when my friend and I strolled in was my ex. She was taking orders at the register.