One Very Memorable Night (But Not for Good Reasons)

While out at a bar, your old high school sweetheart approaches you and gives you an unexpected kiss right on the lips. This causes you to have one intense reaction that will lead to a very memorable night—but not for good reasons.

Post your response (500 words or fewer) in the comments below.

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147 thoughts on “One Very Memorable Night (But Not for Good Reasons)

  1. Solrodra

    Hi! 🙂 this is my first time here. I will appreciate your comments.
    It was friday night.I got home around 7:30 pm. While I was taking a comforting shower on my new modern apartment, my wicked best friend phoned me. She wanted us to go for a drink to the new bar that her boyfriend had opened. I was exhausted, but she insisted and I couldn’t say no. She has been there since I lost my family. While we were out at the bar, my old handsome high school sweetheart approached me. For my surprise he gave me an unexpected kiss right on the lips. I almost spilled my drink. How dare him to kiss me without even saying hi?. At first the stolen kiss was soft with occasional bites, but then it began to change. He grabbed my face with both hands and push me to the closest wall. I tried to talk but he did not let me to. All of sudden he began to unbutton his pants.I started to feel nervousness, he was taking the kiss to the next level. After four of five minutes I kicked him hard right in his crotch, he let me free and started to walk backwards letting me know that he was in a terrible pain, I could barely breathe and as soon as he pull himself together I slapped him on his face and run away.

  2. izer49

    I walked out of my ten year high school reunion, after only being inside for five minutes. I just didn’t have it in me to mingle with past acquaintances while subtly competing against each other’s lives. Where we went to college, what type of job, how many kids. Frankly, none of that mattered to me. I’m sure I’d win anyway, considering my car was easily the most expensive parked in the lot. Also, not having kids helped my case. How great my life has turned out! I thought as I walked from the ballroom to the hotel bar.
    I sat down on a stool nearest to where the bartender was dispensing drinks. She was vastly prettier than the other women in the bar. Best of all, she was exactly my type – tall, slim, long sleek black hair and large round eyes. I caught myself staring at her in a way that would surely make her feel uncomfortable, had she noticed. I was just about to bestow my charm onto her, when suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder. Naturally, I turned around curious to see who it was and before I could ascertain what I was seeing, I saw a figure inches away, making her way towards me. Instead of reacting logically, which would’ve been to step back and stop this person, I allowed our lips to make contact. I closed my eyes. I enjoyed the kiss. I felt an explosion of adrenaline rush through me, so much so that I couldn’t move. I was at the mercy of this mysterious woman. Eventually, after what seemed to be a lifetime of simple passion, she stepped back and we simultaneously opened our eyes. Still paralyzed with shock, I saw she was my high school sweet heart, the only person I have ever loved. The one I walked out on because of how scared I was to fall in love and truly feel something meaningful.

    “I remember you looked at me in exactly the same way, 12 years ago” said Kathy.

    “I uh….” I was still in shock.

    “She and I do look alike; I wonder how similar we are. You should date her, knock her up, give her money for the abortion without going to a clinic with her, assume she went through with it and never speak to her again.” She smiled deviously.

    Before I had a chance to respond, she walked away. I pursued her to her car, along the way, pleading to talk. She did not respond, got in her car and nonchalantly drove away. I stood there on the empty parking space, frozen in thought. Am I a father? Or was this a cruel joke? Why wouldn’t she tell me she did not have the abortion all those years ago? Why didn’t she try finding me? I’ve never wanted any children, but if she didn’t have the abortion, I would’ve helped raised it. Twenty minutes went by and I finally started walking to my car. After much though, whether she was telling the truth or not, I decided that I would not try finding her.

  3. brittnobabe17

    I swung open a pair of bright red double doors of the new bar in town knowing that this place would be packed out but a lot of fun. My friends tagged along behind me as we were all dressed in our cutest outfits immediately looking for some cute guys to hit up. I smiled at one of my friends and pointed over to a tall gorgeous man sitting at the bar top.
    “Hey, he’s a looker,” I winked and strutted my way over to him, my heels clicking every step of the way.
    I slapped some money on the bar, gave him a cute little smile and ordered a beer. I sat down on the white bar stool and crossed my legs in my little jean mini skirt. I eyed him and just decided to introduce myself since he wasn’t already doing that.
    “Hi, I’m Jen,”
    “Hi,” He flatly stated still staring up at a T.V.
    “You have a name?” I raised an eyebrow at him.
    He finally turned to me and said, ” Blake.”
    He obviously didn’t want to talk so naturally I would just move on. I swirled in the bar stool toward my friends with my beer still in hand and gave him a little wave. I looked away and unexpectedly some drunk ass hole grabbed my face and laid a big kiss on me drowning me with his tongue and spilling my beer on the sexy man next to me. I shoved him away as hard as i could and slapped him straight across the face yelling, “Don’t touch me you dumb shit!” I then realized that it was my ex, Tanner, from high school, whom had always been good looking. He had cut his blonde hair since I last saw him and also grew about an inch or two in height.
    “Hey, my girly don’t you remember me?” Tanner said putting his hands all over me.
    “I’m not anyone’s “girly” and sure as hell am not yours,” I said sharply slapping his hands away.
    The Blake stood up and pulled him aside and said, “Look dude she obviously doesn’t like you so step off,” giving him a good push making Tanner stumble around and running into the people behind him. Girls just gave him a glare and walked off as other guys sort of smiled at the situation.Their eyes glimmered with hope there was going to be a fight. Tanner was always quick to fight in high school, so it wasn’t a surprise that he charged straight at him and tackled him to the ground. A crowd immediately formed around the two starting to shove me to the side. I threw a few elbows and found my way to the front line seeing that Tanner was on top of Blake punching him in his face multiple times, making the poor guy start to bleed all over the floor. Surprisingly, Blake managed to roll Tanner over and started bashing him into the floor. A couple of big guys from the door rushed over and pulled them apart both looking pretty rough.
    “You guys need to leave,” One bouncer firmly said as they escorted them out of the bar.
    “Jen are you okay?” My friend Aleisha asked me looking for any damage on me that clearly wasn’t there. She always was the worrier of the group, we could hardly even get her to come tonight.
    “Yeah, I’m fine, stupid ex boyfriend from high school.” I said shaking my head not believing I ran into him, especially like this.
    “Which one the tall and sexy one or the tan blonde one?” My other friend Sherika asked me.
    I smirked and said, “The tan blonde one…” I trailed off as I saw that Blake had slipped past the bouncers and was heading my way. My eyes widened and my heart started to race a little bit which was weird for me because guys didn’t really make me nervous anymore.
    He came up and said, “Hey, I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to get out of here and grab a bite to eat.”
    A smile pulled across my face as I glanced for permission from my friends to leave them. They gave me a head nod as he put his arm around me and walked back out through the red double doors with the gorgeous man I wanted to walk out with when I first came in.

    If you have any comments for me please do because I am a first time writer!

    1. BlacknWhite

      Hi brittonobabe17! I liked your story. It was gutsy and the writing rolled off nicely from start to finish, I thought…
      And I’d appreciate your feedback on my write up too, which is posted just above yours! =)

  4. BlacknWhite

    I had put down the empty Margarita glass and turned around to see the flash of a familiar face. The next minute, he was kissing me full in the mouth. After a heart stopping kiss, that left us both out of breath and in the hold of each others’ arms, I took a minute to stare at my old high school boyfriend. The same piercing blue eyes, strong jaw line and those very same set of soft lips. I closed my eyes and kissed Wentworth again. Encouraged by my initiation this time, he kissed with more passion.
    The next thing I remember, we were getting in a cab together, our lips still locked together all the way to my apartment. Somehow, we made it upstairs and through my door, without ripping the clothes off each other. But that’s the next thing we did once we were in my bedroom. Wentworth kissed me anywhere and everywhere until we were rolling together under the sheets. We made love like never before and he whispered “I love you,” in my ears.
    That’s when the door knob, which we didn’t care to lock, had turned and moments later my parents walked in on us! Wentworth and I froze as my parents’ eyes seemed ready to pop out of their heads. I let out a muffled scream and Wentworth looked like somebody force fed him a handful of mosquitoes. My mom and dad retreated in a flash and shut the door behind them with a resounding crash. We jumped off the bed the next instant and went about scrambling in search of our clothes. Wentworth pulled up his jeans and I struggled into a crumpled dress that lay on the floor.
    Swallowing the growing sense of embarrassment and a mild wave of nausea, I stepped out of my bedroom and softly closed it behind me, leaving Wentworth to fend for his flustered self. My parents were rambling about in the kitchen, noisily helping themselves from my refrigerator and exchanging random trivialities from their flight, in loud voices. I tried to clear my throat but all that came out was a croak and my parents looked toward my direction, their faces reddening at once.
    “Hi mom, dad,” I squeaked. “Weren’t you supposed to get here tomorrow morning?”
    It was my parents’ turn to look as embarrassed as I was. “Early flights, honey, early flights,” my dad said, dolefully, shaking his head, as if trying to jerk something off his mind. My mother cleared her throat and said, “Well, we better go sleep, honey, it’s late. Good night!” I managed a nod as my parents quickly locked themselves in the farthest room from my bedroom, in the large apartment. I staggered back into my room, abashed, and found Wentworth dressed, but ashamed.
    “How bad?” he asked. “We’ll live,” I smiled and went up to hug him. As crazy as the night was, I was glad to have gotten back with Wentworth again. Everything worked out.

  5. SchmidtHappens008

    “You’re beautiful, you know that?” This, from my boyfriend of six years after slurping down the last sip of his third SoCo and lime on the rocks. This was the first date night we’d had in about three months. It seems the longer two people are together, the less quality time they actually spend together. It’s frustrating, to say the least.
    “Aw, you’re sweet when you’re drunk,” I said as I scooted my bar stool closer to his and laid my head on his shoulder. Not an easy feat, mind you. Especially considering I was on my second glass of sangria. Blu Magick has the best wild berry sangria. Love in a glass, I like to call it. Blu is also the place where Kevin and I met.
    I lifted my head from it’s increasingly comfy perch on Kevin’s shoulder to have another sip or two of liquid love. I tend to close my eyes when I sip this drink; I savor it. I set my glass down on the bar, opened my eyes, and would have returned to the warm, sweet comfort of the space between Kevin’s neck and shoulder, but I turned to see that he was…otherwise occupied. My boyfriend was locked in a deep and passion kiss with some ugly skank. Ok, she wasn’t ugly, what I could see of her anyway, since most of her face was obscured by Kevin’s face. My Kevin’s face. Heavily mixed in with my quickly growing anger was utter confusion. Where the hell had she come from? Had she been here the whole time scoping him out? Was she even real? Did he know her?
    What I wanted to do was wrap my fist in her hair and slam her forehead onto the bar a few times until she fell asleep. What actually happened was I attempted to get off the stool, caught one of my three inch heels on the foot rest, and landed hard on my hands and knees. I was a bit too tipsy and infuriated to be embarrassed or fully process the pain from the fall just yet so I tried to stand, and on the way up from the sticky, gritty bar floor, blurted out, “Hey, slut! Get your face off my face!” I’m sure that’s not what I meant to say, but no part of my grand territorial gesture was working out as planned so far.
    My drunken theatrics did get their attention just long enough for them to look at me, look at each other, laugh, and then walk out of the bar clutching each others buttocks. I did finally get a look at the skank’s face. Where had I seen her before? Kevin’s yearbook. It couldn’t be. Gretchen? His high school sweetheart that he left for me in college. What was it he always said about her? “If she ever got the chance, she’d steal me back from you. She’s a real witch.” No. Couldn’t be. Could it?

  6. Natasha

    Thanks Brian! I’ve got a lot out of the WD newsletters and Twitter account and am looking forward to participating more this year. Thanks for the welcome.

  7. soupmomma

    The mirror in front of me reflected more than fancy bottles of highbrow booze, it reflected his beautiful face, the kind of face that haunts your dreams and stars in your most private fantasies. Even now his emerald green eyes, the black silky hair and those lips…..

    He maneuvered between the tables, graceful and suave dressed black pants and a crisp white shirt. I watched him open a bottle of wine for a table of middle aged women. They looked pathetically captivated by him. I squelched the urge to yell, “hey, ladies, stop drooling.”

    The bartender caught my eye and gave me the kind of smile that says “I know what you’re up to.”

    I smiled back but didn’t articulate what I was thinking. “No, Mr. Bartender you haven’t the foggiest idea of what I’m up to.”

    I shifted on the stool and then reached over to touch my pocket book. His shifted ended in twenty minutes, and I hoped to spend that time undetected.

    The bartender walked over to me and leaned his elbow on the bar. “Miss, he’s not as great as he looks. Trust me—I’ve known him for five years.”

    Wow, I like this guy. “Yeah, I know. He’s amazing until he opens mouth. I think he’s G-d’s prank on Western PA women.”

    “Ah, she’s not only beautiful, but smart. I like you. Miss, you have no idea how many women just sit at this bar desperately trying to get his attention.”

    “Well, I’m not of them. I just want to get this over with,” I replied.

    He went back to washing the remains of martinis, Manhattans and various types of wine sludge from the bottom of appropriately shaped glasses. Just as I was about to ask for his name I felt breathing on my neck. Quickly, I spun around, but before a I could utter a single word, his lips were pressed against mine and his hands gripped my arms. Man, could he kiss, my knees were grateful for the barstool.

    My brain said to pull away, but I didn’t. He kissed the way most women believed only happened in movies. Slowly his lips loosened and in the second it took for him to step back, I came to my senses, reached out and slapped him—hard.

    Reaching into my purse, I pulled it out and crushed it into his chest. “Here slimeball, I hope you and that bimbo had a good time in my car. Here’s the bill for the damage, two thousand dollars and I don’t take checks from you. Cash only.

    I tossed my bag over my shoulder and turned away from his shocked face. “Bye Mr. Bartender, it was nice talking to you.” Waving, I walked away and then stopped. “And, if you don’t pay up. I’m hiring a lawyer.”

  8. Natasha

    When she comes to me, I am not surprised.

    It was always here that we would meet – just one of many special places.

    Celeste; or Lettie, as she lets me call her on the good days. She looks as beautiful as ever. Platinum hair curled just so, like Monroe in her heyday. Red lips like a shining cherry, waiting to be plucked from her creamy skin.

    I shouldn’t be here and neither should she. My grin is embarrassingly wide as she approaches but I was always a sucker for the sway in those hips.

    I straighten my tie and turn to her, pulling towards her gravity. And I remember the first time I saw those eyes.

    The lashes were so thick and black they fascinated me instantly. She would defy her family to come and meet me – usually in Abraham’s Orchard. She would walk through those rows of apple trees as if she was already on Hollywood Boulevard, already the movie star she dreamed she’d be. I was drunk on her in those days. She was wild and intoxicating and everything that they write about when they write songs about first loves.

    And here she is now, swaying towards me on scarlet heels and back into my life again. As if she never left me on a bus bound for Hollywood and lights brighter than anything I could offer her in our small town. I didn’t see her for years after that day.

    “You been here long, Sugar?”

    I shake my head and smile, nudging her drink towards her. It’s a Yip Pip, vodka and vermouth in a salt-rimmed glass with a cucumber garnish. Her favorite.

    She smiles back and then those lips are on mine. She smells of sweet apples and Chanel number five. I am lost in her, mine again if only for those few seconds.

    “You alright, Ned?”

    The bartender’s voice shatters the moment and I bring myself upright on my stool. Celeste straightens beside me too. I tip my cap to him.

    “I’m fine.”

    His forehead creases in worry but he nods and goes back to polishing his glass. He leaves us alone then which is good because I know we always have precious little time. Lettie and I keep to our quiet corner and I don’t even mind that I hear every word the bartender says to the guy sitting at the other end of the bar.

    “…Comes here nearly every Tuesday, orders the same thing. One Manhattan and a Yip Pip – old drink from the 50’s. Never drinks it though. Just the Manhattan, and then he goes. Someone said he used to be married to an old movie star but I don’t know which one – she died a few years back. Just know his daughters must’ve put him in a home then ‘cause they came down here to find him one day. Told me not to serve him anymore but I can’t refuse the old bloke. Seems a damn shame to see him sitting here all by himself though.”

    Lettie smiles her cherry smile and I place my hand over hers on the bar.

    For when she comes to me, I am not surprised.

    1. Natasha

      My first ever post here…am happy to have gotten over my stage fright! I imagine I’ve posted too late to get feedback but it would be appreciated if anyone would like to offer any. Thanks.

  9. Christien

    I hate bars. They are loud and crowded with people I don’t want to associate with. They stink. The people, not the bars. Well, the bars stink, too. When I walk into one—and let’s be honest here, it’s pretty often—the first words out of my mouth usually include the phrase, “I hate bars.”

    And really, what’s the point? Getting drunk in a socially acceptable way and meeting people for casual sex in a socially acceptable way. Honestly, I go to look down on people who go for the previous two reasons. They deserve to be mocked. If I happen to get drunk while doing so, that is a natural side effect. If I happen to pick up anyone for casual sex, well then, also a natural side effect.

    Tonight I see someone I know. Usually this would be not a good thing, having a line that involves hating bars usually doesn’t work if seen often in the same bar. When at a bar across town from where one lives, and where everyone one knows lives, one is not there to see familiar faces. Especially familiar faces that are, you know, spouses. Or spouse, as the case may be.

    I’m on my third or sixth drink… I usually lose count at around 3. I’m chatting with a very friendly gentleman to my right and making eyes with a slightly less friendly gentleman to my far right—“gentleman” is stretching the description a bit for either one—when he walks up next to me and orders himself a Silver Bronx.
    I recognize the voice. We were both pretentious shits in high school, both in possession of fake ID’s, both ordering the same drink created at the Waldorf Astoria. It was fate. We always thought it a great “how we met” story that we will never tell our children.

    He leans over and kisses me like we’re not both where we shouldn’t be. He says, “I make it a policy to always kiss a woman drinking a Silver Bronx.” I realize then that he’s not kissing me. Well, he’s kissing me, but the me who is a-woman-in-a-bar-drinking-his-drink, not his high-school-sweetheart-now-wife-who-stopped-drinking-his-drink-years-ago. I, at least, had some warning. If only for 20 seconds, it was still 20 seconds more time to get used to the fact that my spouse was trolling in a bar than he had.

    Because, let’s be honest, that’s what I was doing. Trolling. It’s a nasty term, but bars are nasty places. Haven’t I always said so? You also meet rather nasty people in them. I’ve lived with one of those nasty people for about 20 years now. I guess we both forgot that the nasty person that we liked best was the one we met first. The one who drinks the same stupidly obscure drink from the most pretentious bar there ever was. We’ve been real for so long that we’d almost forgotten that we actually worked best with fake ID’s.

  10. jessik

    I was at some shitty bar on campus, hoping to run into some old “friends.” Having grown up 15 minutes outside Onondaga Community College, it seemed a likely spot to do some revenge-sighting. I wore low-heeled boots, skintight jeans, and a knit top that hung just so. My teeth were white (plus I had all of them), my hair was down and casual, and I had long ago mastered the perfect just-got-in-from-the-sun makeup. I was exactly 2 style notches up from the prettiest girl at the bar, I was drinking a Jameson on the rocks, and everything was going according to plan. I had won, and now everyone would know it. The best would have been to see Dana Simpson and her gang of heavily eye-lined girl tentacles, who surround her at all times, but I would have settled for anyone in my class who had ever called me a slut or a nerd.
    I caught sight of a girl my brother had dated back in 10th grade, named was Alia. She had been a band geek, like me, and later turned out to be a lesbian. I entertained a brief fantasy about walking by her table and her declaring it had always been me she was into, but stayed put with my eye on the door. I had business to tend to. I lived in Paris now, and rarely went back to my hometown of trailers, cows, and corn, as it had nothing to offer me anymore but a vague sense of panic.
    My head got a little spinny, and for a moment I was in my basement getting felt up by Drew, my high school sweetheart and the only bruise on my happy memory of leaving upstate NY. There he was, right next to me, in a popped Abercrombie polo and with sprayed-in highlights through his hair. How had I missed him?
    “Drew! You’re still wearing the same cologne!”
    It wasn’t what I had meant to say, but it’s what came out.
    He swept in gently, before I even knew what was happening, and his lips were touching mine with that same intense earth-shattering chemistry I remembered. I felt like I could have kissed him hours, like we used to, and all thoughts of revenge evaporated into thin perfumed air.
    “Hey gorgeous. What are you doing here?”
    I tried to think of a million important and sophisticated thing I might have plausibly been doing before he came over, but I always instinctively told Drew the truth, and this was no different.
    “I was hoping I might run into Dana from school!” I smiled an evil grin.
    Drew looked stunned for a second, as though he couldn’t figure out how I knew. I was confused, and for a split second as Dana walked into the bar and headed straight towards us I imagined Drew and I making out all night after showing Dana what a loser she was. But as Dana slipped under Drew’s arm and I caught sight of the giant diamond on her left ring finger, I felt my heart crumble into a bitter and exhausted puddle of embarrassment.
    “Oh hey Dana! God, you look… great!”

  11. Summers1993

    The bar was practically empty aside from the bartender. I wasn’t hear for particular reason truth was I shouldn’t of been hear at all I didn’t have much of a taste for alcohol and I wasn’t hear for the entertainment which was just a karaoke machine sitting on a small stage behind me.
    It had been ten years since I’ve been back in town and a bar seemed the proper place to put that kind of thought. But may be I was just being stupid sitting in a deserted pub with nothing but my thoughts to entice me.
    A familiar bell sounded and a rush of cold air filled the room but I thought nothing of it. Even as he took the seat next to mine I still hadn’t a care for him. It was when his lips pressed to mine I thought he might be worth a glance.
    My breath caught.
    “Carter.” I managed and he smiles his all most perfect smile.
    “Wondered when I’d see you again.” he says, and I see that his dark brown hair is cut short rather then long and that he wares a button up shirt and slacks, a big change from his band t-shirts and dirty genes. That smile is exactly the same as it has all ways been thou and that’s enough to brake my hart.
    The bartender sets down what I can only assume is Carters usual.
    “So,” Says Carter. “Were the hell have you been the last decade?”
    “I’ve been traveling around the world, stayed in Africa a wile then went in to Europe explored there a few years, but I recently just came back from Australia going to see about furthering my carrier as a history professor.”
    “Really?” Carter sets his glass down placing his hand over mine.
    “Mhh-hm, what about you?” I ask.
    “What do you say we get out of hear?” He watches me.
    I laugh, “And go were?” Carted steps down, throwing a bill on the counter.
    “Come on.” He pulls me away from the bar and we jog in the all most complete darkness, crossing roads I can’t really recall, till we came to a bill board. I look up and see the familiar graffiti from some years before.
    “Come on.” He says and I see Carter the boy in the rock band that I went to school with, the boy I lost my virginity to, who held me as I cried about my lost dog Snoopy and I let him drag me to the rickety latter claiming up to the top were we made love for a few long hours like we used to when we were in high school.
    I woke to the sun warming my bare skin the cold metal under me I reached out for some one who wasn’t there. My phone rang in my genes.
    “Were are you?” Stace asks waiting for my answer I laugh and look back up at the gratified board seeing my name next to Carters written in sharpie, a new note scribbled next to it, “I all ways loved you,” it said. I smile to my self my cheeks burning.
    “Stace you wont believe were I am right now.”
    “Were?”
    “Remember when me and Carter used to hang out at the bill board way back then.”
    “Yeah, why?”
    “Well me and Carter met up last night and had a little reunion.” My smile is wide I’m sure she can hear it through the phone.
    “But Lilly that’s impossible Carter died in a car crash four mouths ago.”

    Miranda Summers

  12. dlhockey3

    Why did he always complicate things?
    His unexpected kiss left her instantly repulsed, reminded of that high-school night. Involuntarily, she gasped, then slid from the bar stool, almost toppling it in desperation to escape. Clutching her purse, she dodged tables and chairs, pursuing a freedom he threatened.
    His gentle hand stopped her. “Please, Jackie, don’t go. I’m sorry; I had no right – could we just have a quick drink to catch up? I promise I’ll behave.”
    For the first time in thirteen years, she looked into his eyes, seeing a kindness she had been convinced didn’t exist. Realizing she was breathing hard and acting paranoid, she nodded, “Okay, in a minute.”
    “Thank you,” he smiled, genuinely appreciative. “I’ll order drinks.”
    “White Zin,” she responded to his questioning look, and then turned toward the Ladies’ Room, seeking composure.
    Joining him, she feigned polite interest as she listened and sipped her wine. He was a teacher at the local Middle School; his wife a volley-ball coach. Married eight years, with three children, they had purchased a home, and settled their family.
    With every dangerous discovery, she crammed her fear into the deepest pit of her stomach, stifling an eruption of guilt. Reality was invading.
    The daughter he had never known, attended the Middle School where he taught, played Volleyball on the team his wife coached, and had twin brothers who would likely attend school with his youngest child.
    She felt her throat begin to constrict as her web of lies tightened. Surely, she could keep his return from destroying her family!
    Protecting the baby had meant keeping him unaware. Occasionally, guilt suggested it was a mistake to hide his daughter’s existence, but she quickly rebuked that guilt, remembering that he was the monster – not her. Her choices achieved the desired outcome – her daughter’s safety. The niggling possibility that she wanted to hurt him, had been easily denied during his absence.
    He hadn’t deserved fatherhood! He had been selfish, irresponsible, and derogatory! He had questioned her faithfulness and rejected parenthood for its inconvenience. Finally, he had insisted she have an abortion. She remembered every detail, had watched his transformation into a monster, and had immediately been repulsed.
    Quickly, she had claimed a miscarriage and forcefully ended their relationship. Alone, she had built her life with determined certainty, supported by believing him a monster. Tonight’s conversation smashed that belief. Her solid rationalizations crumbled, as guilt, doubt, and fear materialized. With no monster, she couldn’t justify her actions. Lying, controlling, and avoiding were suddenly grossly evident in her choices. Was she the monster?
    Her secret would soon be revealed. With courage, she might be able to admit her fears and mistakes. Could she respect any reaction? Or, maybe creative maneuvering could guarantee a favorable outcome. Whatever action she chose, everything would change.
    Memorable was the night she demonized him and took control of her life.
    Memorable would be tonight for changing her belief and returning control to its rightful place.
    Her after-work drink had definitely complicated things.

  13. hillsworth

    Karaoke night at the Millerstown Inn always seemed to draw an unusual crowd. Drunken fools, the whole lot of them. Myself included.

    Making her way across the smoky dance floor, Maura caught me sneeking a peek. She winked, smiled and nodded her head, then leaned into to the DJ and whispered her request. He scratched his head for a moment, then dove into a box of CD’s and rooted around for an eternity before surfacing with the shiny disc. She giggled and clapped her hands in front of her chest while hopping up and down on her toes, like she was back in high school, getting ready to go out on the field at halftime with the rest of the cheerleaders.

    “This one’s for you, Tommy.” She pointed right at me, and I could feel the patrons looking at me. “This will be a night for you to remember.” Whistles and cheers arose thoughout the bar.

    There is a heavy sigh when Brett Michaels starts the song “Every rose has it’s thorn’, and damned if she didn’t get it right, along with the rest of the song.

    I was standing, clapping by the end. She almost knocked me over with a hug and nearly caused a heart attack when she put her hand behind my head and pulled me in for a sultry kiss. “Let’s get outta here.” She says, and tugs me toward the door. More applause as we duck out, hand in hand.

    She leads me to her car and we embrace against the side of it. Her hand finds my crotch and she gives it a reassuring squeeze. Likewise, I reach up and cup her right breast. A fleeting thought races through my alcohol soaked mind… I thought her boobs were bigger when we dated fifteen years ago… but I dismiss it quickly, the way drunk people tend to do.

    The ride to her place was short but alot of petting took place and we were both frantic when we finally crested the steps and slammed through the door. Groping in the dark, we didn’t make it any farther than the middle of the living room floor. They say that booze will prolong a sexual encounter, but not this time. Within minutes, we were both spent.

    Slowly we made it to the couch and she flicked on a lamp, exposing a tidy little apartment. “Would you like something to drink, loverboy?”

    “Sure. Another beer, if you have one.”

    She walked naked into the kitchen and I bent over to look at a framed picture that was sitting under the lamp. “Who’s this with you in the picture?” I ask. “You two could be sisters.”

    “That is my sister, dummy. That’s me and Maura.”

    Confusion fills my head as I grunt like a pig. “Huh?”

    “That’s me and Maura, about three months after I had my sex change.” She smiles and tries to hand me the bottle of beer.

    My heart literally stopped as realization set in. “Mark?”

    “I told you it would be a night to remember.”

  14. Lena

    The father of my first son thought he owned the place. After seventeen years of wondering just where the hell he went, Miguel Martinez obviously hadn‘t changed.. I was haunted by the images of that man walking out of the hospital, without even signing my Jaime’s birth certificate, never to be heard from again.

    After he bought about five rounds, (of what, I don’t know,) he slammed his glass down on the table. I hadn’t even taken a sip of mine. I simply stared at the Redbull and Vodka that I held in my clasp. In an instant, though, a hand slipped underneath my chin and Miguel Gonzales had his lips pressed to mine as if he’d never left.

    I pulled away and shoved him slightly, staring into his face. He’d grown a full beard and lost a good amount of hair on his head. He was about thirty-six now; a good three years older than me. He and I had dated the vast majority of my high school life, (what little of it there had been,) and I’d thought that he and I would be together forever. He shared my son’s eyes. The hand that rested on top of mine was just as smooth as my son’s.

    “Johanna Gonzales,” he slurred my name. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

    “I’ve been looking for you for seventeen years, Miguel.” I turned back to my drink, yanking my hand out of his clasp. I felt the need to wash my hands and go home. I went to grab my purse, but he grabbed my arm. “Let me go.”

    “Wait!” I expected him to shout, but his voice was no louder than a hushed breath. “You don’t have to wait, but… what’s his name?”

    “Who?” I played dumb, but I knew very well that he was referring to my son. Our son. I couldn’t play dumb for long; he frowned. Something inside of me told me that I needed to tell him, and that he needed to know. “Jaime. Jaime Miguel Gonzales.”

    He buried his face in one of his hands, keeping the other on the counter. “How old is he?”

    “Seventeen. His birthday was this month.” He should have remembered.

    “Is he dating yet?”

    “He’s not dating any girls, no.” My son had an affinity for his best friend. There was no room for any girls in his agenda. But Miguel didn’t know that. He didn’t know anything.

    “I’m going to give you my number,” as if he hadn’t heard me, he pulled a napkin stool to him and asked me for a pen. Without hesitation, I gave one to him. He wrote the number, and then handed me the napkin. He looked up at me. “I want to see my son.”

    I paid the bartender and left with the napkin in tote. I would give the number to Jaime and see what he wanted to do. With a silent prayer, I hoped that I was doing the right thing.

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