.. that I’d give him head. Good times, right? About 2 minutes in I looked up at him. And he was texting someone. Texting. While his fireman went through the car wash. I know, right? That was the last straw. I promptly put my clothes back on and left. I dropped his stuff off at the front door the next day and blocked his number. That was the end of that relationship.While it was my last, this wasn’t the first boyfriend I had that I could have gone to school with. There was one before him and he was a serious asshole. Let’s pretend his name is “Vince”. Ya’ know. In case he finds this and reads it. I don’t want angry texts at 2 in the morning. Hi “Vince”! Oh sure, he was sweet at first. And I’m sure he thought “sweet” was the way to go. But I sensed that he wasn’t so sweet once you got to know him. Which is why I gave him the time of day to begin with. Save the sugar for your coffee, dude. And while he was truly a jerk, once you got to know him. There’s such a thing as “too much of a. I'd undress him, draw a tub, and help him into his pjs after his bath. He was particularly sensitive to my moods. If I was feeling especially down, he'd make me a cup of tea and bring it to me with a cookie. Or he'd climb on my lap and cuddle, knowing little affections like that always lifted my spirits.The first steps in my coming out revolved around my inner struggle. I had to honestly admit it to myself, and then I had to come to grips with my own notions, prejudices, and expectations of what being a lesbian meant. That's not as simple and straightforward as it sounds; at least it wasn't for me.None of this was helped by the fact that, without knowing it at the time, I was suffering with a deep and dark depression. Many nights, I could hear the Banshees wailing. During the darkest times, the only thing that kept me from killing myself was my son. He didn't know then, nor does he know now (I think) that he kept me going. How could I deprive him of a mother, and in the most painful.
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