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Anger and Other Things
Anger and Other Things Amanda looks at me from her pillow. Her naked body free for me touch and view. She’s a beautiful older woman, but it’s her mind I find the most sexy. We’re fresh in afterglow and the closeness between us is peaked. She says, “You know... we’ve known each other a while now, and I can’t remember seeing you mad.” I shrug. “I try avoid it. It’s not productive.” Amanda sits up on an elbow, “But it feels so good sometimes! And how do you avoid a feeling?!” My lover is fiery. It’s part of what I enjoy about her. She also likes deep, probing conversations. I think about my marriage and realize that’s another part I find tremendously sexy. I need moments where she digs in and discovers cobwebs. I look into her luminous blue eyes and sigh. “When I was young, I got sick. It took years for doctors to figure out what was wrong. And even when they did, it took even longer to find treatments that helped.“ I close my eyes to compose myself. “But during the worst years, I couldn’t tell if it was all in my head or if I was dying from something like a brain tumor.” The story falls out of me. It’s painful, but it’s a part of who I am. “I’ve been poked and prodded in the worst ways. Gone through so many embarrassing exams. Been hurt so bad that I nearly passed out. And all this during my teens, which is already a hell by itself.” I pause again, allowing some of my worst memories to pass. Amanda caresses my cheek, providing me some strength. “For years, I was mad at everything. At everyone. I thought, ‘Why don’t all these people realize that life is a nightmare waiting to eat them alive?’ And... there were times where I wished everyone would hurt as much as me.” I’m not proud of those thoughts, but I’m so different now it’s like describing a character from a book. “Anger can feel good. But I’ve felt the ugliness in rage. It’s not something I want to feel again. “Now when I see people get angry, it’s the opposite. I think about how bad things can get.” Amanda gives me a kiss. Her eyes are sad. She says, “I understand. Thank you for telling me.” She doesn’t say sorry, which I appreciate. More kisses and cuddles follow. More talk. More laughs. Telling my story hurt a bit, but the closeness it brings is beautiful. Sometimes life is like that. |
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