By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
By Alison Flowers
By Albert Samaha
By Jesse Jarnow
By Eric Tsetsi
By Raillan Brooks
The first time I met you, I kissed your beautiful face and wished you luck. You didn't need it; your singing group won first place.
The next time, we were making love, and you wouldn't come and neither would I. We each wanted the other to come first. We laughed out loud about how silly we looked sweating, needing to release. Remember how we gave up and just rolled over and laughed even harder and louder? Hey, remember that time we played strip UNO? You lost.
The next time, we were walking and talking about what I liked, what you liked, where we wanted to be, what we wanted to do. I wanted to go to New Yorkalways been my dream. I don't really remember where you wanted to go. You never said. But where you ended up is not the place we had in mind.
For nine years we've been doing time together. I drove every week to see you, wrote long letters filled with love, with hopes and dreams for the time when you would be home. Expensive-ass phone calls almost every night, loving the way your voice sounded in my ear while I lay in my bed with my hands between my thighs. Though we knew there was a possibility our conversations were being taped, we still talked of making love, of kissing, of how we missed each other's touch. We waited through reminders that "this call is from a correctional facility," even though we've known that for the last nine years.
We spent our time moving from town to town. I liked that second place you were moved to. We got to hold hands and hug and kiss each other outside in the sun; you had a shaved head then. We even fell asleep on each other's shoulders. That was the best time we had since you've been on lockdown.
Then I moved to New York and our time began to stand still. I couldn't see you every weekend, and coming back home every month got expensive. I tried to make it up by sending you money, cards, and letters, and by still accepting those expensive-ass phone calls. Damn, baby, your pictures still look goodbetter!and your words still melt me like butter, and my hands are still between my thighs.
You got nine more months of this time to do. It's gonna be crazy having you home. We've always been shy around each other, even after all these years. I still wake up almost every morning and see your beautiful face, and when I go to sleep, it's you I dream about. We have nine months before we find out if all this time we've waited was worth it. See you in the new birth. Peace.
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