I had this longing to be loved and to feel needed by a man. A male friend of mine once told me that dating is a game; and there are no rules. You win some, and you lose some. When you get tired of playing; then get out of the game, or you will come out of it a sore loser. Special thanks to my family and to all of my friends; both life-long and seasonal, for your manifold and abundance of support.
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I saw him for the first time in over 20 years; I even remembered his voice. My instincts were to stay away from him because I knew he was a womanizer.
He was then, and he still is. Because I had such a crush on him for all these years, and now here he was acknowledging me, not as that little girl, with a high-school crush, but as a woman, I wanted to explore a relationship with him. For me, it was love at second sight; for I loved him the first time I saw him over 20 years ago. When you are in love with someone, you trust them with your life and your heart, but it always seems to be the people you love that hurt you the most.
But, time heals all wounds; even wounds of love. I am a mid-forty, single, and never been married, mother of three wonderful sons; ages nineteen, sixteen and ten years old. Following my failed relationships with their fathers, I found myself wanting to enter into a healthy relationship with a God-loving man. Performing the roles of both parents was overwhelming; I needed a full-time male figure in their lives.
I am retired from the State of Illinois.
I am financially surviving, but like everyone else, I needed some extra income to support my family. My Mom assisted me with caring for my boys while I attended school; she was my inspiration.
Both she and I were so proud, because I was the first, out of her six children, that she was blessed to see graduate from college, it was also an accomplishment for me. Graduating from college was a birthday present to myself; I had received my bachelor degree for my fortieth birthday! June 3rd. I took the Metra train to and from school. Although it was a few blocks away from my residence, it was the safest and most convenient way of getting to school.
School let out early one June evening, and while I was walking from the train station and approaching the stop sign on the corner of 76th and Exchange, there was a car and a man on a purple motorcycle yielding me the right of way; translation; they both stopped to let me cross the street so that they could both watch my ass.
As I walked by, the man on the motorcycle asked for me to come over to him with this husky voice. So I turned around to see if the face matched the voice from my past.
Keane's impressive memoir makes sense of past - boundfipopaty.ml
Yes, it did! It was him, Troy; a. All the girls had wanted him. He was so mature looking in high school. I stopped and went over to him; he still looked good after all these years. He was wearing a lilac bandana, a pair of goggles on his forehead and a purple sleeveless t-shirt showing his pretty dark-brown skin and all those muscles! His beard and mustache were finely groomed; damn he still looked good.
I asked him was his name Troy, and he said yes. I also asked him did he go to OHS with the wrestling coach. He was in awe. He was now looking at me wondering; who was this woman and why does she know so much about me and in such detail. He probably was also wondering if I was going to tell him that he had slept with me; in his wild stripper days, and had a baby that he knew nothing about. Now he looked concerned and as if he were about to start his bike up and get the hell up out of there, so I belted out that my name was Sharrae; and that I was a wrestling cheerleader when we attended JMH.
Thank God he remembered them, now he could relax a little and continue to talk to me. He told me that he had transferred to Percy L. Julian high school in his last year in order to receive a wrestling scholarship for college. At the time, I was dating Matt; a.
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I had met Matt while riding the train to RMC. Although that being the case, I most definitely wanted to keep in touch with this man that was now acknowledging me as a woman and not some little girl with a high-school crush. I almost felt flattered that Troy was now interested in little ole me.
Wounds of Love : Memoirs
He gave me his home and cell number and told me to give him a call, and that he would be waiting for that call. July 3rd. I called the cell number; it was no longer in service. I was like damn; I waited too long, now I may never see this man again. So I called the house number; it rang. You know how people change their phone number like they change their minds these days.
I waited for someone to pick up the phone; but it went to voice mail. Was it going to be a female voice, an automated voice, or his voice; I would soon find out. I was so hoping that he would call me back that night or the next night, maybe even the following week. I thought to myself that maybe that was a sign just to leave him alone. Maybe I should have followed that sign. October 15th. I had just moved from the Southeast side of Chicago to a city-south-burb. I called it that because if you lived on one side of the street, you were in Chicago, and if you walked across the street, you were either in Calumet Park or Blue Island.
While I was moving a dresser out of my room, I noticed some dust bunnies and a few pieces of papers that had fallen behind the dresser, I got the broom and a dust pan to clean behind the dresser, I picked up the pieces of papers, looking at them to made sure that none of them was of any importance; like a receipt or a phone number. As I was throwing the junk paper away, I ran across this one piece in particular, I remember the way that piece of paper looked when he gave it to me.
My heart started beating a little faster. I immediately dropped the broom that was resting on my arm. With my eyes popping damn near out my head, mouth wide open, lo and behold, there were the numbers that Troy had written down. About This Item We aim to show you accurate product information. Manufacturers, suppliers and others provide what you see here, and we have not verified it.
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Wounds: A Memoir of War and Love
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