Post by Nyarlathotep on Feb 10, 2005 19:59:57 GMT -5
This is a story I wrote back in 2001 for a creative writing class. I would appreciate feedback on it, as I'm considering submitting it to a literary magazine. Thanks for your help!
My love affair with Charlene began at a very young age, as I recall. In my first memory of her, she is very exotic and beautiful, wearing a shimmering bright blue gown and twirling her little yellow parasol. She was fascinating yet forbidden; my parents warned me not to go anywhere near her until I was older and more responsible. Her allure increased over the years, however, and gradually diminished my self-restraint to the point where I could no longer resist the temptation. When I was sixteen years old, my parents left me alone one night, so I decided to invite Charlene over for a few hours. I reasoned that one night of innocent flirting would be harmless, and my folks would never suspect a thing!
Just being in her presence made me anxious, but she promised to calm my nerves if only I kissed her. The moment my mouth made contact with her enticing lips, a wave of warmth rippled through my body, and I instantly fell in love with her. I became more and more delirious with each kiss, my head reeling from the wondrous experience. My worries dissolved in the ocean of her affection, and I found myself swimming deeper and deeper into her murky, dangerous waters. Charlene was too powerful for me, stronger than I had imagined, and my stomach could no longer withstand the intense excitement. I loved her so much that it literally made me sick, as I soon discovered when I vomited on the living room carpet. She sat patiently while I cleaned up the mess, but before I could usher her out the door, I collapsed on the sofa and fell asleep in seconds.
When my parents found me an hour later, passed out on the sofa with Charlene sprawled out on the floor, they were furious. My father gave me a huge lecture about her evil ways and once again warned me against seeing her until I reached a more mature age. I argued with him, stating that if he and my mother trusted me enough to drive, then certainly I was responsible enough to be with Charlene. This logic backfired, however, as my father promptly revoked my driving privileges for one month. I pitched my car keys onto the coffee table and stormed into my room, appropriately slamming the door behind me. The next morning, I awoke with a massive headache but decided in my youthful stupidity that sweet Charlene was worth the pain.
I more or less avoided Charlene until college. No longer subjected to my parents’ authoritarian regime, I was free to make my own decisions as well as my own mistakes, one of which was to spend more time with Charlene. Popular and seductive, she attended every party on campus, and everyone seemed to be drawn to her. She was so irresistible that even my female friends flirted with her! Charlene wore many disguises and used various names for herself, but always made her presence known. She also had different effects on people; while many became more sociable around her, some became jealous or angry. Although I could never remember how I acted at parties, my friends often joked about how crazy I was around Charlene, how I would sometimes end up dancing and singing with her all night. Now I realize how idiotic I appeared to them, even though they also enjoyed her company on occasion.
Charlene destroyed my good reputation, but I loved her anyway. I celebrated my 21st birthday with her at my favorite bar, ironically still carrying my fake ID since the bartender thought I had turned 21 three years ago. We laughed and talked about our first kiss with anyone who cared to listen, and most of the time complete strangers would tell me about their first time with her. I never felt threatened by these people who also loved Charlene, just as she never said a word when I spent time with other women.
What started out as harmless flirting and experimenting eventually transformed into a deadly obsession. I no longer desired her; I needed her. The excitement I felt when I first kissed her forbidden lips was replaced by desensitizing routine, as if her presence was simply filling a void within me rather than accentuating an already energizing event. She was no longer the icing, but the cake itself, permeating every aspect of my life. Charlene attended my wedding reception, and I found myself paying more attention to her than my radiant new bride. I neglected to inform her that Charlene was my mistress and constant companion, but of course I did not think this would be a problem. My family and others at the reception were embarrassed for something I assumed was perfectly acceptable.
In the earlier stages of my relationship with Charlene, I convinced myself that I was wearing the pants and could break off all contact between us if I wished. As it progressed over the years, however, it became frighteningly apparent that she completely dominated my every thought, emotion, word, and action. Charlene caused me to say and do things I later regretted, thus alienating many of my loved ones, including my wife. Charlene comforted me whenever I had an argument with her, despite the fact that we usually argued over the amount of time I spent with Charlene. One day my wife tired of smelling her perfume on my clothes and forced me to choose between the two of them. I chose Charlene, and as my wife tossed my belongings out onto the driveway I proclaimed that no one truly understood me or loved me unconditionally except my sweet Charlene. Indeed, when I entered my favorite bar that night carrying an overstuffed suitcase, she was there with a sympathetic ear and a strong shoulder upon which my bitter tears fell.
The last thing my wife said to me before slamming the door in my face was that I needed “help” to overcome my obsession with Charlene. I had heard this advice from many people hundreds of times, but I had ignored them all. Why should I join a support group? Charlene was my support group; she lifted my spirits and asked for nothing in return. Then I began to wonder if she was actually making me happy. In the beginning, making love to her was pure euphoria, and every night I passed out thrilled and satisfied. Like any other mistress, however, she was an expensive habit and soon exhausted my financial resources. By defending my love for her, I sacrificed my family, my friends, and later my job. Charlene had devastating effects on my body and mind; I was plunging into a deep sea of chaos and depression, and her company only provided temporary relief. I needed to spend more and more time with her to achieve the feelings I used to experience after one kiss, but that meant more consequences for me. It was a vicious cycle from which I had to escape before losing the one thing I had left – my life.
“Oh, sweet Charlene, what have you done to me?” I asked her one night, but of course she did not answer me. She gave me attention and ignored me at the same time. Cold and vacant, she was oblivious and apathetic to the pain she produced. Why, then, did people accuse me of abusing Charlene, when in fact she was hurting me and everyone I loved? I refused to continue paying the price for her false sympathy. I now realized that I could not maintain a meaningful relationship with anyone until I terminated my passionate yet deadly affair with Charlene.
It would be extremely difficult to say goodbye to her after all of our years together, but I had become too involved with her and thus had allowed her to take control. Other people loved Charlene without becoming obsessed (or possessed) because they understood the magnitude of her power and could distance themselves from her before she overwhelmed them. I had unfortunately surpassed this level by becoming emotionally attached to her instead of keeping it purely physical, so I had to forfeit every aspect of our relationship. I first avoided bars and parties and other situations in which Charlene was usually involved, then resisted the urge to see her by occupying myself with other activities, mainly starting my own business. I have made new friends who have shown me that I cannot and should not rely on Charlene for comfort, and I have found new, less destructive outlets for my alternating emotions. My next challenge is to repair the rift that Charlene created between me and my family; perhaps if they hear my voice instead of hers on the telephone, they will forgive me for disregarding their words of caution. I just want to start this over.
My love affair with Charlene began at a very young age, as I recall. In my first memory of her, she is very exotic and beautiful, wearing a shimmering bright blue gown and twirling her little yellow parasol. She was fascinating yet forbidden; my parents warned me not to go anywhere near her until I was older and more responsible. Her allure increased over the years, however, and gradually diminished my self-restraint to the point where I could no longer resist the temptation. When I was sixteen years old, my parents left me alone one night, so I decided to invite Charlene over for a few hours. I reasoned that one night of innocent flirting would be harmless, and my folks would never suspect a thing!
Just being in her presence made me anxious, but she promised to calm my nerves if only I kissed her. The moment my mouth made contact with her enticing lips, a wave of warmth rippled through my body, and I instantly fell in love with her. I became more and more delirious with each kiss, my head reeling from the wondrous experience. My worries dissolved in the ocean of her affection, and I found myself swimming deeper and deeper into her murky, dangerous waters. Charlene was too powerful for me, stronger than I had imagined, and my stomach could no longer withstand the intense excitement. I loved her so much that it literally made me sick, as I soon discovered when I vomited on the living room carpet. She sat patiently while I cleaned up the mess, but before I could usher her out the door, I collapsed on the sofa and fell asleep in seconds.
When my parents found me an hour later, passed out on the sofa with Charlene sprawled out on the floor, they were furious. My father gave me a huge lecture about her evil ways and once again warned me against seeing her until I reached a more mature age. I argued with him, stating that if he and my mother trusted me enough to drive, then certainly I was responsible enough to be with Charlene. This logic backfired, however, as my father promptly revoked my driving privileges for one month. I pitched my car keys onto the coffee table and stormed into my room, appropriately slamming the door behind me. The next morning, I awoke with a massive headache but decided in my youthful stupidity that sweet Charlene was worth the pain.
I more or less avoided Charlene until college. No longer subjected to my parents’ authoritarian regime, I was free to make my own decisions as well as my own mistakes, one of which was to spend more time with Charlene. Popular and seductive, she attended every party on campus, and everyone seemed to be drawn to her. She was so irresistible that even my female friends flirted with her! Charlene wore many disguises and used various names for herself, but always made her presence known. She also had different effects on people; while many became more sociable around her, some became jealous or angry. Although I could never remember how I acted at parties, my friends often joked about how crazy I was around Charlene, how I would sometimes end up dancing and singing with her all night. Now I realize how idiotic I appeared to them, even though they also enjoyed her company on occasion.
Charlene destroyed my good reputation, but I loved her anyway. I celebrated my 21st birthday with her at my favorite bar, ironically still carrying my fake ID since the bartender thought I had turned 21 three years ago. We laughed and talked about our first kiss with anyone who cared to listen, and most of the time complete strangers would tell me about their first time with her. I never felt threatened by these people who also loved Charlene, just as she never said a word when I spent time with other women.
What started out as harmless flirting and experimenting eventually transformed into a deadly obsession. I no longer desired her; I needed her. The excitement I felt when I first kissed her forbidden lips was replaced by desensitizing routine, as if her presence was simply filling a void within me rather than accentuating an already energizing event. She was no longer the icing, but the cake itself, permeating every aspect of my life. Charlene attended my wedding reception, and I found myself paying more attention to her than my radiant new bride. I neglected to inform her that Charlene was my mistress and constant companion, but of course I did not think this would be a problem. My family and others at the reception were embarrassed for something I assumed was perfectly acceptable.
In the earlier stages of my relationship with Charlene, I convinced myself that I was wearing the pants and could break off all contact between us if I wished. As it progressed over the years, however, it became frighteningly apparent that she completely dominated my every thought, emotion, word, and action. Charlene caused me to say and do things I later regretted, thus alienating many of my loved ones, including my wife. Charlene comforted me whenever I had an argument with her, despite the fact that we usually argued over the amount of time I spent with Charlene. One day my wife tired of smelling her perfume on my clothes and forced me to choose between the two of them. I chose Charlene, and as my wife tossed my belongings out onto the driveway I proclaimed that no one truly understood me or loved me unconditionally except my sweet Charlene. Indeed, when I entered my favorite bar that night carrying an overstuffed suitcase, she was there with a sympathetic ear and a strong shoulder upon which my bitter tears fell.
The last thing my wife said to me before slamming the door in my face was that I needed “help” to overcome my obsession with Charlene. I had heard this advice from many people hundreds of times, but I had ignored them all. Why should I join a support group? Charlene was my support group; she lifted my spirits and asked for nothing in return. Then I began to wonder if she was actually making me happy. In the beginning, making love to her was pure euphoria, and every night I passed out thrilled and satisfied. Like any other mistress, however, she was an expensive habit and soon exhausted my financial resources. By defending my love for her, I sacrificed my family, my friends, and later my job. Charlene had devastating effects on my body and mind; I was plunging into a deep sea of chaos and depression, and her company only provided temporary relief. I needed to spend more and more time with her to achieve the feelings I used to experience after one kiss, but that meant more consequences for me. It was a vicious cycle from which I had to escape before losing the one thing I had left – my life.
“Oh, sweet Charlene, what have you done to me?” I asked her one night, but of course she did not answer me. She gave me attention and ignored me at the same time. Cold and vacant, she was oblivious and apathetic to the pain she produced. Why, then, did people accuse me of abusing Charlene, when in fact she was hurting me and everyone I loved? I refused to continue paying the price for her false sympathy. I now realized that I could not maintain a meaningful relationship with anyone until I terminated my passionate yet deadly affair with Charlene.
It would be extremely difficult to say goodbye to her after all of our years together, but I had become too involved with her and thus had allowed her to take control. Other people loved Charlene without becoming obsessed (or possessed) because they understood the magnitude of her power and could distance themselves from her before she overwhelmed them. I had unfortunately surpassed this level by becoming emotionally attached to her instead of keeping it purely physical, so I had to forfeit every aspect of our relationship. I first avoided bars and parties and other situations in which Charlene was usually involved, then resisted the urge to see her by occupying myself with other activities, mainly starting my own business. I have made new friends who have shown me that I cannot and should not rely on Charlene for comfort, and I have found new, less destructive outlets for my alternating emotions. My next challenge is to repair the rift that Charlene created between me and my family; perhaps if they hear my voice instead of hers on the telephone, they will forgive me for disregarding their words of caution. I just want to start this over.
So you shouldn't feel bad.