Confession Point

It’s Sunday morning and there’s no one I can talk to so here goes. I confess.

I told my friends that I only made out with the crazy stuntman i met last week. Everyone who met him said “Wow, what a wild man. Where did you meet him? He is soooo not the guy for you,” I mean, I’m a bookworm and computer geek and he sets himself on fire for a living. But it’s been so long since there was any fire or passion in my life. And those friends who said those safe, dismissive things don’t know about the wild woman in my soul — the one who couldn’t say no to the matching flame I saw in him.

So I told them we went out, had drinks, made out and that was that but the truth is this: We had amazing, life-affirming sex for hours — wild, caveman/cavewoman you-Tarzan-me -Jane sex that would horrify all these PC, respectful SNAGs (sensitive new-age guys) I’m typically with. There’s nothing quite like alpha-male testosterone, and talk about mad manskillz…I”m getting aroused just thinking about it now. He left the bed we shared for a stunt yesterday morning, after trying to get me to come with him. I left the bed we shared baffled, rattled, sore, and not knowing myself anymore. I mostly ignored his effusive, adoring calls and texts he sent me from the road but he never called me after his stunt like he said he would.

So here I am, 24 hours after my last round of rough, crazy, wild-beast sex with this man, trying to process the call I just got from his team: the stunt went wrong and he’s in ICU, really fucked up. His team and family are all there and I’m sitting here covered with bruises and bitemarks, thinking of his firm, gorgeous body that delighted me for hours, all torn up in ways I can’t even stand to think about. If we hadn’t used condoms his sperm would still be swimming around in me.

Q: What if he dies?
I know what he’d say: “What a way to end it all, a night like that with a woman like you.”

Q: What if he’s just a fucked-up, washed-up vegetable now who needs a lot of care?
I can’t imagine that as an option for him. Just can’t. So full of life, just starting a new tour, big plans and moving to a new town with all sorts of good PR coming out after years of struggle. I’m pretty sure he’d want to sneak out of the hospital early to make his next gig or go out in a big blaze.

The big Q: Did being with me tire him out and distract him and somehow lead to his accident?
The dude was flyin (pretty sure he does speed, from various references), and really pumped about the gig. But man, the details have to be just right to survive the kind of shit he does.

He believes in God, in his own wayward way, and feels that God has kept him alive all these years. Anyone reading this, seriously — if you’re here to get turned on, fine, but please send a plea or prayer skyward for this sweet-talking daredevil, this overgrown kid, this silver-tongued risk-taker whose luck may have run out.