Page 11 of My Thursday Throwback

“No, I am not certain how I feel about an encounter with your past,” she said facetiously.

“Okay, okay, let me put this in perspective for you,” Scott, taking her hand into his. “I was thirteen, a multi-millionaire, nearly six feet tall, all of 140 pounds and ugly. Being on the road for seven years straight, I had no real connection to my family, whom I mainly saw on holidays. True, I was 13 in age, but I’ve never been a child. Samantha didn’t seduce some wide-eyed kid. I seduced her.”

“You seduced her?”

“Yep. I knew she was as lonely as I was and nature had gifted me a keen understanding of people and a ridiculously large penis that made an equally large impression in any pair of pants I wore,” he said, rubbing his brow.

“Scott, trying to romanticize this doesn’t change the fact you were only 13,” she said.

“Zelda, stop trying to make me out to be some wide-eyed innocent. I lost my virginity backstage at the age of 11 to a showgirl, I kid you not, named Lola. When I was 12, I knew how to make a woman orgasm in less than five strokes and I didn’t want to be at home with my square, stiff parents. On the road I had freedom. Each night I had choices of women of all races and nationalities. Girls my age didn’t interest me. Older women were my thing because there was no stupid chatter, just me, a major boner, and the energy of a 13-year-old after a hit of cocaine,” he said.

“Chandler...the depression, the weird ass table you made with the hands coming out of the head, Scott, what was all that about?”

“Baby, I was thirteen and getting laid every night with a woman who got down like a porn star. Anything I wanted to eat I could order from room service, a car to take me to any see any famous sight or landmark I wanted, and I had to leave all of that to come home to my mother’s Wednesday night meatloaf. Shit, you’d be depressed, too!”

“This Samantha woman, did you love her?”

“I loved what we had. Looking back on it, her need to be with me was as twisted as my need to be with her. She had an insatiable appetite for sex and me, constantly at the ready was a match made in heaven,” he said.

“What ended your little love fest?” Zelda wanted to know.

“My mother. She decided to surprise me one night in Los Angeles and walked in on us,” he said. “Now, that nearly scarred me for life.”

“Well, aren’t we the pair?”

“You are perfect for me, Zelda, and more than anything, I want a life with you. I will give you your happily ever after, honey,” he said, pulling her close. “But first you need to shower. You smell like sex and a dirty nightclub.”

Zelda threw her diary at him after bounding to her feet to head to the shower. Scott held the journal, flipping through the pages, reading some of the words, seeing them, understanding, yet not wanting to know the ugliness. They were words, chronicling the actions and pain of child wanting to be loved. His life was different. He was no one’s victim.

Ugly, awkward, and not even remotely shy, girls and women often approached him, taking pity with the belief that their actions would build his self-esteem. Chandler likened Scott to a colorful spider waiting in an intricately designed web, sitting, allowing the flies to come to him to pet the monster. Often, their tentative kisses were met by a young man with skills beyond their comprehension. He never forced any woman, but a few of the right moves with his hands and fingers, and they were tearing at his clothing. By the time he reached college, he was bored by it all.

As an adult, the Vent Conference often brought more of the same, which is why he chose to never participate in any dalliances with the conference goers. Zelda was different. From the moment he spotted her in that bar, he knew. She was meant to be his. And she would be, but everything had to be right.

Currently, it was all wrong. However, he had a plan to change it. He picked up his cell phone and made a call. Tomorrow morning would bring a new edge to their relationship.

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