Beautiful Girls

When I told my girlfriend I was starting a blog, she immediately wanted to read it. Bless her heart; she doesn't know when something's going to hurt her. Samantha's 22, and seems to be experimenting with pain. She's only been having sex for two years (yesterday was her two-year anniversary!) and this is her first "emotional" relationship. She's a curious, adventurous young grad student in global medicine, and loves to play the game where she asks me what I'm thinking. I always tell her. She's slowly being desensitized.

Sam recently met Jamie at my college roommate's inauguration party. This is Jamie #2, Jamie Ryan, the only girl with whom I ever fell in love. Jamie the first (dubbed only for chronology's sake), Boring Jamie, I will save for another blog entry. Jamie Ryan and I have remained in touch, vaguely, since our messy break-up three years ago, and my stomach still drops when her name is mentioned. Sam liked meeting her. She likes meeting, discussing, and seeing naked pictures of girls from my past. Where most girls balk at asking my "number" for fear it will be larger than the number of strains of HPV, Sam greedily pumps me dry, as if doing so tests her threshold for tolerance and love.

What Sam and I have going for us is that I would consider showing her this blog. The more I am honest with her, the more I watch her eyes accept my mental trespasses and my history, the more I feel her beauty. The generosity she showed Jamie Ryan this past Tuesday night, her genuineness, took Jamie by surprise. It was the first time Jamie saw me with another girl and I'm glad it was Samantha. For Sam's part, I try to be the same way with her, help her parse her past two years, and give her the one thing she asked me for when I met her six weeks ago: honesty.

When Sam and I got back to my place Tuesday night after the party, she made me stay up and tell her how I got Jamie to sleep with me on our first date. Next entry, I'll explain how I convinced Sam.