Writing about love moments with New York as the background scenery comes naturally to me. Most of my adult life, I lived in the big city that never sleeps. I don't need much more than the thought of the City's mythical neighborhoods to find myself in a universe filled with movie-like romance plots. Some of them, inspired by true stories of myself or stories I heard of, some that are just the fruit of my imagination.
Growing up in Africa, talking about emotions and sexuality was taboo. Hence my reluctance to put down these thoughts that sometimes haunt my soul. Somehow, I have to find a way to let them out - what a better escape than the internet, then? An open space made for strangers to allow their truth to be told without the fear of having the whole thing blow up and create scandals. On the contrary, a forum where many are searching for fame in the midst of a boundless crowd also yearning for glitz and glamour.
To become known coms with a prize; and any celeb would admit despising the paparazzi; yet knowing that the day the world would stop caring about their every move, every new found or failed relationship, every stop-by rehab... that day, it'll mean that they stopped being important. So it's a love and hate relationship: hating the paparazzi, but being conscious that without them, they are nobody.
I don't know why I'm talking about that... is there a similarity between those people exposing themselves all over the media and someone like me, who wants to express herself freely, yet not wanting to be found and judged by those who know the "everyday me" and who might not understand my choice of expression?
That question will remain unanswered.... well, until this whole thing blows up. Until then, I will allow my stories to take life.
My next post will be a story that I'm still writing. I'm having a hard time posting the first part of it, without knowing where and how the story will end. It's rather long; well, longer than the two other stories I already posted on this blog.... Maybe I'll do it in several parts (Part I, Part II, Part III...).
To be continued....
Friday, April 20, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Morning (personal)
ugh the window, and blind me. I try to get up; my body’s aching. I pull the sheets over my head to cover my face, and I curl up. The bed is cold.
The place where he usually lies is empty.
Has he left already, like that, without a kiss goodbye? I close my eyes and I tell myself: “Just breathe, breathe!” But I have to go to work so I gather the courage to get up. I wander like a drunk man around the apartment and it’s like my feet are not touching the ground. It is true, he’s already gone... unless he never came back home last night. No, it can’t be.
Strangely, I can’t remember last night, though. I mechanically walk towards the bathroom. My head is pounding. I’m in the bathroom, over the sink, with my eyes half closed. I don’t want to look in the mirror; I must look awful. I turn the knobs for cold water and slowly bend over to wash my face. I take the water into my hands, pour it over my face. Refreshing.
But… “Am I late? What time is it?” I tell myself. I think I’m awake, but somehow, despite my efforts at coordinating my movements, I’m moving in slow motion and everything around seems surreal. But wait, there’s noise. It’s the front door opening, closing. It’s Him. It has to be. Am I dreaming? I’m confused. The face still wet, I walk out of the bathroom and finally, He’s here, staring at me smilingly. But then, he immediately looks worried.
“Honey, you’re awake already? I wanted to surprise you,” he says.
He’s wearing an earth-color tunique-style shirt and blue jeans. The shirt is buttoned at the top, allowing me a subtle view of his chest. He looks incredible. I feel so lucky to have found the love of my life. But, all of a sudden, I feel dizzy. I can’t be attractive and it annoys me a little.
“A surprise? What is it? Don’t you have to work today?” I reply stiffly.
I clumsily try to arrange my hair and I smile nervously. I walk towards Him, and Him towards me. I notice that he’s carrying bags. His lips come to meet mine. At this very moment, I love him more than I ever did and my entire being belongs to Him. It scares me; can a love like the one we feel last? It never does, doesn’t it? Finding out that he was not by my side this morning, something inside of me was worried that I would never see him again. I’m probably just over-dramatic but I can’t help but feeling a poignant pain in my chest.
My head is spinning.
- “Hey, what’s wrong?” He catches me, preventing me from fainting. “You’re burning!” says He, abruptly dropping the bags on the floor.
- “No, no, I’m ok. Just a little migraine! I’ll be fine”
- “Come, come to bed. You need to rest…”
Each step toward the room becomes heavier. I can see he’s talking to me, but I can’t discern what words come out of his mouth. I smile and say, to reassure him, “Don’t … don’t worry. I’m … euh… I’m just exhausted from work.”
We reach the bed and he helps me lie down.
“Can you stay next to me until I fall asleep, … please? I just need you… just hold me until I fall asleep.”
The place where he usually lies is empty.
Has he left already, like that, without a kiss goodbye? I close my eyes and I tell myself: “Just breathe, breathe!” But I have to go to work so I gather the courage to get up. I wander like a drunk man around the apartment and it’s like my feet are not touching the ground. It is true, he’s already gone... unless he never came back home last night. No, it can’t be.
Strangely, I can’t remember last night, though. I mechanically walk towards the bathroom. My head is pounding. I’m in the bathroom, over the sink, with my eyes half closed. I don’t want to look in the mirror; I must look awful. I turn the knobs for cold water and slowly bend over to wash my face. I take the water into my hands, pour it over my face. Refreshing.
But… “Am I late? What time is it?” I tell myself. I think I’m awake, but somehow, despite my efforts at coordinating my movements, I’m moving in slow motion and everything around seems surreal. But wait, there’s noise. It’s the front door opening, closing. It’s Him. It has to be. Am I dreaming? I’m confused. The face still wet, I walk out of the bathroom and finally, He’s here, staring at me smilingly. But then, he immediately looks worried.
“Honey, you’re awake already? I wanted to surprise you,” he says.
He’s wearing an earth-color tunique-style shirt and blue jeans. The shirt is buttoned at the top, allowing me a subtle view of his chest. He looks incredible. I feel so lucky to have found the love of my life. But, all of a sudden, I feel dizzy. I can’t be attractive and it annoys me a little.
“A surprise? What is it? Don’t you have to work today?” I reply stiffly.
I clumsily try to arrange my hair and I smile nervously. I walk towards Him, and Him towards me. I notice that he’s carrying bags. His lips come to meet mine. At this very moment, I love him more than I ever did and my entire being belongs to Him. It scares me; can a love like the one we feel last? It never does, doesn’t it? Finding out that he was not by my side this morning, something inside of me was worried that I would never see him again. I’m probably just over-dramatic but I can’t help but feeling a poignant pain in my chest.
My head is spinning.
- “Hey, what’s wrong?” He catches me, preventing me from fainting. “You’re burning!” says He, abruptly dropping the bags on the floor.
- “No, no, I’m ok. Just a little migraine! I’ll be fine”
- “Come, come to bed. You need to rest…”
Each step toward the room becomes heavier. I can see he’s talking to me, but I can’t discern what words come out of his mouth. I smile and say, to reassure him, “Don’t … don’t worry. I’m … euh… I’m just exhausted from work.”
We reach the bed and he helps me lie down.
“Can you stay next to me until I fall asleep, … please? I just need you… just hold me until I fall asleep.”
Why does it feel so good?
A bit of a background: This is a text I wrote a few years ago. It was part of an old blog I started a few months before leaving New York and moved back to Africa.
Note: The stories I write are not (necessarily) auto-biographical.
W hy does it feel so good, when you know it’s not going to last. His tongue in my most intimate parts, I am ready to believe that it is love that I am feeling when my body shivers at his touch. Just like that, I am ready to give him more of me than he actually asked for.
We shared moments that were romantic like hallmark-post cards. Was it too good to be true? Not really. He never made any promise he never kept. None, except that he never called as he said he would or we never spent all of our week-ends this summer like he said we would. I wanted to believe him, because my ears were enchanted by the lyricism of his words. Some of his habits quickly drove me crazy, like his tendency to tell me what I was to do at any given time. Yet, I was rejoicing at the idea of being annoyed at him for the rest of our lives.
Why does it feel so good when you know it’s going to hurt, hurt so bad. I had promised myself not to close my eyes when his lips would lock onto mine. But silly me, I closed my eyes. I closed my eyes and I moaned at the sweetness of his warm nectar. He tasted like a summer fruit warmed by the rays of the sun. How could I not fall for him?
“When I’m with a customer, I just do it like a machine. I don’t kiss with the tongue, ... except with you, of course.” Isn’t that what Julia Robert’s character Viviane says to her more-handsome-than-thou love interest, the undeniably sexy and reluctant Edward Lewis played by Richard Gere in “Pretty Woman”? I am Viviane. We, women, are all Vivianes. We make the same mistake again and again, with the hope that this time around, the outcome will be one of true and lasting romance. We give ourselves at half-off price to men who are less than deserving of our affection. Then why do we expect them to treat us any differently than a bargain item?
Early on, the little voice in my head told me that he and I were too different. I told myself, “Great! Things will never work between us”. He was righteous, controlling, extreme in all aspects of his life. He was a workaholic, religion maniac, logical and controlled in his reactions. I am warm, spontaneous, loving. The only addiction I could ever claim is that of love and cuddling. And then, I gradually tolerated his condescendence; he probably saw me as naïve and juvenile. And it is true. I was juvenile. The proof of that fact is that I fell for him. I convinced myself that there was charm in this man in control. On the same token, I failed to realize that he also controlled the rhythm of our expiration-dated relationship.
At the end, he got too much of me. "A bargain goes a long way!", shall one say. I was the gift that kept on giving, until it got thrown in the recycle bin for a new toy. Are our planets so far apart from one another that, somehow, Mars always orbits back to his initial place once he realizes that the heart of heat could burn him?
I am infatuated and it is unbearable. I knew he wasn't not right for me. But then He left me. He left though I am the one who tolerated him. He left, and did not lend me a goodbye kiss. He knew he was not coming into my life to stay; barely to take, then leave. I allowed him to. At the end, I was devastated but I kept smiling at him when our paths randomly crossed, fighting the tear begging to drip down my cheek. Never did it cross my mind to be mad at him. I only asked myself what was wrong with me that he did not feel the need for my embrace any longer.
When I close my eyes, it still feels good to remember. It kills me to know that his tongue is now in HER most intimate parts. Just like I did, she also believes that love has knocked at her door, but she is mistaking visitors. As for me, in the shadow of my seemingly genuine smiles and my reason telling me I am better off without him, I still crave the exquisite sensation of his love between my legs.
Note: The stories I write are not (necessarily) auto-biographical.
 |
| Photo by NYC photographer Lolita http://lolitalens.com/ |
We shared moments that were romantic like hallmark-post cards. Was it too good to be true? Not really. He never made any promise he never kept. None, except that he never called as he said he would or we never spent all of our week-ends this summer like he said we would. I wanted to believe him, because my ears were enchanted by the lyricism of his words. Some of his habits quickly drove me crazy, like his tendency to tell me what I was to do at any given time. Yet, I was rejoicing at the idea of being annoyed at him for the rest of our lives.
Why does it feel so good when you know it’s going to hurt, hurt so bad. I had promised myself not to close my eyes when his lips would lock onto mine. But silly me, I closed my eyes. I closed my eyes and I moaned at the sweetness of his warm nectar. He tasted like a summer fruit warmed by the rays of the sun. How could I not fall for him?
“When I’m with a customer, I just do it like a machine. I don’t kiss with the tongue, ... except with you, of course.” Isn’t that what Julia Robert’s character Viviane says to her more-handsome-than-thou love interest, the undeniably sexy and reluctant Edward Lewis played by Richard Gere in “Pretty Woman”? I am Viviane. We, women, are all Vivianes. We make the same mistake again and again, with the hope that this time around, the outcome will be one of true and lasting romance. We give ourselves at half-off price to men who are less than deserving of our affection. Then why do we expect them to treat us any differently than a bargain item?
Early on, the little voice in my head told me that he and I were too different. I told myself, “Great! Things will never work between us”. He was righteous, controlling, extreme in all aspects of his life. He was a workaholic, religion maniac, logical and controlled in his reactions. I am warm, spontaneous, loving. The only addiction I could ever claim is that of love and cuddling. And then, I gradually tolerated his condescendence; he probably saw me as naïve and juvenile. And it is true. I was juvenile. The proof of that fact is that I fell for him. I convinced myself that there was charm in this man in control. On the same token, I failed to realize that he also controlled the rhythm of our expiration-dated relationship.
At the end, he got too much of me. "A bargain goes a long way!", shall one say. I was the gift that kept on giving, until it got thrown in the recycle bin for a new toy. Are our planets so far apart from one another that, somehow, Mars always orbits back to his initial place once he realizes that the heart of heat could burn him?
I am infatuated and it is unbearable. I knew he wasn't not right for me. But then He left me. He left though I am the one who tolerated him. He left, and did not lend me a goodbye kiss. He knew he was not coming into my life to stay; barely to take, then leave. I allowed him to. At the end, I was devastated but I kept smiling at him when our paths randomly crossed, fighting the tear begging to drip down my cheek. Never did it cross my mind to be mad at him. I only asked myself what was wrong with me that he did not feel the need for my embrace any longer.
When I close my eyes, it still feels good to remember. It kills me to know that his tongue is now in HER most intimate parts. Just like I did, she also believes that love has knocked at her door, but she is mistaking visitors. As for me, in the shadow of my seemingly genuine smiles and my reason telling me I am better off without him, I still crave the exquisite sensation of his love between my legs.
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