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.
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| 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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