A really beautiful relationship is a once in a lifetime thing….(from Dexter Season 2)
**note: sorry to those waiting for the next part of Dimple. I really just had to write this one.. **
It all started with a swim. One swim.
Did I love him then, back in 2003? Yes. I know I did. After one great afternoon of intimacy, we turned cold towards each other. Like he couldn’t stand to be with me and I was hurt, thinking that it was just a one-night stand, or afternoon, for that matter.
Yet, he stayed in touch. All through these years, he kept in touch. Sending me flowers and sweet emails. Talking to me whenever the chance permits. Then he surprised me.
He remembers everything.
He recounted the events of that day. The time he spent alone in the hotel as he waited for me to arrive. The walk from the hotel to Starbucks and back again. How he prepared the table for our Starbucks breakfast…
He remembers the details of the room. From the maroon curtains to the flower-patterned comforter on the queen-sized bed. The thick carpet that muffled our footsteps. Heck, he even remembers what we had for breakfast – carrot cake and cappuccino.
How we stood next to bed and how he kissed me, my arms automatically going up his shoulders, cupping the back of his head. One of his hands was on my back, the fingers of the other hand was going through my hair. We kissed, slowly, gently. Lingering kisses, a tongue now and then. No move was sudden. No move was rushed. We just took our time.
He remembers pulling my shirt up over my head. How his fingers, skilled when handling surgical knives, felt so clumsy as he fumbled with the hooks of my bra. He smiled with amusement as he recalled how I refused to lose my pants until he removed his own shirt.
He pulled off the bed cover and I sat down on the bed. He made me lie down, with my head on the pillow. He climbed on top of me as he pulled the covers over us. Weird, I remember thinking. Others would prefer no blankets, lights on. But him…
Hugs, caresses, kisses, then he was inside me. Very deep inside me. No foreplay needed. The months waiting of talking and planning about the swim was foreplay enough for us. He didn’t move, he just stayed inside me for a minute or two, as we embraced and kissed. No words were exchanged. No ‘hon’, no ‘sweetie’ or any other endearments.
He stopped the kiss and looked me in the eyes as he started moving. Slowly, very slowly, he pulled himself out and I gasped as I felt the solid hardness of him leaving me. I felt open, needy, an d when he pushed himself all the way in again, my moan was of raw pleasure.
I felt like a hole that has just been filled up. All I felt was him. His smooth skin against mine, his warm breath on my face, and him inside me. I felt every single thrust he made. Thrusts that started slowly, almost teasingly, and then went faster and faster. His shaft’s skin lubricated by my own juice was rubbing inside my walls; the condom we bought from the convenience store lay forgotten on the nightstand.
I climaxed first, my fingernails left marks on his back and after three or four more thrusts, he collapsed on top of me. Then he rolled off me, with eyes closed, he lay next to me. I turned to him and placed an arm on his chest.
I stared at him. Admiring the perfect line of his nose. The long lashes that adorn his deep-set eyes. He remembers how I traced his lips with my finger…
Minutes of complete silence passed. No words seemed to be needed between us then.
He opened his eyes and climbed on top of me again. My legs parted to welcome him and he was inside me again. He kissed my neck as he pumped, harder and faster than before. My arms were around him, hugging him close to me. The second time was not as long as the first, but it was more intense.
He recalled everything as if it happened just yesterday. He called me ‘princess’. He said thank you for making him feel loved. For making him feel treated right. He told me he longs to have that swim again.
But he left for a different country after a couple of days. I reminded him that. I reminded him that he didn’t come back to Manila. He didn’t come back. To me.
I told him he left me. I told him he made me feel unwanted.
Then he told me he came back but lost his passport and the authorities at the airport didn’t let him call anyone. He couldn’t call me. He was sent back to Malaysia and from there he had to go to their embassy and finally return to his home country.
He said he kept in touch. He kept all my emails. He has my old mobile number. He said he wants to be with me again, but the difference in our faiths is keeping him away. He said he loves me. Always has. However, the difference between Christianity and Islam, is a barrier.
Not for me, I said. It is for him though. He said he loves me enough to do right by me. He said he loves me enough not to ask me to make a major decision that would change what I believed in all my life.
So we are trapped, I said. Wanting something we cannot have.
Not again.
Sadly.