Fiction: Crossing lines…

I touch you tentatively. You flinch at first, and then, as if taking a decision, nod at me, giving me permission to touch. I come close. I hold you close, my fingers gently cupping your shoulders, my right hand on your chest. You move gracefully to the sound of music.

I’m surprised. I didn’t know you danced. Your hand rests firmly on the small of my back, gently guiding my movements. I look up. Your eyes are almost closed, as though enjoying the pleasure of the moment. I can’t resist. I reach up and kiss your jawline.

A slow smile spreads on your lips as you open your eyes. You pull me in closer, as if to ask, “what next?” I’ve made my decision. Tonight is mine. I kiss you deeply, my fingers running through your hair. You return my kiss, with a passion that makes me believe you wanted this for longer than you cared to admit.

Your arms tighten around my waist, drawing me in. I can feel your desire, and my heart does a victory dance. I glance quickly around the room and realise that nobody is quite bothered if we’re there. As if reading my mind, you nod and pull me along towards the exit.

I can hardly contain my emotions, my mind is a whirlwind of thoughts. I hand over my parking card to the valet and wait. All the while, your arms are firmly around my hips, as if to reassure me that all will be well. As the car arrives, you take the keys and slide into the driver’s seat. I’m surprised, and don’t quite know what to expect. You take my hand and hold it to your chest for a second before starting. Twenty mins later, you’ve pulled into an apartment I’m unfamiliar with.

You park, come around and open my door as I sit frozen. It’s your place, it dawns on me. You’ve brought me home. Home. Not a nondescript hotel room. This begins to take on a whole new meaning. I get down from the car and fall into step with you. Minutes later, I’m in a beautiful apartment. It’s obvious that you live alone, but it’s exactly like I’d have wanted it to be: cozy, intimate. It’s clear that this is your space. Everything here feels like you. Feels like home.

As you shut the door behind us, I feel the excitement return. My heart races as you once again pull me close to you. And now, it’s no holds barred. I kiss you again, this time more passionately, more surely. My fingers caress your neck, wishing you weren’t wearing so many layers. You break the kiss and whisper into my ear, “Tonight, I surrender to your will.”

I need no more invitation. I unbutton your shirt, and run my fingers on your bare chest. You moan softly. I look up into your eyes to see raw passion. I realise with a jolt how much and how long I have wanted this. For as long as we have known each other, I’ve wanted this intimacy.

You unzip my dress, letting it fall in a heap around my feet. Now I know there’s no going back. I kiss you again, not getting enough of you. My own desires are impossible to deny. I know yours is too. You smell like soap and aftershave and a perfume that’s uniquely you. I reach down and undo your belt, letting your pants fall. You oblige by stepping out if it, and lifting me in one swift motion out of my clothes. Now, it’s just you and me.

I’m almost crying in anticipation and desire. You snap my bra open, even while gently guiding me to your room. We leave a trail of clothes in our wake, expensive garments carelessly discarded in the heat of desire. I pull you in, wrap one leg around your hips and nibble your earlobe. I hear a sharp intake of breath that indicates how pleasurable it is for you. I gently push you back on the bed and take charge.

I kiss every inch of you, relishing the feel of your skin, the hardness of your muscles and the heat of your desire. I can see you beginning to lose control. I see the lust in your eyes, threatening to overshadow everything else. I decide not to tease you any more.

I straddle your hip, gently guiding you into me. You gasp. You moan. And then, swept up in a wave of desire, you begin to stroke. I’m still in control but I realise that it’s not going to last much longer. You’re on the edge. You take control. I relinquish mine. As you take me, I ride on wave after wave of pure pleasure. Our bodies glisten with sweat despite the air conditioning.

Finally, you allow yourself to climax, filling me deep inside. Exhausted, I fall back onto the sheets. You draw me closer, pulling the sheet around us. As we fall asleep, I only see a contented smile on your face, signalling that this was an important line to cross.

Love…

Sometimes, when people ask me if S will “allow” this and that, it makes me wonder. Would you like to spend the rest of your life with someone who controls your every move, monitoring how you engage with the world, and what you do with your time? No right? Nobody would. Husbands who actively stop their wives from working, travelling, staying late and everything else belong in the same category: unpleasant to live with, and insecure in the relationship.

Why would you ask me if my husband with ok with all this? How would he have a say in whether and how frequently I travel, who I meet and how I spend my time while I am away? He does not and would not want to. The space is critical for the healthy relationship and he gives it to me.

Love is like that handful of sand that you hold on to. The tighter you hold, the quicker it will slip away, leaving you empty handed. If you simply cup your hands and let the sand be, it will stay within the confines of your palm, unresisting, forever.

I have said this before, and I will say it again. Love is free, it is accepting. If someone is possessive and controlling, they are not in love. They are in need and insecure that you will leave. And it’s not the same thing. They are not in love with you but in love with what you do for them and how you make them feel. If you really want something from life, love would let you go get it. It would stand by, waiting for you to come back. If it doesn’t or cannot, perhaps it is not love, and not what you need in life?

It is often said that the support of the family is paramount for a woman’s success. I would differ. The family matters much less than that one person who is willing to just let you be. That person who understand, empathises and stands by. That person who trusts your judgement on things even if he does not really understand what it is that you need. And perhaps, that’s why that person would be the one to make you happy.

If you do find that one person, don’t let him go. Hold him, as you would that handful of sand; cup your palms and let him be and you’ll find more fulfilment that ever before.

Fiction: New chapters

As I get past airport security and look around for a place to eat something, I feel a pair of eyes boring into my head. I turn to see him staring at me like he’s seen a ghost in the darkness. I freeze for a minute, and then gather my wits about me.

I nod an acknowledgement, smile and walk on in my pursuit of food. On the outside I appear calm and composed but who knows of the storms that brew within? It’s been three years since we spoke. Three years since I broke down and cried like a child at the unexpected end of this relationship. And then I gathered myself, rose from my ashes like the proverbial Phoenix and swore I’d never let a man hurt me again.

Yet, those storms seem to have merely taken a sabbatical, only to return with unexpected force in this characterless airport lounge. I swear at myself for being so vulnerable to him even after all these years.

I find a chair and sink into it, no longer even wanting any food or drink. All I want is to disappear from this place and never have to see him again. But I know that won’t happen.

Almost as if on cue, he finds me and approaches. He sits down next to me and calls out my name. I look up, expressionless, deadpan. He starts apologising. I hold a hand up asking him to stop. He pauses and then asks, “How are you?”

The rage bubbles. How dare he? How dare he ask me this after leaving me to pick up my pieces? I steel myself to face him. With the same deadpan expression, I nod and say, “Very well. Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to finish.”

He looks taken aback but I’m sure I don’t want to engage in further conversation. I’m done. That chapter is over. And it will remain but a chapter in the book of my life.

I hear the boarding call and pick up my bag to take that flight I’d missed all those years ago. And a new chapter begins.

Fiction: A long-lost love

You step forward and turn me around in your arms. You look into my eyes and gently lean forward for a kiss. I melt. Into your arms. I return your kiss, gentle at first, more passionate and insistent later. My toes curl in anticipation of what pleasures you’ll give. A soft sigh escapes me, as I wish this moment would never end.

Finally, you break the kiss, look into my eyes and say, “I love you di!” I can hardly breathe. Wasn’t this what I’ve waited for all these years?

You lean back in for another kiss and this time, it’s more demanding, more insistent. I return your kisses with a passion I did not know I was capable of. I acknowledge, after years, the depth my own desire for you.

You push me against the wall and gently caress my hips. I offer myself up to you almost instinctively, like I know how my body fits into yours. You take me in your arms and ask, “Can we go to the bed please?” Before I can respond, you’ve swept me away to the bed we shared so many years ago. The bed I could never bring myself to share with anyone else in the years you were away

You reclaim what’s rightfully yours. The bed. My body. Every inch of my skin that yearns for your touch. And how? With an aggression I haven’t felt in all those years we were together.

You make love to me like it’s the last time you’ll ever touch me, like the proverbial drowning man clutching at straws. Your fingers, oh those beautiful fingers…trace the curves of my hips that you so love.

After all these years, I feel alive again. I feel beautiful again. You hold my hips and bring me close, pause a second, as if to give me a final chance to say no, and then take me. Now, I feel whole again. After all these years.