Fiction: Desires…
I want to make love to you. The words come tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop myself. You turn, eyes locking into mine. I can’t look away. Your lips curve into a slow, sexy smile. “Are you serious?” You sound disbelieving. I find myself unable to reply. But my eyes speak a million words. You understand those words perfectly. It feels like language is an unnecessary medium between us.
You take my hand in yours, your thumb caressing the inside of my palm. “Really? I’m not going to ask again.” I nod, gently tilting my head up to meet your lips. You kiss me. A kiss unlike any other. It’s a kiss that tells me how much you want me. Your arms grip my waist and draw me closer. I lose myself in that kiss. My fingers seek out your bare skin. I fumble with the buttons on your shirt, half wishing I could rip them apart. You smile into my neck as you caress and kiss. Your touch grows more urgent. More demanding. I know we’ve crossed a line and there’s no stopping now. I yield to your demands.
Your kisses make me want you more and more. Your hands work their magic on my hips and breasts. I run my fingers through your hair, silky smooth and incredibly sexy. And then, I run a fingernail along your back, biting your earlobe at the same time. Your demands get more urgent. I’ve pushed you over the edge. I know that. As you position yourself over me, you look deep into my eyes, asking me for permission one last time. I nod and lift my hips to offer myself to you. You take me.
As we lie spent in each other’s arms a few hours later, you whisper into my ear, “I won’t let you go. Ever.”
Fiction: Miles apart…
I toss and turn in my bed. Thoughts of you fill me up, confusing me and complicating things even further. We’ve been talking for over three months. I find myself saying things to you that I’d have never said to anyone else. We haven’t met and we both know that’s not going to change anytime soon. As I open up my deepest hopes and fears to you, it feels like you get it. The fact that you’re thousands of miles away doesn’t seem to matter. Nor that you belong to a completely different generation. During our long conversations, time seems to transform into something more fluid. Differences in time and space no longer seem to matter.
But tonight, this distance seems too much. You’re busy this weekend. You did let me know weeks ago that you’d be slow on text and email. But I can’t seem to stop thinking of you. I glance at the bedside clock that glows in the dark. 12.15 AM. I groan softly, waiting for daybreak, which is still several hours away. I pick up the phone and stare at it, wondering if I should text you anyway. And then, unwilling to disturb you, I put the phone away. I can’t take it any more. I drag myself off the bed and head to the living room to watch some mindless tv. For the fiftieth time tonight, I check my phone. No notifications.
I’m not sure when I doze off, but when I open my eyes, it’s still dark. I grab the phone and check the time. 4.55 AM. Looks like I managed to get a few hours of fitful, dream-filled sleep after all. My neck feels stiff. The couch is not the best place for a good night’s sleep. I head back to the bed. This time, I manage to sleep better. Perhaps my body knows it needs rest to function the rest of the day. I wake up at 6.30 when my morning alarm goes off with a shrill ring. I resign myself to one more day of silence as I head to the kitchen for coffee.
My mind wanders again. What’s this strange emotion I’m feeling? Why am I so confused? We’re friends right? That’s what we wanted. Both of us. We even discussed it and agreed that we will stay friends. We’re close in ways lovers can never be. I’ve said things to you that I’d never confess to a lover or boyfriend. I trust you with my darkest secrets and my most private insecurities. How can we be lovers? What if it ends? It will destroy both of us. I shake my head, as if to clear it of more confusing thoughts.
I jump a little, startled at the sound of the doorbell. It’s a Sunday. Who the hell is visiting at this time of the day? I head to the videophone to see a delivery guy holding a huge bouquet in hand. Yes? How can I help you? I ask. “Ms. D’Souza? I have a delivery for you.” I buzz him in and collect the bouquet, still confused about what’s going on. There’s a card in there. “I can’t talk much but these flowers will keep you company until I can.”
I feel my lips lift into a wide grin, almost involuntarily. It’s like my whole day has been transformed. And that’s when the phone rings. It’s you. Without preamble you say, “Five more hours. I’ll be back.”
Fiction: The next level
I stir in my sleep, only to feel the weight of your arm across my stomach. Your warm breath caresses my neck as you bury yourself a little deeper into the sheets, unwilling to wake up just yet. I gently lift your arm, draw you closer and turn to face you. You open one eye, as if to assess whether the situation is conducive to waking up. And then, deciding to stay in just a bit longer, you pull me into your embrace, sliding me across the bed as if I weigh nothing at all. I plant a little kiss on your chest as I look up into your eyes. My fingers seek your soft, silky hair, wanting just a little more from you. You take the hint. When have you not? Before I can react, you’ve pinned me under your body, caressing my hips and kissing my shoulders. Memories of last night come flooding back as the blush rises to my cheeks. But I know I want more. Your kisses heat up as you make love to me, again. Just like you have for many months now. By the time we both fall back on the bed, exhausted, the sun is already up. You draw me close, my hair a bunch of messy curls and my lips, a scandalously deep shade of red. Before I can say anything, you look deep into my eyes and say, “I can’t stay away one more night. Move in with me.” And this time, I know I can’t refuse.
Confession…
“Let’s go home.” I stare at you wondering if I heard you right. We’d been seeing each other for over six months. When we started out, you made it clear as day that this couldn’t get serious. And I agreed. After all, I didn’t need yet another failed relationship to add to my already 100% failure rate in relationships. It’s been a wonderful six months. Dinner dates, movies, short vacations, weekends away. There’s nothing to complain about.
Yet, I found myself getting restless. I caught myself thinking of a future with you. Of a home and hearth. Of appreciating a certain shared domesticity. And each time I pulled back. Until I could no longer take it. When I called you earlier in the day asking to meet, even I wasn’t sure I’d go the distance. But here I am. I ended up blurting out the truth in the most embarrassing way possible. “I don’t want this to be a fling. Let’s end it now because otherwise I’ll just fall deeper and deeper in love with you.”
You stared at me for a minute before replying, “Let’s go home.” I stare at you, not sure if I heard you right. Do you want to drop me home? I ask. “No. I want to take you home. To my place.” But why? You’ve never invited me before. Your eyes never leave mine as you reply. “Because there’s no going back now. I’m already in love with you. And you deserve more than dinner dates and vacations in fancy resorts.”
Coping…
Three months to the day, tomorrow…three months since Appa passed away, and I still feel like he is going to walk through that door any moment asking me something ridiculously irrelevant. Some memories never cease to exist. Worse are those memories that were once sweet and have now turned bittersweet. I put words in black and white today for catharsis. A catharsis that has taken a long time coming.
A month ago, as I lay breathing heavily at the end of a gruelling workout under the open skies, I saw stars. I saw the Great Bear and Venus. I saw a crescent moon overshadowing everything else. And in its shadow, I saw the pleiades struggling to be noticed. In those 30 seconds, I relived a lifetime with Appa. For it was he who taught me to identify those stars. During those innumerable summer power cuts, he would lie beside me on the terrace of my grandmother’s house, counting the stars. We would play a little game. How many of those stars could I identify? I would struggle. I would swat him on the arm playfully complaining that he was never helpful. And he would laugh, and say, “You will thank me for this one day.”
And then I remembered other things. Playing hangman with him while trying to guess some obscure word he thought up. Or playing a guessing game with numbers that I don’t even remember right now. At other times, he would discuss books. Books he read growing up, those he wanted me to read. Or he would patiently explain what “escape velocity” meant while I struggled to understand science fiction. I remembered those days when I would beg him for more chances to play those computer games. Games that needed restarting before I could play another one, thus taking away my chances at playing a little bit more. I remember climbing on to his lap as a 12-year old trying to gain access to his computer.
Much later, as I picked up my first Tamil book, I remember him patiently explaining the meaning of words I had never even heard of, to try and understand the text. As I struggled to make up my mind about studying engineering, I remember him sitting me down and telling me patiently, “I don’t care if you want to be a barber as long as you are the best that you can be.”
I could go on, but as I write this through a haze of tears, I can only wish we had a few more years together. Of all the things he could have taught me, it’s his words about being the best I can that I still hold dear. He is missed and will always be. I just wish I had told him more often how much I loved him. But above all, I am grateful that I had this much time with him and a relationship that’s as special as I could have hoped for.