Sometimes, you meet a woman you'd never forget.
She was one of them.
Sometimes, you meet a woman you'd never forget.
She was one of them.
The post title sounds more lewd than it is, but it really isn't.
Because it all takes place in the mind. Allow me to explain.
A long time ago, I read an article about how the writer, a guy, would fantasize about the women he saw in public places, mentally undressed them, and had sex with them. His basic point was that it was perfectly normal - more or less - to have those kinds of thoughts, and 'advised' women not to be surprised when complete strangers might have those thoughts.
While he had different scenarios in mind, so did I, over the last few months. Except that it was a lot more closer to home - in the sense that these were women I know whom I was fantasizing about.
Without further ado, here they are.
I haven't been posting because of too many personal stuff going on in my life. And in a way it's also fitting, because of what's happened in Thailand over the last few months.
So, this post is in silent respect.
The Ex, one.
When I wake up in the mornings, you may not be there. (these are my thoughts in retrospect)
That's because I know you'll be gone from my life soon; I just didn't want to admit it then, but I have no choice but to tell myself now that that was the truth of it.
I knew you would never become my wife. And I think that I will be right...eventually.
For you are still in my thoughts sometimes, even if for mundane reasons. It's not just the black lingerie you wore, or the camisole I bought for you, or the smiles and kisses and conversations we shared, or the barbed remarks that made us both angry and detest each other sometimes. It was also the sense of implicit belonging we had with one another. But that, in the end, was not to be.
Still, I could never forget you, even if I tried.
The Ex, two.
There was a time when I thought I'd be happy. With you. But it seems we were mistaken, both in intent and in gesture.
I guess we found in each other some measure of solace for a while, both hiding away from the world they call the 'real', and denying our
respective, idiosyncratic insecurities.
But it was in so denying that we made mistakes. We were such a lethal, combustible combination. One hot, one cold - not just moments, but our behaviour towards one another.
Our time together was relatively brief, but explosive; full of fireworks, and not necessarily in a good way. We owe it to each other to make apologies; it was a pity that we didn't.
I don't think I could do it now, even if I really tried.
In the end, I can only wish you happiness, and all the best things for your life.
The one that was never meant to be
I'm not sure what initially attracted me to you. Could it have been your large eyes, pert nose, or insane laughter? Or a mixture of all of these elements?
These elements were in themselves dangerous. Like water and electricity, like hydrogen gas and air with heat or sunlight. None of them were planned; all were spontaneous.
Reaching for you was like reaching for the impossible stars. I didn't understand the physics at work; the dynamics of lust and like, of power between a man and a woman, were just too difficult, and obscure, for me to comprehend.
And when I seemed to find you back on Earth - in my eagerness to be near you - I burnt up on re-entry.
I know I'll never find you again. Which is just as well.
I never loved you, I know that now, and I never will.
Something I've decided to post about as a sort of catharsis...
I've written here a lot about my positive experiences with sex and women, and posted a lot of sexy pictures. Most of the stories - okay, all of them - have actually been about p4p, or "pay for play" sex. It's not that I haven't had "regular" or "ordinary" sex. I have. And maybe one day I'll post about the positive experiences there.
But today's not the day. Today I post bittersweet memories, snaphot-syle, about the negative ones. (And before anyone asks, no, these did not drive me to have p4p.) The one thing in common between all the stories is that we didn't have sex, but this isn't the cause of my less-than-sanguine musings.
The sweet tease...
...was an old friend, but one I only met occasionally when I was living overseas, during my intermittent trips home. I thought there was something there when I was home for quite a while, one time. We hung out, watched movies, had coffee, dinners. My feelings for her grew, maybe even largely against my will - if that makes any sense.
She was very sweet, the kind of combination girl-next-door and Asian-Japanese (although she wasn't Japanese) waif, with some other elements thrown in.
I guess I was thinking about other things at the time, and not paying attention to how she actually behaved around me. Nice, friendly, but not exactly warm. In fact, she was someone who turned out to be quite an ice queen who didn't call me up to hang out; it was almost always me who did the calling. Even so, there was a fair bit of flirting going on. Or so I thought. Things dragged on.
One night I kissed her on the lips as I said goodnight at her doorstop. She didn't kiss me back. From then on I knew better, and I never called or saw her again.
Getting involved with someone close to you is sometimes not a good idea. Getting involved with someone with whom you are a financial services client of -- that's a very bad idea. This is not one of those horror stories, but something milder.
So I couldn't my "luck" that we clicked on a personal level, and before long were going on so-called dates and snogging like adolescents. She was - you guessed it - a Milf (Mother I'd love to f***). A divorced mum of one kid. I could accept that, even if others I know of, didn't.
Thankfully the whole thing wasn't long-drawn out. For, when I left home to work overseas, this was the death knell of the so-called relationship. And the way she broke up with me? Classic. Not classy.
Lesson learnt: never go out with your personal banker.
Brown sugar, caramelised
In my country, they are sometimes referred to as "brown sugar". It can be an insult, a derogatory term. It depends on the context, and who says it. It refers to a certain ethnicity, linked to their skin tone. But it was such a brown sugar I met when I was working overseas.
An old aquaintance, we got in touch with one another under decidedly very non-romantic circumstances. She was visiting for a work project the city where I was based, and on the last day of her work there, we met up. She had planned a few extra days there for a holiday, so we would have some time together, if she wanted.
We hit it off and caught up on things. I didn't know her well (and up till today, I still don't) but we connected immediately. We went for dinner, drinks, clubbing...then supper. We talked, in that late-night cafe, into the early morning hours.
The second night. After another night of dinner and drinks, I felt the vibe so strongly between us that I told her bluntly, "I don't want to spend tonight alone."
And she replied, "Okay." She never hesitated.
We went back to her hotel room. She went into the bathroom and changed. She came out in a tank-top and a pair of black, sexy hip hugger panties. She told me, as started to make out on the bed, "I don't want to have sex."
I said I understood. We'll do everything she wanted, but no sex. My head was spinning in a good way, and not from the alcohol. We had a nice night together, kissing and cuddling. She had to leave in the morning. I promised I would see her again, and soon, for I would be taking regular trips back home.
But this was not to last.
As with ordinary sugar, volatile chemicals are released when brown sugar is caramelised. These fickle, temporay feelings show just that -- their true nature.
She gave excuses. Among them: "My parents are very strict; they want me to go out with and marry someone who's [of a particular religion]." Perhaps they were real reasons, but who knows. I realised at that point that I never got to know her well enough; there wasn't enough time. And this was even after I went back home a couple of times after her trip to my then-adopted city. On my second visit home, she only had the time to see me once. Or so she said.
And that was to break up with me, with the said excuses mentioned above.
......and showing her photograph to your friends.
"Wow, she's hot."
"Your girlfriends seem to get better-looking over the years."
(I know, pity she's not my girlfriend anymore. Or any of the others.)
"Wow, she's hot!" How come you're not together anymore?"
(I know, dude; you don't have to remind me.)
"So why did you guys break up?"
(It's a long, sad, stupid story.)
"Wow, she's hot...how did you get someone like her??"
(It doesn't bloody matter how I got her...we're not together now, are we??)
"Since that didn't work out, I think you need to find somone else who's different..."
(This takes the bloody cake. You know that's not the !@#$% point!)
Apologies for this side-trip into memory and sentimentalism. Back to regular programming soon, I promise.
* Not the one here. One before that.
The bed separates us when we come apart. We lie next to one another, yet the distance is palpable.
We are within reach, but there is a dividing line; the bed is actually two large single beds, placed side by side, no gap in between.
But it's not the divider that separates us. We had just made love - no - more like, had sex.
We can touch each other, but we don't. Instead, we turn away from one another. I go to the bathroom, and she bustles around some packing.
We are on holiday. But it doesn't seem to mean much.
It was the last week of her visit, and I wasn't sad she was leaving.
I don't know why. But I seem to have a problem with relationships.
I don't mean relationships in a general, overall sense. I'm alright with that. It's only relationships where our core personalities, or characters are so different, that I have issues with.
Seems obvious right? But it's a harder thing to deal with in real life than simply writing it down or blogging about it, as cliche as it sounds.
Maybe it's my lifestyle of seeing escorts and prostitutes, or maybe not. Maybe it's because of that, that I can't maintain a 'proper' relationship; or maybe not. It might be a topic for another post, or not at all. I don't particularly care.
What I do know is that people are people; at it's heart, the issue is (or should be) about real feelings that real people have about each other. Anything else is secondary.
Up till now, I believed my feelings for her were real even if they've come under strain. Just like my feelings for my ex-girlfriend were real. They certainly did not change even after she allowed a threesome with us and an escort (more about this another time).
Now I'm just wondering if I should just end it. I'm tired.
It shouldn't be this difficult. I know relationships are never meant to be easy, but perhaps I've reached a nadir. Time to reach for an endpoint, and take it from there.
Thank goodness she's now a continent away.
I wasn't sad that she was leaving. Just a strange feeling of disconnected-ness and discontent.
Is this what happens when one has had enough? Is this what happens in the vague in-between-times of indecision?
I shower quickly and lightly. She has finished pottering about with her things, and goes into bathroom as I come out. We hardly look at each other and don't utter a single word.
When she's done and comes out, she says something about leaving the lights on so that she can read. I'm already reading, and I absent-mindedly say yes, okay.