just bad timing

Tag: fantasy

  • Book Two, Chapter Three – The Window

    Phew… I’m going to write this like I just launched myself on the couch and we’re on a video call to catch you up on the last… year. “How have you been babe? What’s new? What’s happening?” I ask you trying to avoid talking about me first. I’m so sick of talking about me. Not because I think I have become boring, oh hell no. It’s been a VERY entertaining year. It’s because I keep doing it, on the podcast, in real life with friends, at work when introducing myself, and for an underpaid job that is called promoting oneself. Inevitably, it sucks the energy out of me when someone goes: “Tell me a story! What’s going on? Let me live vicariously through you!” Welcome to socialising with anyone over 30. So I take a deep breath, put on my performative voice, and tell them about my kinky life and laugh with them. But I’m exhausted. Of performing. Of analysing. Of censoring (to protect identities). Of being a court jester.

    I signed up for this though! We both always knew that it would be this way. I’d have to go first. The story has to start somewhere. Someone has to share first. Then the wonderful magic happens. “Interesting, I wonder how I would feel in that situation…” is usually how we start really exchanging some vulnerability. So here goes, another piece of me, yours for the taking.

    Well, what do you want to know? The kinky shit? Of course! That’s the fun stuff, innit?

    I have to admit, even I am surprised at how easy it’s become for me to talk about the increasingly weird situations I continue to find myself in. I’m not surprised with the turns I’m taking as much as I am with how openly others ask about them now.

    You did what?! Wait, wait, wait… how did that even come about?

    Ok, so I think I’ve blabbered about nothing for long enough. Let’s get to story time, shall we? FINALLY, they all thought in unison.

    (more…)

  • Book Two, Chapter  One – A Romance For the Wild Ones 

    He undressed me as the wolves looked on from the distance. It all seemed too unreal. I was feeling numb for days until his tongue hit me like the sun hits your eyes on a summer morning through the mist, unexpected and unforeseen. So many unsuspected eyes might have been preying. My head was hanging off the wall, while my hair danced over the abyss. My lower back rested on the big bricks at the ledge, where his head played to music only he and I could hear. I was naked under the stars, as he toyed with my emotions, with my goosebumps and my heart, all confounded by the signals of my clitoris. He was as free as I was; it was part of the thrill. I could feel my back grinding into the stones, but I couldn’t ask him to stop. It was too good. Until the wanting was too much to bear. Swiftly, I was on my knees, with his perfection in my mouth. My hands were everywhere on him, around him, inside him. He pushed me onto the concrete floor, to nibble at my neck, while our bodies rubbed against each other in nonsensical rhythms. I finally slid him inside me, as my knees scratched on the rubble. I caught a glimpse of the wolves, as my eyes rolled back into my head. He was so perfectly thick, and slender, and nimble, and slow. He grabbed at my shoulders, he clawed at my waist. He stopped to look at me. “Should we take this to my place?”

     ***

    I promised myself I wasn’t going to go out. I promised myself. I even stopped at the pub straight from the train station with all my shit with me, so that I would have to go home. That’s when April invited me over for wine.

    “I’m so tired honey, I’ve been working like crazy this week and I have to be up at 8 am tomorrow.”

    “No sweetie, you don’t get it. You have to come to my house tonight. We aren’t going out on purpose, we’re just chilling,” she said.

    “I’d love to, honey. But that’s how it always starts.”

    “When I tell you, you have to come, I mean it. There’s gonna be a guy there, you have to meet.”

    “Alright, here we go. Who is it?” “A friend of mine. See?” She said, holding up her phone to my face. I have to admit, he was looking pretty delicious.

    “Fine, twist my arm. I’ll go home to shower first, I’ll pick up some wine and I’ll come over around 9.30pm.”

    Of course, I only got there around 10 because the guys were home so we caught up, and then I chatted with the girls at the wine shop. They picked out this “natural” more-than-organic Chardonnay for me, and I was weary because I really don’t like Chardonnay.

    I got to April’s and because I knew the others already, I assumed the last guy was Sebastian. He didn’t look quite like his profile picture, but he was cute. A little less manly than I usually pick them, but cute. To be perfectly honest, I was a little disappointed. For about 15 minutes. When he guessed the Chardonnay without looking at the bottle, I was sceptical. I mean, I was already thrown to like the wine myself. When he started talking, I felt myself smiling more. He was surprising me with real talk, and comfortable body language. He oozed confidence, in the weirdest of ways. Later somehow, they all did a bit of drugs and decided to go to the bar. So much for staying in tonight. I was definitely not going to jump on that bandwagon, but I wanted to know more about this guy. I sat across from him at Smiley’s and got him talking. Very openly. Upon discovering his investigation into the pleasures of the male G-spot and his reluctancy to hiding the fact that he was supposed to be on a different date tonight, I was a little hooked. We had the most bizarre conversation and didn’t even notice that everybody had gone back to April’s for more drugs by this point. We then silently decided to pretend we were going to go check up on them. That’s when we detoured by the walls.

     It was strange, I felt like I had already kissed him when he kissed me. I felt like all night we had been touching, when we actually hadn’t. I guess the assumption that it was going to happen sort of took away from the mysticalness of that first kiss. It did not take away from the heat though. He kissed me and grabbed me by the little hair I had left at the top of my neck. We were almost eating each other’s faces out when his phone rang. I told him to pick up, it was his date. “Go on, cancel.” I teased. When I took mine out to check it, I had a message from one of my prospectives I had told I might see that night. I had forgotten about him. When I texted to cancel, he called. Sebastian and I looked each other in the eye as we both told people we were supposed to be fucking that we were “tired” and “going to bed”. It was such a turn-on, the blatant honesty between us. It’s a little fucked up that I felt special that I was given the curtesy of truth whilst accepting the assumption that all the others got lies. It made me feel good in a way that we both felt it was special enough to tell each other we were liars, in demonstration.

     Because I couldn’t bring anyone back to the house, I had to be creative. When I hung up, he was still talking to her. So I kissed his neck, stroking his arms, grabbing his ass, hovering my hand past his zipper. He pulled at my hair and kissed me passionately when he hung up. He took my hand in his, and motioned me to take a walk with him. So we strolled around the walls, and where the pathway is usually closed, it was magically open that night. The buildings up above would be the witnesses to our wilderness, as the unsuspecting strangers walked under us, past the bridge to the port. I didn’t even know he had a place until my knees were officially broken, and my head was fucked up from the art installation that had sprung up around town. The artist had placed random black sculptures of wild animals everywhere around town; it was incredibly spooky. When we euphorically walked back to his, I couldn’t believe the sweetness in him. It almost didn’t make sense, and that’s what he was running on. The total understanding, the likeness of our beings, but the chaos and the madness that reigned. I had to have more, I had to know more.

    The passions were soaring. Before the door was even shut, our clothes had flown off. We did it everywhere in his house. We fell off the sofa and continued climbing each other on the floor, contorted between the couch and the glass door that led onto the patio, where we later smoked, seeking each other out in the darkness. There was this silent, unbreakable, unwavering tension when we looked at each other. It was almost like hunger. We broke his bed, and swam in our puddles of sweat. He promised to teach me yoga one day. I promised we would dance one night. A few hours later, I couldn’t hide the bruises under last night’s clothes at work. A few days later, we would drink wine on the walls, feeling the beats of our hearts speed up as we played with the space between our bodies. I was soaking wet for hours, from his words in my ears, from his kisses on my neck, his hands off of my body. The touch was one of real intimacy, one of mutually wanted romance, without fear. Without fear, because we were the same peas in two different small pods. The road was unsure and adventurous, and of course individual. Yet there was this admittance to mutually restored faith, faith in connection, faith in realness, faith in two spirits singing the same tune. I think, to a certain degree, that we both silently admitted that the lives we chose lacked a bit of love, and we uncovered a source in each other that wouldn’t sour, like milk and feelings do. The rules were simple, because we both knew, that rules are obsolete.

    I drank a bit of the red wine he had picked out, looking at the sea, thinking there wouldn’t be a better way to remember this person and this moment. Until he held me under the running water, so I wouldn’t collapse as my legs gave out from under me. The orgasm he gave me in the fifth and final hour of our bodies speaking in tongues, it shook me. It was the small, subtle noises of his pleasure, the bruises on my ass cheeks, and the strength with which he pulled my hair, combined with the wetness of the shower, that took me out. If there are no further memories to be had with him, then he will always be the one suspended in time and space, the one that made me feel like I was flying, or falling, never quite tied to gravity. The big bang I needed, to finish the last chapter, and start with a whole new book, where timing would be irrelevant.

  • Chapter Twenty – Autumn

    I was sitting across from him at dinner. We had not spoken a word in the last 30 minutes. He was on his phone, looking up cars that he could never buy. I was twirling my fingers, looking out of the window onto the street. It was a quiet night. The wind was moving the leafs around and you could tell it was about to be fall. I gazed onto the street, watching passersby walk their dogs and live their own lives.

    Fingers running through my hair.

    I shiver. I look at him still sitting silently, ever so distant. We are doing well. He looks up and smiles at me, and I can see the love in his eyes. It has just been a while since we have had the occasion to be intimate. Something always comes up. We ate too much, the dishes need to be done, he needs to finish that excel sheet for work. Wait, do I have enough change to do a load of laundry when we get home?

    The humidity of a tongue, gliding on the side of my neck, as fingers run down my chest, past my stomach, nearing my zipper. Long, passionate kisses in the dark, making me wet.

    Why am I thinking about this right now. Look the food is here. It is an ordinary steak, with some mashed potatoes, laid out in an overstated and overpriced plate. His eyes glisten over this and I am only happy that it means I will not have to do any dishes tonight. How is this my life?

    My eyes and hands mapping out his abs, I cannot believe what is happening. I only met him 4 hours ago, and here he is in my bed at 5.30 am. My hands are undressing him, performing the sort of par-court that I was only discovering.

    Don’t get me wrong, this routine makes me very happy most of the time. The way he says “Welcome home!” when I come in through the door, after a rough day. Liam is one of the few people who make me smile nowadays. He holds me and the voices in my head suddenly silence. For some reason however, my insides wonder if his are the last parts that I will get to know.

    The man in my bed is handsome and rugged at the same time. I can feel his passion inside of me, grabbing at my gut and pulling me towards him. He is the most handsome creature I have ever had the pleasure of putting my hands on. His hair is dark and soft, to match those perfect green eyes of his. And there he is naked, in my bed, beside me, intruding my privacy in glorious ways. He picked me. He has been getting to know me for the past four hours, looking into my eyes. The desire he was projecting made me feel like I was the only thing he had ever wanted.

    That night happened what seems like a lifetime ago. He was one of my first real one night stands, whom I would only run into for a split second years later, one memorable Saint Patrick’s day. All I can think about is him kissing me, touching my breasts, feeling his growing self through the denim, on my aubergine leather love-seat. Years later, I would watch him on TV and find fan pages riddled with shirtless screenshots of him. That may be why I am thinking of that night, the night the handsome actor picked me out of all of the girls at the club.

    ***

    I walked into the club with my Serbian friends, ready to sing out loud and dance all night. The last thing I had on my mind was picking someone up. It often works like that, doesn’t it? When you least expect it, there he is, picking up his coat at the end of the night. I was joking with the coat-check lady, and he laughed. After a few quick words, I proceeded to head outside and light a cigarette while I waited for the rest of my entourage. I thought how funny it was that he was taller than I had expected. Granted I had caught him staring at me from across the bar a few times, and since it was a Serbian party, he would have been standing between 6’5 ft guys. Suddenly, there he was again, right in front of me. “I need your number.”

    – Hum, excuse me, I don’t just give away my number to strangers, just like that.
    – Yes, but you see, I have to drop my friends off at home now, I was the DD tonight, but I need to see you again.
    – Well, if fate has it, you just might…
    – I’m not taking that chance, I need to see you again.
    – Is that so?
    Christine! Let’s go!!!!!
    – So, what do you say?
    – Oh fine, here you go. The ball is in your court. Bye, now!

    Luckily I was able to contain my friends’ inquisition rather easily, and soon I was home.

    *1 new text message*

    I need to see you.
    Well, maybe you will. You got home alright?
    Yes, where do you live?

    Okay, I’m curious about this guy but am I really going to tell a stranger where I live?

    On campus, and you? Why do you ask?
    I told you, I need to see you! Downtown, btw. 😉
    Now?!?
    Yes, now, if you’ll have me.

    Ok, ok. That is a bit forward, even for me. What I am going to say? Am I really going to invite this man to come over? It’s 2.30am! By the time he gets here, it will be at least 3, and that is a clear invitation. What if I actually do not like him? What if this is all just the attraction of the unknown? Oh what the hell, let’s see where this goes.

    He knocked at my door and my heart was pounding. He was standing there wearing ripped jeans, a white V-necked T-shirt and black chucks. Now I realize this is cliché after the whole “50 Shades” thing, but I promise you that is what he was wearing that night. He sat on my couch and I offered him a drink, thanking the heavens that my room-mate had not drunk all my wine. He just sat there, and talked. I was so comfortable that I put my legs over his – after all it was a very small love-seat. He stopped talking, and went in for the kill. He leaned in, staring me in the eyes and kissed me softly, but intently. I was never a big fan of dry-humping. Yet that night I felt a passion I had not found since Joe. I remember being extremely aroused, and my knees being very chafed the next day.

    I find it interesting how I also remember clinging to him, like to my other handsome nightly hobbies, as if to cheat intimacy, trick my brain’s chemistry with flesh and proximity. The actor was handsome, sweet, gentle and caring, yet a stranger. I would never know where his intentions came from. He would never know that I did not orgasm. We were just strangers, passing time, faking it all, most likely because loneliness is terrifying on a summer night. I remember this feeling, the addiction to the thrill of getting that penis to enter me. I know that feeling all too well, convincing myself that I was getting to know others, creating connections, when in fact it was all just pretend.

    Liam may not jump me in dark alleys (yet). He may not make my knees chafed with desire. I have not had sex in two weeks, and though I may be slightly worried about it for the sake of our relationship not even being old yet, I do not feel that unstoppable need to mount and be mounted. I know that what we have is true intimacy. I know that he picked me and not for a night. I know that we have and will share countless nights of passion, whatever shape passion takes these days. It is an interesting transition for me, and I wonder where the thrill comes from. I wonder what the future has in store for us. That uncertainty is somehow more terrifying than the one I had been used to in my single years. Back then, it was only uncertain who would be the next stranger. That, I could deal with. Now, anything can happen. There is a certain magic to knowing someone is ready for anything, with you.