I toss and turn, yet again, I have almost found a distressing familiarity with this restlessness. I hear his heavy breathing next to me. A heaviness of breath in contrast to the lightness of his heart. I envy him. His eyes droop with sleep the very moment his head rests on the pillow. And here I am, at 12.30 a.m., still up as a bat. I shut my eyes tightly only to be disturbed by the vibration of my phone. And there it was the message notification – “Are you up?”, the name on the phone sends a cold and exciting shrill. I open the message and reply- “hey yeah? All Good?” since it was unusual of my sender to text me on a Saturday night… I am out of bounds during the weekend. He immediately responds “I wanna see you tomorrow…at 10”. The tangled emotions rushed in one fierce wave. The stirring arousal of the thought of seeing him again being the most distinct emotion. But this desire was surpassed by anger. Fuck consent! The demanding tone, that absence of a question mark in his text, that confidence he has that I will give in unquestioningly, his arrogance…Fuck it! I reply – “OK.. 10 then”…. That feeling I got when I hit the send button is inexplicable. What is it that I feel? Ahhhh yes… it is revolt!!!! I squirm with anger and disgust at myself for blindly submitting to his call… yet again!
I wake up, battered. Is it even possible to feel this exhaustion and exhilaration at the same time? Well apparently it is. I run on my morning errands, all the while scheming in my head my escapade. There we are at the breakfast table, and I blurt out “Hey.. I will be going to meet Chathu at around 9, she’s had a fight again with her husband and is depressed, you remember what happened last time right?”, the lie slipped off my lips casually, well should I brag about mastering the art of deception? The effortlessness of my lie made me feel that usual contempt I feel towards myself. A feeling I’m getting immune to. “Shall I drop you?” he asks, with concern. I overlook the piercing feeling of guilt I feel for not feeling even an ounce of guilt of my deception. Avoiding eye contact I reply ,“No it’s fine…I’ll take a cab.. I might take a while”. A woman driven by passion and desire is the most productive. By 8.30 a.m. I had completed all my chores, house cleaned, food on the table, laundry sorted, chores on another day would have been carried out throughout the day spending hours.
I step into the shower… I let the cold water run slowly down my body. I carefully smother my apricot shower gel, a fragrance he loves inhaling. I close my eyes and feel the soft fragrance be absorbed into every inch of my body. My sliding hands takes a rest on my hard nipples. I tell myself that it is a stiffness resulting by the cold water and not the burning desire of the thought of my nipples lingering in his mouth. I shirk the thought away quickly, and drill into my wondering mind the initial feeling of anger and revulsion I felt. My drawn out shower comes to an end. I step out and avoid looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. I pick my clothes with extra cautious, every little action carried out with such deliberation. My hands instinctively go to the Chanel No.5 on my dresser, it is his favorite. I abruptly stop my instinctive act and pick my jimmy Choo instead. I choose the fragrance of today’s experience. I spray it in places that will carry memories of another intense moment. I check the time, it reads 9.15, I book my cab and wait in my room to avoid a moment with the man who trusts me with all his heart. I look at myself on the mirror as I smack my lips. There she stands, an unfamiliar woman, an air of strangeness around her today. Yes, today I give you a different version. Cab arrives. I wrap a shawl around me and step out of the house with an abrupt goodbye, avoiding eye contact with the two in the living room, avoidance, a skill I have acquired through this process of deceiving.
I give the driver the directions. I take my shawl off my shoulder and chuck in my bag. I could see the glaring eyes of the cab driver on me. What must he be thinking? I wonder. Would he guess that I am a woman greedily running to the arms of another man? I cover my cleavage with my hands and I laugh in my head thinking of the hypocrisy of my gesture. Does covering my bosom from this stranger’s lustful eyes make me chaste? I check my watch, it is 10.15, I am late. A deliberate delay, from this ever-so-punctual woman. Just five minutes away from my destination. I give the direction to the last turn to his apartment. The turn that turned my life topsy-turvy 18 months ago.
I get off the cab. Again, avoiding eye contact with the stranger in the cab. I walk up one fleet of stairs, it’s as if my feet automatically carry me to the door. My body and my head seem to always be at a brawl with each other. I knock, once, twice and that is all it took. There he was, at the door, the familiar strong smell of cigarettes and the Nivea shower gel. Clad in a tight grey T-shirt. Something seemed absent…Oh yes… he wasn’t smiling. “You’re late!” He snaps. His look of annoyance was soon replaced by a perplexed expression. “You don’t look like yourself today”, knowing very well what he was talking about I ask him “Really? What’s different?”. He doesn’t seem pleased. “You are showing too much skin today”. He was right, I never dress provocatively, but here I was today, with a heavy cleavage. “Oh that, just got a new top, so I thought I’ll show it off today”. I lie.
This man, the most chaotic man I have ever met, has the most organized and spotless apartment ever, any time of the day. Maybe this is his version of deception. His fucking façade. Pun intended. “Coffee?” He asks, “No.. you’ve got coke?”, surprised again, he gets me a chilled can of coke. I sit on the couch that bears memories that are not meant to be articulated. He sits next to me. I can feel his eyes on my cleavage, I feel his warm and heavy breathing. “new perfume babe?”…. “yeah… you like it?” I ask seductively. “It’s okay… but I miss the old one” sounding almost nostalgic. It is ironic how he seeks familiarity in me, his mere distraction. I bite my lower lip, very consciously, and reply “Well then, it’s time you get used to new things”, he laughs, for the first time in the day, “too many new things in one day is a little too much right, let me try one at a time.”
He takes the chill coke from my hand and rests it on the side of my neck. The sudden chill makes me let out a soft moan. The pleasure and contempt of letting this man make me moist almost instantly is something I love and detest at the same time. He then starts softly kissing the chill patch of water left, slowly licking it off. But instead of tilting my head back to make way for his tongue, I slowly push him away. He is confused. This is what I am going to indulge in today. That look of surprise on his face. This unanticipation. This confusion. This control. I push him slightly away and sit on his lap facing him, I run my nails down his stubble, pricking him as I move to his chest. Oh there it is… that confused look again. I smile deviously. I flip my hair to the side with one swift move and graze his ears, I start nibbling, biting. His breathing gets heavier, and a moan almost escapes his lips, I smile deviously. My tongues slowly makes its from his ear to his neck. I devour him. I nibble on his neck. I know he loves it. The hardness I feel as slowly and rhythmically move gives it all away. His hands move up to my boobs from under the top. His grip on boobs get harder and tighter with each flick of my tongue. I move to his lips. His magical lips. I don’t play with soft kisses today, but I probe my tongue with the passion accumulated in the past three days. I bite the corner of his lips and I avoid meeting his eyes. He tries to hastily undo my “new top”, I shove his hands away, lean back, take my time and slowly unbutton my top, with such deliberation. What a fucking seductress I have become. But I enjoy these conflicting emotions. My deliberation as opposed to my urge to rip it off. His eyes cannot conceal the impatience. I slip off my top, and proudly show off my possession. His favorite possession rather. His fingers hastily move to the contraption in the front of red bra. I suppress my smile as his fingers try to figure out the contraption. I revel in the moment for a few seconds. The pleasure of seeing his usually skilled hands fumble with my bra. I take it off, and let my full boobs fall on his yearning hands. He doesn’t spare a moment, he fondles my boobs, and slips it into his mouth, sucking and biting, just the way I like it. I relish it. The wetness of his tongue drives me crazy and I could feel the slurping moistness down there. I take his T shirt off and lick my way down his well-toned body. All the while I could feel his straining hardness waiting to be let free. I like this reversal of roles. I was getting used to letting my body be devoured by him, let him use me and bend me in any way he pleases, because it pleases me too. But today I enjoy being the pleaser and bending his ego at my own pace. I feel his frustration as I take my own sweet time to unzip his pants. And how readily his hard dick fell into my mouth. But I was determined to confuse him today. I swirl my tongue on the tip of his fully erect wonder, slow, circular twirls before I take his dick into my mouth and almost gag. His eager hands try to shove me deeper, but I push his hands away. Today I do it my way. I look up at him with my mascara smudged eyes. I fervently suck his dick, only to take a break to take turns slipping his balls in my mouth. I could sense the change of his breathing and his beat, I knew it was just a matter of seconds now, he gives me a warning glance, so that I could take my mouth away and present him my boobs for his glorious warm cum. But I ignore the look and keep sucking. He loses himself like almost in a trance. I do not budge. I take in every drop. I wait till he is out of this orgasmic trance, just to see that look of confusion on his face. And there it was “I thought you don’t like taking it in your mouth”, he says as his panting subsides. I wipe the corner of my lips with my fingers and licking my fingers I say “I told you, it is time to get used to new things”. I get back up on my feet and take my bag with my toiletries and my spare set of lingerie to the washroom. It is time to clear the traces of my steamy act of deception.
“Let me drop you home”, and that’s unusual. He might have had a really good time then, not something he is used to admitted. “No, my cab is on its way”, I take the can of coke and finish what I started. “I’ll pick you up on Wednesday then”, once again no question mark in the tone. The suppressed feeling of revulsion at being available for his every beck and call rises back again. But instinctively I reply “Okay”. He walks with me to the cab. I get in, avoiding eye contact with both the “lover” outside the car and the stranger inside.