I always thought that if you keep on going in the same direction, you'd eventually run into a wall. The road would end, unexpectedly, and you'd stop traveling forward. You'd be facing an inevitable end, an invisible wall appeared from nowhere and you were stuck. It was never too soon. It was always the right time.
I had expected that would happen with B. One day I'd realize that he no longer wanted me, and I'd be at the end of the road, it was not even a folk, it was a dead end and I'd be left wondering whatever happened to him, me, and us.
B came to my office last night to pick me up to see a show. He'd never been to my office before. I brought him a few things in Asia, he liked the green hat, so he put it on right away. He said to me, "you knew me." I always liked to think that I knew him but I couldn't tell if I knew him or if I knew just a version of him. He was complex in my mind.
We stayed until after 10 before heading to his place. I took my overnight bag, and he had his. He often stayed at his son's place, who lived with his son's mother. They were not married. I often imagined that he had a wife or a girlfriend but he insisted that I was his only.
I told him during our outing that seeing him made me felt relaxed. But my threshold was low. My threshold was a week and half. After a week and half of not seeing him and having sex with him, I felt anxious, like my brain stopped functioning, I thought of him often, he occupied my entire idle mind. After being with him, my mind was clear and I was in a state of hopefulness. That hopefulness mode would last for approximately a week and half and then I would run out of steam. I would begin to worry if it would end, I would begin to plan my exit path, in case he'd left and I'd run into that invisible wall. I couldn't possibly feel this way with anyone. I had never felt this way with anyone.
In his house he removed my clothing. I was naked and lying in his bathtub and he bathed me in his hot liquid. Then he went down on me in the tub. Our perversity felt so natural. He wanted me to piss but I felt that I couldn't be that free with him, not yet anyway. I needed more time to get to that level of comfort. We soon moved into the shower, where I was cleaned and fucked in varying positions by him. B murmured in the shower that he loved me, or at least that was what I imagined he said. I was covered in raining shower. He asked me to go down on him, so I was kneeling down. I was in that position for a long time until he lowered himself to kiss me. I was covered in water and my face was drowning as he was fucking me and kissing me. I loved his cock in my mouth and inside of me. I loved being close with him. I had never felt this way with anyone else. My body was molded to fit him. It felt like I had been created and put on this earth, so that I could meet him and be with him. I couldn't feel much else but a sense of peace and urgency at the same time. Peace because I was with him. Urgency because I knew this would end and he'd fall asleep and his passion for me would end, and I'd start that same waiting cycle again. When he was with me, I felt that he was mine and mine only. And I was his and his only.
I lay my head on his chest to fall asleep. He woke up in the middle of the night. He had a headache and insomnia. I wished that I could help him. I wished that I could ease all of his pain and suffering. Yet I just lay there, watching him tossing and turning, and I lay there awake, staring into the ceiling and wondered where we would go from here. At one point, he flipped me over and started to fucking me as my legs are closed and I was laying on my stomach. He asked, "You loved me fucking you this way, don't you?" I moaned. In truth, I didn't care how I was fucked. I just wanted him do whatever he wanted with me. Whatever pleased him, pleased me.
He remained to be the love of my life. I had never felt this complete with anyone else. He asked me if I was fucking others. I told him no. I thought to tell him that I sometimes thought of fucking others, but I had stopped since last summer. I couldn't because I only loved him. And at some point, love became an unwritten commitment. I would start fucking others again, if he decided to leave me. It was that simple. When I made a promise to him, not just anyone but him, the one whom I loved, I had to keep it. I asked about him, "Are you fucking other women?". He said "No, just you. I only think about you. I only want you." I did not know if I believe him or not, but I did not really care. I asked him when he stopped. He said "A year ago. At the beginning I was with others." He told me. I knew that's not true. I knew in June he told me that he had sex with a red head, a couple weeks before I saw him. So the last time he told me that he was having sex with others was in May. And I suspected that he was seeing others in July and August as well. It was not that long we made this an exclusive deal, not by enforcement, but by simple realization that a deeper connection was made when we availed ourselves to no one else.
As long as he loved me I was okay with it. I did not just want him any longer. I needed him. That much was for sure. But needing him did not mean that I need to possess him. I was okay with him being with others. Perhaps what I needed to know was the truth. When did I become this way? I did not know that. But it was not overnight. It took a lot. A long time for me to realize that I could love someone, feel something, with someone, without the physical commitment. And when I loved him the way I did, there was nothing that he could do to truly break me from him, unless he would tell me that he was ready to let me go. My love, at the core, was hinged on his love for me. If he stopped loving me, I would cease to love him. This was why at times when I wanted to stop feeling the intense sensation of love, longing and tenderness what I truly hoped was for him to stop loving me and letting me go. Because that was the only way for me to be set free. When he stopped loving and wanting me.
What if this was how the story would end? What if I would not run into a wall, invisible or not, there was never a wall. What if he would allow himself to open up to me, slowly, gradually, over time, he could see my heart as he could see the clear sky, it was really never that complicated, it really required very little interpretation or masking. It was that I loved him, unconditionally, now and for the rest of my life, for as long as he loved me and wanted me back.
What if he knew and was convinced, because he finally could read me, that I had never loved any other being, another soul, like I had loved him? What if, no matter what he looked like, how old he'd get, whether he was wealthy, poor, insecure or confident, I would still love him? What if my wish was really only that simple? My wish was that I needed him because I could not live another day without him. What if neither he or I ever experienced, or believed true everlasting love, but it just happened to us? What then? Where would this road end? What would we do, then?
I had expected that would happen with B. One day I'd realize that he no longer wanted me, and I'd be at the end of the road, it was not even a folk, it was a dead end and I'd be left wondering whatever happened to him, me, and us.
B came to my office last night to pick me up to see a show. He'd never been to my office before. I brought him a few things in Asia, he liked the green hat, so he put it on right away. He said to me, "you knew me." I always liked to think that I knew him but I couldn't tell if I knew him or if I knew just a version of him. He was complex in my mind.
We stayed until after 10 before heading to his place. I took my overnight bag, and he had his. He often stayed at his son's place, who lived with his son's mother. They were not married. I often imagined that he had a wife or a girlfriend but he insisted that I was his only.
I told him during our outing that seeing him made me felt relaxed. But my threshold was low. My threshold was a week and half. After a week and half of not seeing him and having sex with him, I felt anxious, like my brain stopped functioning, I thought of him often, he occupied my entire idle mind. After being with him, my mind was clear and I was in a state of hopefulness. That hopefulness mode would last for approximately a week and half and then I would run out of steam. I would begin to worry if it would end, I would begin to plan my exit path, in case he'd left and I'd run into that invisible wall. I couldn't possibly feel this way with anyone. I had never felt this way with anyone.
In his house he removed my clothing. I was naked and lying in his bathtub and he bathed me in his hot liquid. Then he went down on me in the tub. Our perversity felt so natural. He wanted me to piss but I felt that I couldn't be that free with him, not yet anyway. I needed more time to get to that level of comfort. We soon moved into the shower, where I was cleaned and fucked in varying positions by him. B murmured in the shower that he loved me, or at least that was what I imagined he said. I was covered in raining shower. He asked me to go down on him, so I was kneeling down. I was in that position for a long time until he lowered himself to kiss me. I was covered in water and my face was drowning as he was fucking me and kissing me. I loved his cock in my mouth and inside of me. I loved being close with him. I had never felt this way with anyone else. My body was molded to fit him. It felt like I had been created and put on this earth, so that I could meet him and be with him. I couldn't feel much else but a sense of peace and urgency at the same time. Peace because I was with him. Urgency because I knew this would end and he'd fall asleep and his passion for me would end, and I'd start that same waiting cycle again. When he was with me, I felt that he was mine and mine only. And I was his and his only.
I lay my head on his chest to fall asleep. He woke up in the middle of the night. He had a headache and insomnia. I wished that I could help him. I wished that I could ease all of his pain and suffering. Yet I just lay there, watching him tossing and turning, and I lay there awake, staring into the ceiling and wondered where we would go from here. At one point, he flipped me over and started to fucking me as my legs are closed and I was laying on my stomach. He asked, "You loved me fucking you this way, don't you?" I moaned. In truth, I didn't care how I was fucked. I just wanted him do whatever he wanted with me. Whatever pleased him, pleased me.
He remained to be the love of my life. I had never felt this complete with anyone else. He asked me if I was fucking others. I told him no. I thought to tell him that I sometimes thought of fucking others, but I had stopped since last summer. I couldn't because I only loved him. And at some point, love became an unwritten commitment. I would start fucking others again, if he decided to leave me. It was that simple. When I made a promise to him, not just anyone but him, the one whom I loved, I had to keep it. I asked about him, "Are you fucking other women?". He said "No, just you. I only think about you. I only want you." I did not know if I believe him or not, but I did not really care. I asked him when he stopped. He said "A year ago. At the beginning I was with others." He told me. I knew that's not true. I knew in June he told me that he had sex with a red head, a couple weeks before I saw him. So the last time he told me that he was having sex with others was in May. And I suspected that he was seeing others in July and August as well. It was not that long we made this an exclusive deal, not by enforcement, but by simple realization that a deeper connection was made when we availed ourselves to no one else.
As long as he loved me I was okay with it. I did not just want him any longer. I needed him. That much was for sure. But needing him did not mean that I need to possess him. I was okay with him being with others. Perhaps what I needed to know was the truth. When did I become this way? I did not know that. But it was not overnight. It took a lot. A long time for me to realize that I could love someone, feel something, with someone, without the physical commitment. And when I loved him the way I did, there was nothing that he could do to truly break me from him, unless he would tell me that he was ready to let me go. My love, at the core, was hinged on his love for me. If he stopped loving me, I would cease to love him. This was why at times when I wanted to stop feeling the intense sensation of love, longing and tenderness what I truly hoped was for him to stop loving me and letting me go. Because that was the only way for me to be set free. When he stopped loving and wanting me.
What if this was how the story would end? What if I would not run into a wall, invisible or not, there was never a wall. What if he would allow himself to open up to me, slowly, gradually, over time, he could see my heart as he could see the clear sky, it was really never that complicated, it really required very little interpretation or masking. It was that I loved him, unconditionally, now and for the rest of my life, for as long as he loved me and wanted me back.
What if he knew and was convinced, because he finally could read me, that I had never loved any other being, another soul, like I had loved him? What if, no matter what he looked like, how old he'd get, whether he was wealthy, poor, insecure or confident, I would still love him? What if my wish was really only that simple? My wish was that I needed him because I could not live another day without him. What if neither he or I ever experienced, or believed true everlasting love, but it just happened to us? What then? Where would this road end? What would we do, then?
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