Love

Earlier that evening

I finished gym later than expected. An older man held the elevator door open for me. He said, "You seem to be rushing to somewhere." I said, "Yes, for dinner. I'm late. Again."  He smiled. "That's perfectly fine. You make an entrance. Walk in slowly. Let men admire you as you enter the restaurant, as they ought to."

I tried that. Except that B was already sitting at the table, playing with his smart phone (probably checking on his Facebook update, which thankfully I'm not a "friend"). He did not look up, he did not even know I was there until I planted myself opposite of him, like a deflated balloon.

Great! So much for my French plunging neckline dress, shining six-inch silver stiletto, and my super cool new glasses.

B texted me earlier and told me that the location used to be a tapa's bar. "Used to". Mission was not what it used to be. But I had wished to conquer all Izakyas in the Bay Area before heading to Japan next winter for snowboarding and food expedition. Came for the custard uni. I had a similar dish in Japan AND Benu, quite delicious. It was not as good as Benu or Japan, but in either case, you did not have to folk over $500 or $3000 (business class flight on sale) respectively. I'm all about good enough. As I told A before he moved, I don't have great expectations in life. I was with the school of thoughts of "good enough is good enough".  Glass was always half full for me.

Sake sommelier (they had a sake sommelier!!!) gave me some recommendations on the sake. I liked them cloudy and sweet. The one he recommended, was quite light and airy. B had the other half glass. I had to drive later and half a glass was all I could handle.

Squid marinated in liver was strangely salty and fishy, but B liked weird food like I did apparently, and so we scooped the slimy things out of a  tiny bowl and ate last bit of the dark brown liquid.

I was shocked, a little impressed really, but more just shocked. I very rarely ate out with B. My earliest memory (well, make that documentation) of us eating out was when we were young, he took me on a date (I couldn't remember that but my journal did), and we had sushi. He liked green tea ice cream. And I thought he was cute enough to warrant a possible second date. But that was a decade + one month shy of six years (again, I had no clue, but the journal had a computer stamped date).

We went on to have some very custardy like house made tofu. I did not quite understand why the chef wanted us to have it without salt first, and then salt. Perhaps it was because you needed to first be impressed by its texture and then taste. For taste, B sprinkled sea salt all over my perfectly blend tofu without asking me. A bit presumptuous, like he often was. But it was tasty on the last bite. Adventuring onwards, we tackled a tempera dish with shrimp and veggies, which was a bit chaotic to eat but quite delicious and light. It had a nice abstract form that could be made into a painting.

For dessert, B chose house made vanilla ice cream. His Midwest roots was showing. Who gets vanilla ice cream in a Japanese joint? So...vanilla!  But to my surprise, it was great: not too sweet, and not too creamy like gelato.

Check came in a little cup. B folded his twenties into the cup neatly, as the waitress gingerly picked up the bill and the cup away.

B thanked me for suggesting this restaurant. I thanked him for paying the bill, once again. 

Where I failed at being this seductive (middle age) woman sashaying into a restaurant holding my head high, while Casino Royale James Bond alike men with shaken, but not stirred vodka martini admired every inch of my made-up body, I had succeeded in, yet again, finding a hipster restaurant in the Mission that served unexpected delectable.

Later in the evening

I laid there. I was tired. I couldn't sleep. He told me that he loved me. He loved me very much. So much. He wanted me to love him, so that we could be together. I wondered how often he said that to those other women he dated in the past. I couldn't tell if this was how he was. He told me that he felt that he should have done it differently. He was at wrong. Instead of thinking all those other women were wrong for him, perhaps he never let himself be out there to really feel, to really give it a go. He was the one who should have made the amends and showed some initiative. He said, that he was not happy with who he was. But he did not think he could have changed a thing. He was who he was. I laid there, and heard him declaring love, Over and lover again. I started to cry. Silently. my tears trailed down my cheek and dropped onto his upper shoulder but he did not say anything so I did not explain that I was crying. Last time when we were together, he fucked me so hard that my vagina had a small tear. This time, the same happened. I liked pain so it was a nice unexpected bonus.

I was angry also that B told me over and over again how much he loved me. I was always emotionally unavailable, to anyone, really, so to hear people's declaration of love made me uncomfortable. But I had always loved B, just I had not expected how intensely he expressed himself.

In shower as I went down on him he pissed into my mouth. He pissed into my pussy. He tied me up and fucked me hard earlier, and then told me that he did that often. I suspected that because when he first tied me up I thought it was a perfect knot. He was good at it. He was always the dominant one. I had always played a sub in our relationship.

He jammed his cock deep into my throat as my hands and feet were tied, I couldn't move. I was suffocating and choking. He won't stop. I liked it even though I was in pain. He used a paddle to hit me with. It was light but I felt the pain.

He wouldn't even let me go and piss. I tried but he wanted me to piss while sucking on him. He wanted me to piss on him and I froze. I was not able to do what he did, But as I masturbated as he filled my mouth with his piss, I felt some liquid coming out.

On the floor I was on fours looking for an escaping earring. He started to shove his cock inside of me as I was bent over.  Then he pushed me against the wall in the hallway as he continued to fuckme. He told me that in his earlier years he liked to fuck a lot and he liked bondage. I imagined that he had a lot of women. He said that there were women he could access today to have sex with. But he was only having sex with me. I wondered if any of what he said was true. But even if I did find him lying, I was not sure if I would care. As long as he wanted me and loved me. I was okay. I was not a typical woman. I was wired differently. 

He addressed me by my name and asked me if I was his whore. I said yes. 

I woke up feeling uncertain. I was not sure what I could do to give him all that he ever wanted. I was not sure if he could sustain his love for me. There was this level of intensity that I could not feel with others. I could talk to him about anything and everything. His past, present and future. I understood him like I understood myself. I wanted nothing from him but his love for me. I wanted to give everything I could to him. I wanted to be his and his alone. I wanted to exist to please him. Yet I knew he would give me the freedom to be myself. That included the other side of self that was the exact opposite of this version of me: confident, independent, authoritative, driven, powerful in my own domain and incredibly assertive. I had rarely felt this way with anyone else. I fed off on men's affection for me. The only time that I had ever felt this way was with a man who I nearly married. We had a long distance relationship. He was always in the east coast. I was in the west coast. He loved me so much so that I thought that I could never ever felt that level of intensity again. Then he got violent with me one night in a snowy winter night in D.C., and nearly killed me. I knew when that relationship finally ended, I would never be the same again. I would never love again, and be loved again the same way. I was barely twenty two and I was unaware of who I was and what I was. In my dynamic with others, I avoided that level of intensity. I thought it would destroy me like it nearly did when that event occurred. He was so quiet and unassuming on surface but behind closed doors he ignited me and adored and loved me. Like the previously relationship I once had when I was barely 22, B was also pleasant and subdued. In private he was like fire and I burned with him. He was kinky and he understood what turned me on. He was unabashedly expressive with his feelings in private. 

When I saw him in public, he stood up to greet me by kissing me. When we were parting, he kissed me again on the street. I had never been with a person who was so expressive in his feelings for me in public. In part I couldn't allow myself to be emotional. I had been emotionally inaccessible for so long that it seemed quite strange to be loved by someone. It hurt my heart to feel loved. I was feeling both excited and terrified. I was also surprised that he would kiss me in public. It was nearly a way for him to want to declare to the world that my relationship with him was no longer in the dark. I felt scared because it felt natural to be in his embrace, when in all of my other relationships I was able to spread my legs and be affectionate, be promiscuous, but be so emotionally detached. He got under my skin. And I was feeling frightened.

In the evening I laid next to him being wide-awake. I felt oddly frightened. When he induced pain onto me, I was feeling exhilarated. How could I tell him that I wanted more? I loved every aspect of our sexual conduct, and I felt that I understood what he wanted as well and I knew that I could satisfy him. Rather than seeing the intensity diminish as most of the relationship did, I sensed that our attachment grew stronger for each other over time. And we had only scratched the surface.

What if he was it? This was going to be the only person in this world that not only tolerated my sexual perversity but celebrated it with me. What if as he gets  older I grow more attracted to him? What if because of these perverse sexual experiment we have established with each other, that we could then live a normal, pretend, middle of the road life in peace and never had to wonder again if someone was out there for us?   

What if he was not only the person who understood my past but also knew how to ignite me in a way no else could?

What if he was telling me the truth? What if he did indeed love me and wanted me to love him back, what if he was the only person whom I could completely be myself with? What then?