He stood in the kitchen and chitchatted, after having just met me outside of his apartment, calling me “sweetie.” The maid was finishing up cleaning, and he looked irritated. She had been cleaning for a number of hours now, he said. He got her from La Colectiva, a San Francisco maid service collective. He was polite and cordial, and as the maid handed him a rustic candle holder and informed him that she failed to clean it properly, he said, “that’s okay” and took it back to the kitchen. He sat it down on the counter and continued to chitchat with me.
"You know, I read the other day twenty eccentricities of San Francisco, starting with Emperor Norton." He said.
"What does it have to do with me?" I retorted.
"The way you are dressed, contributes to the eccentricity of San Francisco." He replied.
I had on a black dress, the top part was black, the skirt portion of the dress was plum and black. I had on a plum colored polka dots stockings and silver and gold shining high heel boots.
He always thought the way I was dressed was quite elaborate, I was unique and stylish, he’d say, which I took as him saying that I was always overdressed.
"I’d like to think that I dress like a New Yorker. Street smart." I said.
He approached me and hugged me gently, “I suppose your New Yorker like attire is part of the eccentricity of San Francisco.” He said while looking at me adoringly. I knew he loved me.
I stood only a few inches away from him, my face tilted and I said, “I’m here to see you, I’m not here to have sex. Do you still want to go out?”
He took a look at my shoes, and said, “In those heels?”
My heels were 4 and half inches tall. I looked, at the most, a couple of inches shorter than him, and that made me feeling a bit less confident somehow. You’d think it’s the exact opposite.
La Colectiva lady came to ask more questions. He had left her an envelope, inside it was money. He answered the question while gave her the money. He did not respond to my request to leave the apartment to go outside, though he had already suggested to go out, just a few minutes ago.
The lady gathered up her cleaning supplies and started to leave. He started to move around the place to check for things that were not done properly. For instance, the metal mesh wastebaskets were misplaced. There were two in one bathroom and there ought to be only one. He started to move about the apartment trying to find a home for the extra wastebasket.
I went to use the bathroom and tossed my tampon wrapper into a trashcan. His buddy was going to come to stay at his place, and he might find the tampon wrapper, I later thought of it, but by then it was too late.
"Why would he not go to a hotel?" I asked.
"I guess he’s cheap. But he’s helped me, my company, very early on with securing projects and throughout the years, he gave us projects. I’m leaving and he has stayed here every time he’s been here. He’s sixty years old, and sometimes he’d stay at the living room sofa, like he’s 18 years old." He said in a resigned voice.
With that he walked into his bedroom, to check on the bed.
"Oh God. She did not put on the sheets. I left them out in bed. And she did not do anything about it." He was irritated, this time, I could tell for sure.
Then he caught himself. “I’m nice. But I’m easily irritated. People don’t like to work for me. It’s a Midwesterner’s thing. We’d say something nice but we don’t always mean it. We are very polite but we don’t say what we mean. At work, I’d tell them they did a good job but then I’d give them fifteen comments. That’s why they don’t like to work for me. One of the sales guys told me once a Minnesota person said that they liked us. He thought that we landed a project. I told him that it could be anything. They’d say anything, we Midwesterners. But you don’t know what they really mean.”
As he’s saying that, he started to remove the old pillowcases and dragged the comforter around, and then he started to put the new sheet onto the bed. I helped him like I often did. I recognized those pillows. I bought them for him earlier this year.
"People are like that in San Francisco too. They are polite but you don’t know if they mean it." I concurred with him.
"That’s why I do better here than New York." He agreed with me as he continued his task at hand.
This was not the man I knew from years before. Even as late as three years ago, he did not tell me how he felt. He just said pleasant things and shielded me from knowing anything substantial. He tied me up, slapped my butt cheeks, stuffed his cock inside of my pussy, and then pulled it out to just jam right back into my throat. When he’s tired of that, he’d bind me and fuck me as I struggled to break free.
Now he was showing me his real temperament: polite and irritable. “I”m always polite and irritable.” He said, while smiling, and stuffing the comforter into the cover. I tried to help but I was not doing it right. He stopped me abruptly and told me that I was doing it wrong. “Stop. That’s not right.” He was irritated by my lack of skill and direction. I stopped and let him to do it himself.
"You know, I really liked our little trip. It was so much fun." He switched topic.
"I thought that you wanted to sleep alone." I was confused.
"I do. Whenever my son wanted to spend time with me, I send him back to upstairs. I like to sleep alone." He lived with the son’s mother, and he allegedly had a room allocated by the baby mama. He called it the "downstairs". Baby mama, as I learned, lived in Inner Richmond, and his child, went to school with my best friend’s son, as it turned out. I had no idea about their arrangement, and I did not think I was entitled to know.
"I liked sleeping with you." He was contradicting himself. One moment he said that he enjoyed sleeping alone, and another he was thanking me for stayed with him in the same hotel. I wondered if this was what he meant by being a Midwesterner, always saying nice things but did not mean a word of it.
We finally made the bed the La Colectiva lady failed to make.
"You know, I don’t know what she was doing. For hours that she cleaned. Since 2 PM. " He was not so impressed with the service rendered. His normal cleaning lady was unavailable that day.
I could tell that he had gotten more comfortable with me over the years. He used to never complain. Always upbeat and polite, never a moment of irritation. But over time, he had become more comfortable around me. And I had started to sense the real him coming out.
He was leaving for the Far East. I bought him a Lonely Planet book for his trip. He said that it would be great to read it on plane.
"You are always so nice to me." He whispered for some reason, like he did not want me to hear. I often brought him treats, books, and other small things wherever I traveled. I was always very generous for those who treated me well. For him, I’d do anything.
I remember one year, when we first started seeing each other, I was in Munich and I brought back a lot of chocolate from Dallmayr. Since then, wherever I traveled, I brought something back for him.
Later on, when the house was repositioned, he held me and told me that he loved me. “You love me.” He also said, as if to assure me his love was based on my love for him.
I wanted another trip like we did the last time. I demanded. I stood so close to him. And then I heard him say, “Do you want to come with me to my sister's?” When he caught himself inviting me to go and visit his sister in Boston, right after Christmas, it was too late. It was unexpected of him, and he was shocked by his own invitation. A woman like me, never been seen by others, was to finally meet his family. He was having second thoughts immediately.
"What? Your invitation came too soon? You now need to digest it? You want to uninvite me?" I asked. I couldn’t help myself.
He would not answer but he smiled. I knew it was his way of saying “Oops, I slipped. I’m not ready for you to meet my family.” But I pretended that did not happen. And I made a mental note to ask him again, sometime in the future.
He said that he still owed me a proper dinner for my birthday. I said yes indeed when in fact i didn’t care about the dinner I just cared about spending time with him.
He needed to leave. So I knelt down in front of him to give him blow job, like I promised, like any good girlfriend would for their boyfriend. Always give heads. Always. Always.
He stopped me from proceeding to the finale., instead, he flipped me over and started to fuck me, with my plum stockings and black lacy panties pulled to my knees, with my shoes intact, against my wishes, he entered me from behind.
And then he kissed and kissed me. “You love me.” He’d say to me.
"Yes I do, baby. I will love you until the day I die." I assured him.
The day light savings time had ended. The evening sky hastened its speed to pitch black wilderness.
I faced down on the coach, exposing my buttocks, as he thrusted himself in and out of me.
When it all ended, I cleaned up myself, said goodbyes, and left the house with him from the back door.
"Bye sweetie." He said as he headed to the other direction.
There was a trace of calmness that washed over him, the irritation was gone, the politeness was gone. It was just calmness and peace.
I stopped by the video store on my way home. For nearly two decades we’ve known each other, I had never asked him where he was from. What city and state he was born in and what his childhood was like, until last week.
Like I did not know that he could be polite and irritable at the same time, I had no idea he grew up in Nebraska.
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