Book, reviewed

I finished reading Dept. of Speculation. About this couple, the husband has an affair, the wife's heart is broken, she slowly and gradually prepares for an ending but the ending does not come, and eventually they let things pass. She cried and cried, expecting the world would end, but it did not, eventually they moved on.

It was not a typical ending. It was an ending crafted for a purpose, to tell a story, to tell a story that the affair girl did not get what she wanted. The wife gets to keep the husband, and the family, and added a puppy to boot. The marriage stays intact, the man never leaves his family for anyone.

I think about this and I think about you and me. How much I loved you once, and how much I wanted you to be mine. How I'd done everything and anything to be with you, and how much I thought I could do without you, and then gradually I thought how little of you, found others to replace you and then one day you were back in my life again, in sort of imaginative way you were back and you were in life again, taking up just such a small corner, like you really did not exist, but somehow you did.

I would never love again, not in that way.

I would never feel the same again. Not in that way.

I can mask for as long as I could. I will try the hardest. But I don't think I'll succeed. I have a family. You have a family.

And there is nothing more and nothing less. I'm not yours. You are not mine.

And no this world did not end when I lost my faith in you. No words needs to be uttered. I know. You know. We have nothing to begin with. We have nothing to end with.

The business of missing you

He writes, “MIss you. Miss ya. Miss you. Miss ya.” 

Not my problem that you should part the moment we met. Not my problem that you leave me when we just started to get to know one another. Not my problem that you found me, surprisingly easy to get along with, emotionally distant but kind and generous. 

I’m lonely. The more I’m out there, meeting people, meeting you, the lonelier I get. Nothing can cure me. I’m not alone, but I’m lonely. 

He sends her pictures of his travel. He claims that he’s making snow. In the chateau. In Paris. In the haute alps. He speaks French. He signs his letter bises. He calls her by her nick name. But he signs his own name in its entirety, though she’s given him a short name as well. Super Snowman. The superhero who is good at making snow. Who made snow everywhere for everyone who loved snow. Like she.

I’m terribly lonely. I want to be held. To curl up next to you, anyone, really, to have my hands be held, my face be kissed. To be told that I mattered. To have people make time for me. To give me the attention I desperately seek. To tell me that everything will be okay. To love me as I deserve to be loved. To stop abandoning me. 

I don’t believe you understand me. I don’t believe in going back. I shut that door a long time ago. I closed me up. A part of me needs to die. That girl who had all the faith in the world, that girl who wanted her lover to love her back, to give her an alternate future, the lover who would not disappoint her, does not exist, the lover who could actually be there for her. The lover who could wake up next to her and buy her a simple brunch, on a Saturday. That lover who supposed to be there, was never there for her. That was the old me.

He wants to return home. He tells her that he’s headed to Prague. He’s leaving Paris and headed to Eastern Europe. He misses her and wants to be home. So that he could see her again. The day he was leaving, he sent her messages at the airport, on the plane, and told her that he missed her. The entire trip, he’s been telling her how much she is missed. He has no idea how this relationship will evolve but he wants her to be his. That evening she poses for photos. He grabs her and kissed her without warning. He wants her because she’s beautiful. She’s stunningly beautiful. She is no longer young but she looked like she could be still in her twenties. He liked that about her. The youthful look, the way she laughed like she’s never laughed before, the silliness of her laughter that carried and made his house shake, and then when he asked her what happened to you, why don’t you want to have a real relationship? She says, with much difficulty, “I don’t believe that I deserve to be loved.” There you have it. He thought to himself. “I knew why she is the way she is. She’s so afraid of being hurt. There is a mask she’s wearing. I want her to be vulnerable like the rest of us. I want her to come out of her shell. I want to get to know her.” 

He writes to tell her that he wants to return home so that he could see her again.

I don’t know who I am. I have let go of part of me. I wanted to cry all the time. Then when I let go, when I buried her, I stopped crying. If heart break is like this, may this be the last one. I’m done breaking. I shall amend.

A dream

t was wet. A man in a weather proof coat arrived home, he had just taken a largish size dog to a park nearby and he removed his wet jacket and hang it on the wall. A woman rushed in. She was complaining that earlier, when she ran in the park, there ought to be some special fuel added to her shoes, so that she could run faster, and increase stability. As of late, they had invented a special fuel that one could add to trail running shoes to increase performance and reduce slippage during severe weather conditions. She ought to buy a new pair and test them out, she said. The man took her hand and led her to bathroom, and told her that she should shower immediately. She was slightly resentful of being told what to do, even though he was right.

As she was turning on the faucet, she remembered that the cake in the oven was about to be done. So she told him to check. It was not a cake per se, it was a bread pudding of a sort. But he did not correct her.

Five more minutes and it will be done. He said. The house was filled with the aroma of freshly baked goods: chocolate, pecan and molasses.

The rain had picked up. A storm was coming.

Have yourself a little Merry Christmas

She stopped by on the way to a Christmas day run. It was for the pagans. Those who did not celebrate the fine tradition of eating, opening presents and drinking. He did celebrate it. But she suspected that he waited for her and changed his plan, so that he could see her one last time. Men are strange that ways. If they feel a certain way about you, they will go out of your way to please you and care for you. She suspect he’s one of those men.

She brought pastries. Desserts. He said that he’d be going to a party later on. But she suspected that he did not in the end. He changed his plan to stay in town, so that he could see her one last time before she leaves town. But those were not easy things to say in front of him, and she kept these thoughts to herself. 

She knew after all the assholes she’s been with, her luck was going to change for once. The idea was that at some point, a kind, available man would come along and rescue her from the mundane, the heartaches, the endless misery she’d felt. Something new. Brand spanking new.

He had a good voice. A slim built. A tall frame. Blue eyes. Dark hair. Dark framed glasses. His place not too tidy and not to messy. He kept it all to himself. With very few things acquired over the years.

He told her about his last two major relationships during breaks during their love making. He kissed her, touched her back and told her his stories. She felt that she could be a replacement but she did not dwell.

Asking her what she wanted, and he wanted, they both still see other people. He thought it was too early to decide. She had no intention to jump the gun. In this day of age, people dated, fucked, and they form primary and secondary relationships. She’s been in all of these situations. Monogamy is out of question for a new budding romance, though at some point down the road, it always becomes a topic of discussion.

The only safe distance she could keep is one that she’s kept for years. Emotionally distant, extremely witty, and sarcastic. A man who adores her and finds her both sexy and interesting. She wants to multiply the number of men by 4. At which point, she may or may not decide. But if history is any indication, the moment she decides, they turn on her. They all turn on her. They want everything from her, but when she has given them her heart, they abandon her. Abandonment is a lifetime disease she suffers. Like Meniere’s Disease and low iron. 

Before she left he gave her a box of tea. He knew she had been looking for good quality tea to make home brew kombucha with, so he went to fetch tea for her. He was very considerate that way, always one step ahead of her. He wanted to make her happy. She knew that now.

She has no cure for feeling abandoned. So she leaves before she’s attached. She dishes out feelings sparingly. She suffers her heartache silently. When she recovers, the past has been erased. She rises from ashes like a phoenix, each time a different color like the leprechaun, unrecognizable to everyone. She’s great at reinventing herself, each time a new story, each time a new twist, each time a heart breaks, pray it’s not hers.  

I See Sunset, I see Sunrise, I see you

I see sunset, I see sunrise, I used to love you, I love you still, and I will always love you.

But I don’t want to be with you. Nothing mundane should be between us. We’d never leave the house if we were cooped indoors. I need you inside of me always. This is the only love I have ever known, but we’d suffocate and we’d die out of distain and disgust from each other if we stayed together. 

I used to cry. I told you why I cried because I want to be with you, now and forever. I wanted a future with you, being with you was and is the only thing that made sense to me. But you don’t want me this way. I was not happy that way. The longing and the disappointment. I also learned, that I could not live without you. 

A compromise, sobering decision was made on my part. I shall see you when I see you. I shall only see you when you could no longer stand being separate from me. I shall then say yes, and I shall never ask when to be seen again.

You invented games, games only I’d enjoy. You videoed us, videos that could not be shown to others. Videos only the most perverse people in the world would enjoy, and then some. Those were things that were private between us. You thought carefully, and you sought ways to entice me and to keep me.

You were agitated. You were tense. You were stressed. Then you relaxed because you said that you’d see me. That made you happy, peaceful, and calm. You felt the same way I used to feel when I was about to see you.

You told me that you knew me because we’d been together for a long time. A LONG TIME. Time was defined by relativity. It was the only sexual relationship that outlasted others, others I played with but I was bored. You played with others but you were bored. They came in and out of your life, only I was consistent to you and  you were consistent to me.

In the room:

• A metal shiny doggie bowl
• Chain
• Rope, white nautical rope
• leash
• Spanking wooden paddle
• Video camera

Strip naked. On fours. Leashed. Crawl. Pissing in the bowl. Licking it up. Bathed in his warm piss. Choked. Muffled. Forced. 

When play was over. Cuddled. Made-love like you and I just met.

He researched so that she could follow his lead. He was learning to be a master and she was to be a slave. 

That dynamic works because it was the only one that she knew how to manage her feelings without her feelings getting hurt.

Romance kills everything. Romance introduces mundane. Romance strips both raw. Romance kills romance.

I see sunset, I see sunrise. One year in the same hotel, after you’d left I was in the room, the opposite side of the hall, watching the sunset, alone. I wondered if you’d come back to me. I did not need to wonder any more. You always come back to me. We saw sunrise this time, in the same hotel, together we watched the sun rising from the east. It was lovely that morning. I did not ask when I’d see you again. I know we’d meet again.

It is the only love that I know. 

#spilled thoughts#spilled ink#san francisco stories#love stories#BDSM#master and slave

The Bed

He let her in. He smiled. He kissed her. She had worn low heel boots. The boots looked good one her but they made her shorter. He was taller. At six feet, h seemed taller because he’s skinny. She knew very little about him, and when they had done fucking, she often fell asleep without talking to him. She liked his bed. It had a comfortable firm mattress. She enjoyed sleeping in it, him holding her tight, and sometimes when she wanted to roll onto her side, he would spoon her until she wiggled too much. At which point, he’d turn to his side and fall asleep on his own. She never had trouble sleeping when she’s with him. He had the soothing, comfortable way about him. They talked in the dark.

She knew he had four sisters and three brothers. He was close to his mother but she died of old age. He was the youngest of the eight. He’s not that close to his siblings. They were older. By the time he was born, the parents had already checked out. He was therefore, left to raise himself. In the dark he described her as “very particular”. He knew of her as someone who was into open relationships and was bi. He knew that she needed him to be okay with all that. She learned that he had come to terms of being on his own, living on his own, having a life on his own, as long as he did not have to deal with the unknown.

He did not think of her as unknown because she was strangely reliable for someone whom he just met. She was not exactly what he was looking for, but she was interesting, funny and was attractive. He liked interesting and funny women. The city is filled with men, and women who have lost their ways. Not she. She was sure of herself and she did not let others dictate how she lived her life.

Unlike her ex boyfriend, he made her feel secure and wanted. When she fell asleep, she never woke up in the middle of the night. And when she did wake up, she reached over to find his arm and folded herself under his arm.

She remembered that was how the boyfriend and she used to sleep. He was holding her so tight. She felt wanted and loved. But after a few years, he began sleeping on one side, without her next to him, and he did not want her to touch him. If all relationship would result in two people, sleeping on the opposite side of the bed, and never touch each other in the middle of the night, and only engage some sort of body entanglement if they were to have sex, what’s the point in that? You might as well sleep alone and use your vibrator if and when you feel horny. That two people in the same bed but sleep as far apart model is a common one. It’s called “marriage.” She thought that to herself.

She often traveled to see this man. The man who had a comfortable bed. When she arrived, she’d strip to nothing and began to sleep with him. Sometimes he’d turn her over and fuck her doggie style. She let him just so that she could go back to sleeping on his bed, in his firm yet soft mattress, and in his arms with his mouth inches away from hers. Unlimited kisses in the middle of the night. 

Soon the bed would lose its firmness. Then what? Do they part? Does she find another bed? Do they buy a new mattress together?

You, clever reader, you tell me…