Love hazard, At one's peril

In the morning, early early morning. I found you had slept on your back, I had fallen asleep on your chest but waking up finding you not near. That was the way I always wanted, to be near, to be sleeping on your chest, hearing you breathing. Sometimes you spooned me. I sometimes wondered if you were growing on me. I put that thought aside. I couldn’t afford to fall.

I was watching a movie, and in the middle of it, I thought of you, and how we tried to watch a movie and you were so turned on that we had to leave early to fuck.

I dreamed of you saying this to me – while I was in a writing delirium, you said, “go ahead and fall for me. I love you.” Then I realized even what you said to me, was a dream.

I couldn't believe that you could love someone in a romantic way. I felt that emptiness, the way you would never talk about anything, the way you wanted me to just hold you, after we had sex, no talking, just staring into the darkness. all just a physical thing. I don’t believe that you could love me.

Perhaps we were each other’s physical thing. 

But at an off chance, that I might feel the true passion, what do you, readers, suggest me do then? I never wanted to find out. There had always been two sides of me. One good, one confused; one calculated, rational; one passionate, reckless. One love with justification, one love with abandon.

We called each other “Baby”. I had never felt this content with anyone who shared so little with me. But with you it worked.  I was terrible with this, before, to not let my emotions got into the way,  And I tried very hard, tried to stay cool, be rational and tried to not let my emotions run wild.  I am older. I am therefore better at controlling my emotions. Years ago, one of my first guys who I felt for taught me to compartmentalize things. He was a spy. He did it well. I learned to love, and to fuck are two different things. I closed my heart out whenever I felt that I could love someone. I am a typical abused child. I can only love someone who I am not involved with physically. But I want to change that pattern.

It is now new year’s eve. Of course I won’t be hearing from you. Of course I would not know what you’d be doing. We would not going to be standing under the same mistletoe. I missed kissing you. But you wouldn't hear me saying that. It had always been like that. I wrote what I felt on this blog, on an off chance you might read it and know how I felt. I would not talk about these things with you. Neither would you. You would not respond.

Or not, until then. We will figure out what this is, along the way.

3 months, and counting...

Chapter 5 - The Boat

Chapter 5 supposed to follow Chapter 2 (I am writing out of sequence, but I'm just trying to write and put as much stuff on paper first, and as the ideas get formed, then edit it to death, I did say this is a multiple year project didn't I? 

What I was trying to convey in this chapter is that Christopher had re-engaged Rebecca into a sexual affair with him, and he had clearly done this before, and while Rebecca couldn't remember of any past events, it was clear that they had been down the path before. She need to figure out what was her missing memories and what type of role Christopher played in the past.

Next chapter I think we should introduce the shrink. As it would be a good transition for Rebecca to try to seek professional help, to figure out why Christopher would imply that they've been doing this before. Thoughts?

Jan 1, 2012: Abandoning this effort. Rather, taking it more seriously, doing serious rewrite. So I'll stop doing this here on this blog site. Stories are being changed, though we are happy with the names, Rebecca is taking on a new identity, and Christopher will have a new profession. They both will be a lot younger. We are turning it into a much appealing story line. So I'll stop here.  But the sense of direction is giving me the hope. I think we are finally on the right track.

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December 2011

Rebecca’s diary: "Life is a like a revolving door with you. I don't know which door will open. I don't know what I will see on the other side. I am still obsessed with you. I can't deny the pull. I can't deny that I continue to push that revolving door, hoping to find the real you.  But I often run into a wall. But I try.

I feel alive when my emotions were tangled up with you. I feel a sense of worth, and in that very twisted way, I felt that my emotion, like a sail boat that had been sailing for too long without any direction, had a harbor to dock, even though it was a temporary shelter, it gave me hope, that perhaps one day I could feel again.”

October 2011

Rebecca had written this about that faceless man in her dream, she thought that it was paying an homage to Alex, but when she wrote this paragraph, it came from her heart and she knew her heart did not belong to Alex. She thought that it could be meant for John, but she was never obsessed with John. She traveled down further her memory lane, she thought she could have gotten it from her early twenties obsession with Mark, but Mark had long since ceased out of her life, many years ago. That left with Christopher, who she had just met up again and she was now en route to the boat, which was docked at the Marina.

Christopher had turned 47 last month. He was a young 47 year old, he looked at most in his late 30s, he was about 5’10”, thin and fit, he wore glasses, dark green ones, that matched his green eyes. He had curly light brown hair and was growing a beard. He had very Germanic feature, really white even teeth, when he smiled his faced beamed; he was a very handsome man, stylish, sophisticated and boyishly attractive. He said that growing a beard made him looked manly. He took this look seriously, and was particular about how he put his looks together. On the first date, he worn a bright red hat, and said it kept his hair intact, but Rebecca suspected that it was his distinct fashion sense. He had spent a couple of years living in northern Europe, in Copenhagen. He was wearing the same red hat again, as they drove to the Marina. Rebecca had thought about her journal and the way she wrote about this faceless man, and she wondered if she really was directing her creative energy on Christopher. She had always preferred a taller man, but there was absolutely nothing wrong with Christopher. He was a quintessential GQ type, he had what would make Rebecca’s knees go weak, if he was less prettier, and more assertive.

Christopher seemed to be very laid back, he had that undefined intensity, that sorted of showed up from time to time, but most of the time, he hid it well. Rebecca had suspected there was something more about Christopher than meeting the eye. He ran an architectural firm, a successful one that specialized in urban design, not so different from John’s field, but his clients were more in the private sector, and most of his work won awards abroad, and he wrote articles and presented papers in Europe often.  He graduated from top of his class from MIT, and he was successful in establishing himself early on.  He was Rebecca’s physical type, but he had that really complex and removed personality that made him less approachable. Rebecca never got to know him, so she never tried.

They arrived at the dock.  Christopher took a curious side-glance of Rebecca. She thought that he had expected her to say something to him. The night had started starry and warm, but at 10 PM, it felt chilly and a patch of cloud covered the sky. The Marina was quiet, full of sailboats.  It would be her first time, she had never been here before, yet she felt a sense of familiarity.  She attributed it to her most likely having been here during the day, on her runs. Rebecca was an avid runner and had been training for marathons. She had a trainer at her health club, who had been given her tasks on weekends, which included long distance running. She thought it must have been one of her weekend runs that took her to this Marina. But there was more. She would not have gone to the dock, as these were usually locked for safety purpose. Yet she felt utterly familiar with the surroundings.

Christopher had started walking so she trailed him behind, all the while making small chatters to keep her from feeling nervous. She had instinctively known that this was going to be something more than a tour of the boat. Something was going to happen, something unexplainable, but not unexpected.

She stopped in front of a boat when Christopher stopped. She felt a sense of familiarity. Christopher began to undress his shoes and climbing onto the boat. She followed his footsteps, quietly.

“This is my boat.” Christopher was now standing on top of the boat, looking down at her, the moonlight was shining through the crowd, his frame was covered with a strange light, he illuminated.

“Come”. He extended a hand to Rebecca, and she climbed up.

He went down to the cabin first, to lit the light. He was an expert at it, he turned on the music, and dimmed these lights. Rebecca stood quietly, waiting for him to finish. She knew that he was creating a mood, a make out mood. She was surprisingly calm, she did not feel her heart beating fast, she just felt a sense of familiarity, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

Christopher turned around and grabbed her waist to pull her closer, and he pressed his lips on her. This time Rebecca responded with enthusiasm. She kissed him back, and she felt a renewed passion, one she didn’t sense when he first kissed her in the car, on the way here. She wanted this, she told herself, something exciting, new and unusual.

“You kiss well.” Christopher stopped for a second to comment before kissing her some more.

“Can we not have sex tonight?” Rebecca asked. She was worried about her reputation, of all things, this was what she thought to ask. Her body did something else unexpected, she had sense a heat coming on, she felt dizzy, with an increasing excitement just as she plead to not have sex.

Christopher was busy undressing her, and he said, “OK.” In a few minutes they were in their respective underwear, locking lips, while Christopher moving his lips to her nipples and he nibbled on her. “You are so soft and curvy.”  Christopher kept on complimenting her. “I’m very attracted to you.” He continued.

Rebecca found it again, a sense of familiarity she should not be feeling. It had been at least 14 years since they had been intimate. Yet, they slide into this sense of familiarity, as if they had never been parted for long.

“You don’t remember?” Christopher asked gently while caressing her back.

“How could I? It’s been too long”. Rebecca answered while letting out of a moan. She found Christopher removing her panties. 

“I told you that we are not having sex.” Rebecca begged.

“Yes, I know. It’s OK, we won’t.” Christopher answered back, but he had not stopped undressing her. Next thing she knew his erection was pressed against her naked pussy. He rubbed himself against her, while she attempted to wiggle herself out under him.

“Don’t worry. We won’t have sex.” Christopher assured her, but had not stopped rubbing himself against her. She was feeling a sense of wetness, and a familiar replay in her head was forming, she couldn’t recall where it came from but it was there all right.

Just before she could recall what the memory was about, Christopher entered her.  She tried to get him off her, “I said no sex.” She found her voice weakened. The sensation was familiar, and fantastic, if she could just let herself enjoy for a while. He smiled and continued to kiss her as he continued to pound her. It was not what she had expected, but it felt natural, as it ought to be. So she stopped fighting.  But then he stopped. He pulled out. He pulled her off the seat, and said, “wait for a moment.” He disappeared to the front of the boat, and a few seconds later, he came back with two very long nautical white ropes.

“I will need to tie you up.” Christopher’s eyes were intense, he looked at Rebecca, as if he was asking her, but Rebecca knew it was not a question, it was a command. She found herself almost pleased by it. Even though she knew that she ought to be shocked by his demand.  She put her arms and wrist together, and Christopher tied her hands expertly together, and then he worked on her legs.  Rebecca had never done this before, she thought that she ought to be a little scared by it, but she felt secure, nature and perfectly safe, to her dismay, she knew Christopher somehow had done this before, with whom she didn’t want to know.

With her hands and legs all tied up, Christopher flipped her so that her buttock was facing the boat’s ceiling.

“Now raise your butt for me”. Christopher requested.

Rebecca obliged. She felt like a caged animal, restrained and antsy, yet an excitement was slowly accumulating, as if she had always anticipated this from the beginning.

Just then she felt a sharp slap on her bottom. It was loud, hard and caused pain shooting up her spine. She screamed and turned around. Christopher had that very intense look that she saw earlier that night.  He put his hand over her mouth, and whispered to her ears, “Quiet, baby.”

Rebecca begged, “it hurts, please be gentle. I’ve never done this before.”

Christopher kissed her, this time urgent and abrupt. He took his lips away just as she was begging for more, thinking this gentle kiss could convince him to be easy on her.

“Baby, you need to be punished.” With that Christopher spanked her hard, and she felt the sharp pain again, this time she felt slightly relaxed, as if she had resigned. 

“Good girl. I can see my hand print on your butt cheeks.” Christopher whispered by her ears as he brushed his hand gently across the face.

“This is just a beginning. You will be my sex slave. I don’t want you to fuck others. Only me. Not even your husband. You understand that.” He commanded.

Rebecca was feeling a sense of strange arousal with this rather odd command from Christopher, the person who seemed so laid back, so unthreatening, who had now tied her up and was slacking her hard.

She nodded her head, and found her trembling voice, she begged, “More please.”

With that Christopher raised his hand, he gently touched her buttock, as if he was examining a piece of Italian shirt to ensure the stitches were made just right, and he paused, and then he raised his hand and slapped down hard

Rebecca screamed with pain, but her voice was muffled because Christopher had used his free hand to cover her mouth. She was feeling suffocated, he held his hand there, while the other hand pressed her body down, so she couldn’t move. She was again, surprised by her willingness to endure this sadist act, and that she was strangely turned on by it, when she had never done this before, and there would not have been a way for Christopher to know that she was enjoying it.

“You are mine, mine only, from now on. No more Alex, no more John. Mine.” Christopher’s calming voice was restrained, but she felt a sense of anger. She had only shared very minor details about her affair with Alex, and she couldn’t understand why Christopher felt so entitled about her, as she belonged to him. But some part of her responded by saying, “Yes. No more. I’m all yours.”

Christopher kissed her back, as if it was a reward for her to agree to his terms, his kiss was passionate and leisurely, and he lingered his tongue inside Rebecca’s, and let her kissed him back without prematurely withdrawing from her. 

“You are mine. You understand?” Rebecca heard him repeating the same words again, it was not a question. She nodded her head.

“Good baby.” Christopher flipped her and this time she was facing him, he stared at her face, and said, “I missed you.” With that he thrust himself inside of her, while her legs and hands are tied up. He came, inside of her, without a condom, without apology. He then cradled her, while his lips locked with hers.

Rebecca felt depleted. While she ought to feel violated, she was strangely satisfied with this experience; this S&M action had suited her, even though she believed that this was her first time.

“You liked this, don’t you, Baby?” Christopher asked her, now all gentle and loving. He had lost that edge in his voice, he was not angry, or demanding, he was simply stating a fact. He was loving and nurturing. She thought that it was such a contrast, five minutes ago, she felt that she was about to get raped, and in a way, the sex felt violent, but she was wet as a puddle. She liked it, the act of being forced into having sex, to be tied up.

“Well, this was a first.” Rebecca sighed. But she giggled. She told Christopher she like it.

“I know, baby.” Christopher brushed his hand on her face, to remove a stray piece of hair, and he kissed her. “I missed you.”

This conversation would strike Rebecca as funny, she later confessed to her shrink. Why did Christopher keep on saying “I missed you”? As if he had expected her to return to him. Even though she knew that he had seen her for at least 10 years and certainly had not been intimate for more than 14 years.

“Have you been fucked in the butt?” Christopher asked.

Rebecca was horrified. She had been married for the last 13 years and had not had anything remotely more than the missionary style of sex. The kind that would put anyone to sleep.

“No, I have not.” She answered, feeling shy and self-conscious.

“Well, I will be first for you then. I want to have anal sex with you. I will be your first one.” Christopher said.

She was having trouble reconciling this mellow, non-demanding man she had known as a friend, possible gay to this confident, sexually dominate man he had become.

“I’m glad that you are back.” Christopher’s eyes were closed, as he said that, he pulled her closer to his chest. He was drifting into sleep.

Rebecca was unable to close her eyes. In the boat, this closely confined space, where she should feel strange, she sensed a familiarity. She took a stock of her surroundings, a comforter, a few pillows and a few lights dimly lit. This ought to be the first time she’s ever been on the boat, yet she had a sense of familiarity.

“Christopher, have I been here before?” She found herself asking.

“Yes, baby, many times.” was the last words Christopher said before he dozed off to sleep.

Rebecca lay awake, next to this man, her mind was racing. She was unable to rest all of sudden. There were some major memory gaps for her to fill. She knew that the more time she would spend with Christopher, the more she could unlock there doors, doors into the past, doors into the real Christopher, and possibly herself, a Pandora box.

That night Rebecca did not sleep. She thought long and hard, about what happened earlier that evening, about how she would proceed forward, about how much she might have forgotten.  Most of all, she thought how she liked to be tied up, and be spanked hard in a way that it truly hurt. She instinctively knew that this was not the first time Christopher had done it, but somehow she felt that he had done it with her in the past. Yet, there were no memories to fall back on. The last memory she had with Christopher was when they had breakfast, and she couldn’t recall any sexual act with him before.

The last word that echoed in Rebecca’s mind was the way Christopher said “I’m glad you are back.” It was as if he had been expecting her return, returning to him, returning to where she always belonged. As if she was a book that had been loaned out to others, and the book had finally been returned to the rightful owner.

Chapter 4 - Early Introduction

In this chapter, I was hoping to create the background story of Rebecca, how she became to be.  It started with her first encounter of a mature man, who used her for sex, and introduced her to the sex club scene (to be written) and from then onwards, she had carried this dark side of her, and sought adventures that were different from the norm. It would then hopefully introduce Christopher (as seen in Chapter 1 and 2) as someone who would take advantage of that side of her, and create an environment that fed that side of Rebecca, gave her the outlet to fulfill her sexual fantasies (at what cost we will need to find out), which hopefully will answer some of the questions as to why she would not have a complete memory over the past 15 years. 

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June 1995

Rebecca knew this would the man she’d meet that evening, even before he saw her. She had dressed in a black floral silk Qi Pao looking dress, she had bought it in Macy’s, it had a nice cut, and was short, risen just above her knees.  She was always confident in that dress of hers.  It’s those dresses that you’d see movie stars in the 1930s wore in Shanghai. She looked like such a star, delicate feature, porcelain white skin, oval shaped face, with dark eye shadows framed her big almond shaped eyes. . She had long jet black hair, a voluptuous body in a petite frame, she had large perky 34D cup size breasts that were unusual for a petite Asian woman, and the dress embodied her well and showed off her asset.  When she walked into the restaurant, she noticed people looked at her, this was a common phenomenon. She was not the drop dead gorgeous type, but she breathed sexual energy, she looked people in their eyes, people took notice of her, she walked with a natural confidence, she was different. Different not because she was Asian, but she was a different kind of breed.

When people first met her, they always asked her if she was from Shanghai.  Somehow that was the impression of the people, westerners seemed to only know of one city in China, and assumed all pretty Chinese women came from there. When she said no, there was often a lack of follow up, the air would just hung there, awkward, silent. She would be waiting, and the person who asked the question would then switch gear onto something else. Rebecca would always be disappointed. People didn’t have a second guess.

Rebecca once dated this guy named David. David had been quite proud of himself having lived in Taiwan and traveled to China, before it was common. David would say that Chinese women had two types only, the pretty ones and the ugly ones. Rebecca should be offended – it was her people he was talking about, but she found herself secretively pleased. David found her hot, pretty, sexy, David was smitten by Rebecca, as many men did during those days.

Rebecca met Mark online.  He wrote to her when her bikini photo was used to advertise an online dating site. Her friend who worked at America Online at time asked her for a photo of hers, she had given him the permission to use it, it was a side shot of her, she had leaned against a balcony, looking at the Caribbean sea, in her two piece bikini. The photo was taken by her then boyfriend William, who took her to the Bahamas. She broke up with William after the trip but the photo captured happier times.  Mark wrote in an email to her and said that he found her really attractive, and he was new to the area and would like to meet her. He was working for an east coast news paper. To further establishing his credentials, he told her that the paper he worked in, and provided links to his articles that he’d written for the paper. He said that he had been awarded a fellowship at Stanford and had just arrived from New York.

Rebecca had always wanted to be a writer, and she had never met a journalist before, a real one anyway, she was fascinated. Mark sent her a photo of him before arranging for a meeting. He had longish wavy sandy blond hair, he said that he looked like Kurt Russell and assured her that he was good looking.  Rebecca agreed.

In the picture Mark had sported a crooked smile, he was staring at the camera. You could tell that he knew that he was handsome, he was aware of his presence.

This was the early nineties, meeting people online was largely a novelty, but Rebecca was never one who followed the norms.  She agreed to meet Mark.  

The restaurant was crowded that night, it was a warm Indian summer night.  Downtown Palo Alto was full of pedestrians. Rebecca had arrived slightly late that night, having had a hard time finding a parking space.

She saw Mark, he had worn a dark sports jacket, and when she smiled, he saw her and immediately walked up to her. His hair was longer than the photo, and he smiled, a crooked smile like his picture. He was a tall man, about 6’1”,  strong framed, and had hazel eyes that melted Rebecca’s heart. It was crush at first sight. Mark took her to the table. He said that she looked beautiful. Rebecca was bathing in a school girl’s infatuation.  Mark was 38. Rebecca was barely 22. It was strange to meet someone who’s that much older yet so incredibly sexy. Rebecca knew the reason she liked him the most was his profession. She had always wanted to be a journalist. Before she came to the United States, she had wanted a career as a writer, she had already decided to apply for People’s University in Beijing, the best journalism college in China. Then life took a detour.

In 1988, a government sponsored high school exchange program took place in the city where Rebecca was living.  It was the first time that the government had decided to form a one year foreign exchange program by sending five high school students scattered around Guang Dong province to a high school in the United States, destination, Los Gatos. A San Francisco suburb tucked away in the Santa Cruz mountains. Rebecca was one of the lucky five. She was the youngest of all, only 15 at the time, she was selected because of her high academic achievement, and her lack of controversy. The selection committee, which was made of the entire school board, had to vote. Rebecca was a quiet, studious child, she lived as a boarder in the most academic school in the city, she was always ranked top 3 during mid terms and final exams. She rarely spoke, she was quiet like a mouse, she had short boyish cut hair, a boyish frame. When children at her class started to go on dates, she stayed in the library and soaked in books. She was a quiet one who did well in her school. When the votes got tallied up, Rebecca had the highest score. No one voted against her, there were hundreds of applicants from her school. She would be well behaved and represented our school, our city, and our country well. The school board later would tell Rebecca’s parents.  Rebecca spent a year in Los Gatos, lived with a host family, and by the time she was set to return to China, Tiananmen demonstration started. It was June 1989. Rebecca had been interviewed by the local newspaper and TV stations.  One year in United States, Rebecca had blossomed into a precocious young girl. She learned that she didn’t have to always hold back. This was a free country, you could express your opinion freely. Her American high school teachers taught her. She listened. She expressed her opinion. She was quoted on the paper. The next thing she knew, she was blacklisted, it was a shock to everyone around her, not at least was Rebecca herself. Her return trip was June 16.  The news came to her from a defecting Chinese consulate member,  who made a call to her high school principal.  Rebecca had exactly a week to decide what to do. She decided to stay in America, she was 16 at the time.  The rest, as they would say, was history

Much had happened since then, Rebecca had been on her own since she was 16. She finished college quickly, earned an accounting degree, passed her CPA test and went to work for a consulting firm.  She never had a chance to pursue her dream of journalism. English was her second language, and she needed to make a living.

But now, meeting Mark, was like meeting a celebrity. Where others obsessed with Hollywood stars, Rebecca always was obsessed with news casters, and journalists.  That night they talked about their lives. Mark was polite, and charming, and Rebecca was smitten.

By the time Rebecca had finished her dessert, it was clear that something was not agreeing with her. She felt sick. Mark took her back to his house, and asked her to to lie down. He lay next to her and cradled her. She went to the bathroom to throw up, and he held her hair. That evening was not what she had expected to be. She had no idea that she would be so weak, and to her horror, so not sexy.

But it didn’t seem that Mark cared. By the morning came, she had felt a lot of better, he held her tight, and cuddled her like she was a small blanket. That feeling of being cared for was what drove Rebecca to Mark, she would later recall. She apologized furiously, and Mark just laughed. He said not to worry, I’d see you again soon Rebecca. He made date for next Wednesday.  He said that we’d have a redo.

Rebecca never went to a restaurant with Mark on the following Wednesday.  She was drawn to him, and he her. They made love, they made up for the time that they missed the first time they met.  Afterwards, Mark told her about himself.  He said that he was going to get married, but after he came back from Iraq, covering for the Golf war, he found that his fiancé was cheating with his best man. “I wanted a real marriage, not one built on a mistrust”. He said. He called off the wedding, and applied for the fellowship, to get away from New York, he said.  “Then I met you.” He caressed her back, tracing his fingers from the top of her neck to her buttock.  He stared into her face, he had those impossibly green eyes, not hazel, as she had first thought. He said that his parents had moved from Sweden to the States years ago, before having him, and they had been together for 40 years, they retired to Florida, and “To this date, they still walk hand in hand on the beach”. “I want you to meet them.” He said. “They’d love you. You beautiful young thing.” He continued talking about his parents while kissed Rebecca.

Rebecca could never believe this, in her short but active dating life, she’s never met anyone like Mark.  It was love. She had no doubt. 

But that was the beginning to an end. Rebecca couldn’t remember exactly how it ended.  Whatever she had with Mark fizzled. She still dreamed about him.  She had heard that sometimes, some people you just couldn’t get them out of your system, Mark was one of them. 

The reason Mark gave Rebecca was that she lacked the maturity that he was looking for in his partner. Rebecca cried and begged for Mark to come back to her. He did, but not in the exact way she had hoped for.

As it turned out Mark had a dark side unlike other men Rebecca would encounter in her future.  The first time Rebecca was approached by Mark, after they had officially broken up, was shortly after his trip back from New York. He had written to her via an email, and let her know that he was back in town, and that he would like to see her and take her to a party.

The party was in Morgan Hill, south of San Jose. It was a farming town before the overspill of Silicon Valley types moved in and houses were built on empty hills.  The party was not exactly the sort that Rebecca had anticipated. She was dressed in a black dress, sleeveless and had worn her high black pumps. She was trying to dress like a mature person, someone who looked older than 22.

Mark drove to pick her up from her apartment in Campbell, he had driven his blue BMW convertible and was in a suit. They took off from there. On the way there, Mark told her that she should expect some surprises but he thought that she’d enjoy, if she still wanted to be with him, it would be the way, he said.

It was a suburban house unlike one of her colleague’s, in fact, she thought for a moment that her colleague would show up at the front door.  A lady in her late thirties opened the door and greeted Mark with kissed on both of his cheeks. She was in a sheer coverall, and you could see her bra and black G-string underwear.  Rebecca had a slight suspicion that this was not the kind of party that she’d gone before.  Mark had led her down to the narrow but hollow hallway until the living room was in front of her. It was already packed with many people, all had dressed in a way that was more than suggestive. Many had been locked in embraces.  Mark led her to a couple who were tall and in their 30s. They hugged Mark and shook hands with Rebecca.  Mark told them Rebecca had come from China and what she did for living. He then told them that she was “new”.  They gave her a look, a look that made Rebecca nervous. 

Chapter 3 - Dreams

I wrote this out of sequence. I wanted to introduce Rebecca, and I did it in Chapter 3.  This is a still largely a draft. I need to tightening it up a lot before it is considered ready. But for now, I wanted to put something out there for me to work on, so here it is. 

This is a chapter that describes the events proceeded Chapter 1 and Chapter 2

March 2011

The dreams came to Rebecca in in the middle of the March. It was the reoccurring dream of the same faceless person, who would come to her bedroom, he would grab her, cover her mouth, and flip her so that her buttocks would be facing the ceiling. He would then enter her with force, he’d come inside of her sometimes, and other times he pulled out and come into her mouth. She would always wake up in an orgasmic state, sweating, panting, and surprised each time.

She remembered clearly because she was into the Twilight series of movies. She tends to get into phases of things, this was her Twilight phase, she told herself. She’d stay up every night, watching the same movies, initially with her 8 year old daughter, who was really into the werewolf teenager heart throb Jacob, and then when her daughter went to bed, she’d watch the movie all alone, over and over again. She skipped the parts she didn’t like and watched intently when Edward and Bella were interfacing each other. She was ashamed to admit it to her husband John, who was always working away in his office, often late into the early mornings.  She told him that she was just playing it in the background, and she was not paying attention. But she knew why she liked it, it was the romance, the undying love scenes, literately, and she felt that was lacking in her own life.

John would not understand that. John liked things more concrete, non-fiction, he was into history and science channel. He had a successful career, at first as a lawyer, and then when he made partner at a national firm, he decided it was time to pursue his passion, which was in urban design and public policy. He started a firm with a couple of grad school buddies in the west side of Berkeley, a city known as the Republic of Berkeley, for its ultra liberal reputation. John liked shows like Top Gear, or anything on History channel.  But these days, John did not watch TV in the bedroom. He sometimes watched TV in the living room, but mostly he would work in his office, and then he’d go to bed around 2 or 3, often after she’s gone to bed. The business was moderately successful. John had developed a reputation among his peers and clients for his quick wit, his broad knowledge of industry he had an opinion on everything and he was approachable, both arrogant and down to earth. People liked John.

Lately John often traveled with a couple of his colleagues on his consulting projects. Most often to Asia and Africa, where economic demand was stronger than the U.S. and white businessmen from Ivy League schools were in demand.  John was such a man. He had gone to Harvard, and his colleagues in his firm had all graduated from Yale, Stanford and Princeton.  

John being on the road suited Rebecca well. She liked her space. She liked to watch her vampire shows on her own, without having to feel guilty.

True Blood was her favorite, John ordered HBO for her. He was a kind man who did things for her without her asking. She always considered herself lucky.

They met in the late 90s through a popular dating site Match.com. Rebecca was a spunky, carefree, sexy, party girl in her mid twenties, she was petite, had large boobs, athletic frame but very curvy. She always grew her hair long, it used to be black, and then she had it colored, so it was a medium brown with blonde highlights. She had been on her own since she was 12, having been sent by her parents from Beijing to study in the bay area. So by the time she reached her mid twenties, she had considered herself a California native, and her friends were mostly Caucasians, all lived in San Francisco at the time.  She never thought too much into it, though from time to time, she would look at those photos she took with her best girlfriends, it’s unmistakable that she was the only Asian in the picture. Rebecca would take a stock of friends, and would often be surprised by how many non-Asian friends she had. She didn’t know if that was intentional or just how her life turned out to be.

Rebecca went to a state school, grade was just above average, but she managed to excel in her career, she did a tour of the Big 4 consulting firms. Before she went to work for an internet start up firm, she was with Deloitte consulting.

John was fresh off the law firm job, and was in transition, he had been divorced for three years. He was just over six feet, dark brown hair, hazel eyes and great deep voice. He was fit, but not as fit as others she’s met in the past. She suspected that he would gain weight, and over the years he did gain weight, just like Rebecca did for a while. They had a courtship that was amicable, just like the marriage. Rebecca had always liked her type to be blond, unpredictable, neurotic, and from the East Coast.  John was not her typical physical type but she loved him, because he was kind, and safe, unlike her other men she dated, he was not volatile, he was stable. Rebecca knew he loved her. They dated for two years and one day, after they had already purchased a home together in the East Bay. they went to the city hall and eloped, much to Rebecca’s friends surprise. But then again, Rebecca never followed any rules.

Rebecca got into Twilight because of her eight-year-old daughter, and she was watching it one night and got hooked.  This was not normal, not for a woman in her late 30s to like such movie. She would tell herself, but she liked how moody the first movie was. It was before it became a huge franchise, it had the low budget feel to it, even the scenes, filmed from Washington State, felt low budget. She liked how Bella’s awkwardness, how she first met Edward, the undying love, literately. Every night, she’d watch the same movie, the very first Twilight series, until half past twelve, and then she’d fall asleep, often before John was in bed.

They had an amicable relationship.   John and Rebecca, or as her eight year would sometimes call, J.J, just like her friend in school. They have been married for 12 years, and have two children. Her daughter Annabelle and their son Andrew. Who was five.

She had watched Twilight movies for at least hundred times. She could not get enough of it, the puppy love, she thought to herself, how romantic, how pure, and she would feel for the characters pain. Then she would fall asleep. Sometimes she masturbated, sometimes not. She had a drawer full of vibrators, nothing kinky, just the typical kind you’d find at the store called Good Vibrations.  It helped her to sleep.  Then she would be waken up by those dreams, often at 4 to 5 AM, and she would feel strangely sad and excited at the same time. She wondered who she was dreaming about, and what it was about.

Around the same time Rebecca was obsessed with her Twilight movies, she was going through a different change of a sort. She had started interviewing for a job in San Francisco, or as the northern Californians would call it, the City. The City, is not THE CITY. To Rebecca, in the States, the only “city” is New York City, but she rarely confronted her friends, who would argue San Francisco reigned supreme.  Lately Rebecca felt a strange pull lately to New York.  The firm she’s interviewing for, was based in New York, midtown Manhattan, it was an investment banking firm. That’s when the dream started.  She blamed on that guy she interviewed with. She met a guy during one of the interview sessions, he was from Boston, and moved to New York, before being sent to San Francisco to run the Compliance department. She always felt a pull for guys who came from Boston and New York. She knew that was one of the main reasons she’d convinced herself to marry John, who had gone to college in Boston, and then lived in New York, before moving back to California, where he grew up. It was important somehow, though it’s been so many years, Rebecca had trouble remembering the exact reasons.  She thought the faceless man must have been this guy she interviewed with. It was the most difficult interview process, which lasted eight months. She felt that she was on a bachelor show, waiting for the rose to be passed to her, competing with many suitors.

In March, after her fifth round of interview, she met this guy, Robert. Robert was of medium height, extremely fit and he had short blond hair, piercing blue eyes. He had a strong Boston accent, he had nothing on his desk but some sports memorabilia, he was a Red Sox fan, of course. Robert was second generation Irish, he had nine sisters. He was one of the middle children. Rebecca learned more about Robert’s personal life during the interview than the actual job, which Robert did not care to talk about. She couldn’t figure out if he already determined that she was not good enough for the job, and therefore was just killing his time with her, or if he was trying to appear to be personable. This is a popularity context. Her headhunter had warned her.  So Rebecca obliged. She had been working for a large tech firm in the upper peninsula and felt that she needed a change. She put on this really friendly face, and chatted away with Robert about Boston and New York. She was surprised by her knowledge of it, she didn’t realize that she knew so much about both cities. After the interview, she sent an email to thank Robert for his time. Within minutes she received a warm rely.  Robert told her how much he enjoyed meeting her and that he was sure her hiring manager, Simon, would be in touch with her. She read the note at least one hundred times. She then googled Robert, and found his Facebook page, and his LinkedIn page as well, she was positively infatuated with Robert. He was the first guy she’s encountered in the last twelve or so years who wrote such a nice, flattering email to her, she thought.

Therefore, she wanted the job more than anything in the world. She dreamed about seeing Robert again, and she fantasized about fucking him, a quick dirty office intrigue.  No one would know, no one would get hurt, but she’d be sexually satisfied. She thought those reoccurring dreams was about Robert.

She was wrong.

Chapter 2 – Memories, Recalled

For Chapter 2, I decided to use the third person to narrate the story. Not sure what would work better for this story but thought to give it a try. As for naming the character, Rebecca is name  of the Hitchcock movie, my favorite movie of all time. Christopher was one of the top names for those who were born in 1965 and was a boy I had a crush on when I was very young. I thought the main character should be in his mid 40s, Rebecca, as we would learn through her flashbacks, would be in her late 30s, approaching 40. I'm quite attached to these names now. The secondary characters, such as Alex was also from some of the popular names I picked out, and since I never dated Alex that I could remember, so it was be a safe bet. I wonder which style you like more?

October 2011

Rebecca had sent a note to Christopher, thanking him for the date the other day. She was thankful in particular that he had paid for their meal and that their reconnection had provided an element of adult conversation, which she found was lacking in her ordinary life.  She also thanked him for giving her some details of their very first encounter some years ago.  It would appear that he had held some memories back, but what he did share was more than she had remembered. She had been on this soul search journey, trying to figure who she really was, and what those missing memories contained. She recently discovered that that there was a patch of memories missing, from the early 90s to mid 2000s, there was a large blank canvas that needed to be filled.  She was subconsciously or consciously trying to find those missing pieces. Christopher was part of the missing link.

She asked if Christopher was interested in going to a museum.  There was a new exhibit, she suggested. She always thought of Christopher a perfect date material to a museum. He seemed to be the sophisticated type. Someone who appreciated finer things in life, someone whom she could hang with platonically - like your best gay friend.  At some point, she thought Christopher was gay, he and his best friend were really a gay couple in disguise, she used to think that way, until a few years ago, when Christopher told her that his best friend had married a girl he met abroad, and moved permanently to Europe to start a life with that girl.

She had some vague memories that some twelve or thirteen years ago, he had taken her to a German restaurant one morning, and then later on they browsed stores in Hays Valley, and he had paid particular interest in some unusual clothes in a boutique store run by a very odd woman. It must had been one of the last dates she had with him, because she seemed to not have any memories of them together after that trip.  She also couldn’t remember if they fucked the night before, it almost seemed like an isolated event, one required no fucking to accomplish, it could really just be a simple breakfast date, one could have with any of their friends, without any romantic undertone. In her vague memory, it was the only thread she had of Christopher: they went to breakfast, they browsed the hip independent boutique stores in Hayes Valley, and they parted ways afterwards, and it marked an end of their non-relationship. It would seemed to her that was the full extent of her known memories of him, even though she instinctively knew that there were more, she couldn’t recall what they actually were.

What stroke Rebecca funny about the way she felt about Christopher was how little she remembered about him.  He was not someone who she dwelled on. He was someone who had come and gone from her life, and there was no sorrow, there was mild infatuation at best, at the beginning, and it just fizzled all away, but there were no heart wrenching tears shed for him.  He was a non-entity, that seemed to occupy her mind for a little while, and then he just disappeared, yet stayed in contact with her in a trivial, non-intrusive way over the years, and he would pop back up once in a while. He was one of those people that she liked, but no in a way that would result in any major heartbreak. She never quite understood him. And sometimes those are the kind of people that end up in your life the longest. The sense of mystery, the sense of non-emotional attachment would make that person to be a non-threat to her. She liked that aspect of relationship. One required little maintenance. Yet, there was something distinctively different about this last meeting, the meeting at the wine bar and the restaurant after.

Rebecca thought about it some more. At the time, she was in the final stage of saying goodbye to her last relationship: the relationship that did result in some major heartache, tears and worst of all, guilt. The guilt was the worst kind, worsened yet by the fact that he made a big deal out it, by scolding her for telling the affair to their mutual friend, whom he respected a lot, he later accused of her. “Why would you tell her? The only friend we share together?” But it was not the real reason.

He had assumed, through talking to one of his other liaisons, that she had slept with a man whom she’s friends with, during the course of her marriage. He had assumed, based on her own words, that he was the first one she had stepped out of her marriage for. He was angry, because he said that she was a habitual liar. She was heartbroken, because she had never slept with this man, whom she’s been friends with for a number of years. She knew that he was wrong but she couldn’t convince him.  He was angry, this man whom she barely knew but decided to venture out of her marriage to be with.

He was a strange person, someone whom she grew very fond of over a period of two months, someone whom she thought that she had developed emotional attachment for, someone whom she knew so little of. He had that pull on her; in part because he had invested tremendous amount of time with her.

She had chosen to leave him the last time around, after a short, non-memorable fling that required very little attention on her end, apparently not to him. He had saved all of their communications, emails and instant messages, and shared them with her; she was amazed by his collection and a little worried about his intensity.

He often accused of her lying about not remembering anything. He thought that she was faking the forgetfulness. Part of their communication consisted of him trying to figure out what she did remember, and she tried to convince him that she didn’t lie, she simply had no memory of these events. To declare that she was indeed trying, she manufactured memories of them being together, mostly through her dreams, where she saw some of the events that took place back in 1999, it played in her brain as flashbacks. She recalled those days where she ran his doorbell, and she recalled how they fucked. But the memories were so vague, she couldn’t remember how much of it was her dreams, and how much of it was real. She told him so, but she knew it was problematic to him, this man named Alex. Alex didn’t like to be forgotten. He didn’t believe her.

“But I didn’t remember, I still don’t. How can I prove to you? I have no memories of certain years. ”  Rebecca would tell Alex.

Alex would then scoff and claim that she lied. This really bizarre dynamic dominated their relationship, mostly through emails and instant messengers, sometimes with phone calls.  They practically talked in one shape or form every day.  Occasionally she felt that he loved her, in an odd way he was nurturing, and involved in her life. He cared about her deeply on some level, everything she said he hang on, and later would repeat it. He said that he remembered everything they did together and said to each other. No man had ever made her feel this way.

She in turn shared tremendous amount of information about herself with Alex, she had never shared this amount of information with anyone, not with her husband, not with her ex boyfriends, not ever. Alex lived in Denver, for the lack of physical presence, he made up by offering his time, patience and consult.  No one ever spent anytime like Alex did on her, not during the last twelve years of marriage, and not before.  But it came with a price. He became so completely involved in her life, that he expected her to behave certain way, not this wild card he discovered her to be.

For the two months that they communicated, he had asked her to develop emotional attachment with him. In a twisted, manipulative way he was successful in doing so, in a way that he failed to do to her twelve some odd years ago, when they had briefly dated. He had finally convinced her that she had feelings for him, yet, she felt guilty, it was the first time she stepped out of her marriage, and she was worried that she had messed this up, royally. She was becoming so emotionally obsessed with Alex, she thought that she’d leave her family, her children, her husband for this man whom she had not seen for the last twelve years.

Initially, all she ever wanted, was to get to know someone, outside of her main married relationship, she was looking for a fling, a pure physical thing, which Alex was not willing to give unless she was willing to develop some sort of emotional attachment to him. Alex would test her all the time. He called her on some evenings, he withdrew on others when she needed him. Then he would apologize. He recounted his days with her, he told her that he wished that she were there, he wrote to her and said he missed her. When he travelled, which he did most of the time, he told her where he was, each time. He was going to Boston, Seattle and Chicago a lot. He would write to her and let her know what he did in each city. It would appear that Alex had invested a large chunk of his time on her. He talked to her throughout the day, he exchanged lengthy emails with her, and he said that he wanted to see her. They arranged to meet up in the Bay Area. She had never felt this giddy in her life. When they finally met up at a French restaurant in Rockridge, Oakland, a wealthy part of the suburb of San Francisco, she was practically on cloud nine.

He was charming, gorgeous, and fit; he was affectionate; he kissed her across the table and touched her knees under the table.  They shared cheese courses, he knew what she loved to order by then, and he ordered them in French, he spoke fluent French and Spanish, and he was suave. He treated her like this fragile flower, and she liked it. They made love, twice, that evening, and he dropped her back at her house afterwards. 

They saw each other physically only twice, once in the city, once in the east bay. Like all fairy tales, it ended just as soon as she was feeling comfortable around this strange man. He was becoming angry, over an alleged affair she was carrying simultaneous with another man.

Later on, Rebecca would come to realize that he had perhaps gotten so emotionally involved with her as well, and the thought of her being with another man, not her husband, but some other man was proven too much for Alex to handle. Alex wanted to be the only person she was with. She felt strangely dissolved when he accused of her lying, again, this time not for the lack of her memory with him twelve years ago, but for lying to him about her alleged affair with this other man. The ending was a train wreck, which sent her straight to a shrink.  He later made concession. He realized that he had made a mistake, a mistake that was driven by his wild imagination and false information, but he refused to apologize, he invited her to see him in Denver, instead, but she refused.  She ended it, she waned the relationship like she waned her son from nursing, suddenly, violently, with much dissolve and discipline, she walked away just like she did twelve years ago.

Enter Christopher. At first she couldn’t help but thinking how similar these two individuals were, yet so different. One she purposely disappeared from, another she kept in touch with, purposely, also. Both were of the same age, gone to the same graduate school, shared similar same career path, they both owned sail boats and sailed, both traveled a ton. But as she also knew, they were quite different.  She liked Christopher; they were never really not friends, per se. She liked Christopher; she did not avoid him as she did with Alex.

It would not be fair to compare the two individuals.  Rebecca told herself. 

On their second date, Christopher picked her up in front of her office. 

They drove to the museum. It would have been a very brisk walk but he picked her up instead, which was quite nice and unexpected. The exhibit was unusual; and he had carried his camera, and took photos of the displays. On Thursdays, the museum opened late. There were not a lot of visitors that evening. They walked the near vacant halls, sometimes together, other times he would wander off on his own, or she would. But then he would always find her. She was wearing this pair of 6-inch spiky heels that made incredibly loud noise on the wooden floor, she felt embarrassed. She caught him stealing glances at her shoes, and she apologized, but Christopher said that he liked them. “They looked good on you,” he’d say. He was fascinated, a bit turned on, she felt. The way he looked at her shoes was a little perverse, she had that strange suspicion that he was mentally undressing her, down to nothingness but her necklace and shoes.  She was aroused by the thought of him doing that. She had strange thoughts of him as well. It was a familiar yet distant memory, one she couldn’t clearly recall. Yet part of her suspected that something in the past did happen, something outside of the box, she combed her scattered memory, and it came up empty.

She had a suspicion that no matter what she was going to do with Christopher, it was not the usual garden-variety type of things; she had dark thoughts of what she was capable of, yet she had no memories of her past. The last fifteen years or so consistent of blank canvas, it was as if someone had done a lobotomy on her. Her last known memory of the 1990s ended in 1994 or so, and all she could remember clearly was the moment when her first daughter was born, in 2004. The memories between 2004 and 2011 were somewhat filtered as well. For instance, she had forgotten the babymoon she took with her husband to Mauritius, or the trip she took with him again to Oregon, where they spent time wine tasting, after her first child was born. She did remember her trips to Paris and London, and the family vacations they took in Hawaii and Baja Mexico.  

Something awakened, at that moment when she caught Christopher glancing at her shoes. Quite different from the first time when she stepped outside of her marriage to be with that Alex who demanded emotional connection. This was more instinctual, physical, a feeling that she had not felt for sometime, but she had a sense that she was going to rediscover that feeling, and through which, she would discover who she really was, for the first time in the last fifteen or so years, she had felt that she was about to be awoken. From what she couldn’t tell. But she welcomed this journey. She later confined to her shrink that she did not feel the guilt with Christopher. She was quite resolved with her extra marital relationship with Christopher.  It was not forced upon her as Alex did. She glided into this one with ease, with tenacity, with a sense of relief that she was meant to be with Christopher. At a deep level she had sensed that he was never really far removed from her life, and they’ve done some extraordinary things, what, she would not know at the time.

They would later on go to dinner. He had used his Android phone to find a restaurant to go to near the museum, it was a bit of a dive, he felt strangely comfortable, and she did not.  And she caught herself talking too much. Later on, as Rebecca discovered her journal from years back, she would recall that she did repeat herself a bit. She was telling Christopher too much the first time they were together. He was the silent type and she was the chatty type.  He complimented her excessively, just like the first time they went out over many years ago. She took it all in, and pretended that it did not have any effect on her.

“Those dynamics we develop with people do not change.” Rebecca would tell herself later on as she sat on the couch, talking to her shrink about Christopher, and Alex “We, don’t change.”

The restaurant served southern food. At some point, she knew the dinner portion of the date was ending, because he stopped listening to her and started looking for the waitress.

“We should get the check.” He told her.

She was disappointed; she had wanted to spend more time with him.

“I should take you home.”  He said.

“OK.” Rebecca acknowledged.

The BART was near the restaurant, she said, “You can drop me off there, at the nearest BART station.” 

“I can also just drive you home,” was his reply. 

Rebecca was shocked by the generosity.  She knew how far he had to go to drive her back. She thanked Christopher and was led to his car.  When the door was shut, he leaned over and kissed her unexpectedly.  She responded by kissing him back. No electricity.  No shivering sensation. Just a gentle touch that solidified the intention of the night. He liked her. He kissed her.  He wanted her.

As they drove through the Bay Bridge, he played Jamaican music in his car, it had evoked memories of her, memories of her going to Jamaica, in the early 90s, and how she had a conversation with Christopher about it, at the time, in the mid to late 90s, few had gone to Jamaica from San Francisco. She had asked Christopher to see if he remembered the conversation, about Jamaica, about Hedonism II, which was a resort that he went, shortly after she had gone, a clothes optional resort, where she had witnessed some major S&M action going on there, where she had thought that it aroused her, in an way that she didn’t think it would.  Christopher said that he couldn’t remember that particular conversation. Rebecca was pleased that she had at least one piece of memory to offer, to share with Christopher, that he had himself forgotten.

As they turned onto another freeway now heading south on 880, Christopher asked Rebecca to see if she was interested in seeing his boat, the boat that was docked in Marina. She said “Why Not?”

She could swear that she saw a flicker of light through Christopher’s eyes. There was an air of intensity, unexplainable, this was going to be a turning event, she thought to herself.