Eulogy - For Plan B

Dear Plan B (that's how I always referred you behind your back):

You know how you have a letter that has been post stamped, ready to go but never get mailed because you simply want to wait for the right moment? The precise moment when the mailman is going to come to the front door, and you’d hand deliver it to the mailman, in fear that it’d get lost and the intended recipient claims that he has never received such a letter?

This is such letter. Except I won’t post stamp it, even though by now I know your street address by heart. It took a good four months to memorize the street number, and another two months to remember the building’s characteristic, and now approaching the seventh month, tomorrow to be exact, I will no longer be seeing you under the same light.

This is the goodbye I have been waiting to write.

I have been wanting to say goodbye for some time.  But you know that already.  I know it was the end when I saw you had updated your FB profile picture. You last updated it when I just saw you for the first time again. I suspect every few months you change your profile picture, signaling a new beginning, a new girl. I am the old. I knew that instinctively. I am really good with such things.  But this is not about your new beginning. This is about me, the end of me.

The end of me started since the moment I felt that I loved you. I knew that precise moment when I felt it. I felt it when you handed me that book, that really moving, loving book. The goodbye you had given me. The Savannah trip, where I should be thinking about my children, I thought of you.

I knew that I was falling in love.

In November, someone who was close to me asked me, “Do you love him?” I said, “No.” Definitively.  I pursued you fearlessly, because I didn’t love you. I lusted you.

In April, the same person asked me, “Do you love him?” I looked at her, dumbfounded. Puzzled by that question, I couldn’t answer it, because I knew I didn’t want to acknowledge the answer.

It was nice to pinpoint that precise moment of falling in love. One may not often remember such moment.

It then took another month for me to reply to you when you said “I love you,” by saying “I love you.” I cried that night. It was the last time I saw you. I will see you, I am certain of it, but it will not be in the same light again.

I cried because I knew it was the end.

You don’t love someone you can’t love.

You don’t love someone you ought not to love.

You don’t love someone who does not know what love is, or know how to show it.

You don’t love someone who says “I love you” and then drops off the face of the earth.

You don’t love someone who says “I’ll call you” but never does.

You don’t love someone who says “come to see my new office” but when you ask when he can’t tell you when but certainly not that week  when you know he’s in town.

You don’t love someone who has never spent a day with you, who has broken numerous promises, who has never introduced you to his friends, who knows nothing about you, or cares to know the near-death experience you had since you met him, or the recent medical procedure you undertook.

I cried because I knew love was not a rational thing. I cried because I thought I belonged somewhere. I cried because I knew it was the beginning of an end. 


The moment I knew that I loved you, the moment I responded your "I love you" with "I love you", I knew it was the end.

But instead, I wrote to you, declared how I wanted to try something different, to see you more, to talk to you on the phone, to go away. It was met with dead silence.

I suspected that you deleted the emails. All the emails I ever sent. I suspected I was one of the many admirers of yours.

I suspected you fed me lies after lies. I suspected that when you said, “ I’m not seeing anyone, I am yours.” You said it to everyone else you were involved with.

I suspected that you thought this was a great situation, as long as I was kept under the dark shadow.

I suspected that our dynamics worked as long as you could control me. I was the submissive one in the bedroom. So you had control over me outside of the bedroom too. I suspected that you had wanted me when you wanted me, but not when I wanted you.

I suspected that my love for you was misdirected. I suspected that in your heart, you just said whatever I wanted to hear at the time, to create a mood so that you could have a good fuck.

I suspected that when you moved closer to me, you stepped forward one step and then took two steps backwards.

I was euphoric when the declaration of “I love you’s” were exchanged. But I also knew, instinctively, it was your way to say goodbye.

You said goodbye to me by saying “I love you”, when you were fucking me.

I knew that I enjoyed being mistreated, I wanted to feel emotionally drained, devastated, I wanted to be disrespected, I wanted to be even, abused, in the bedroom. I needed that, because I was abused as a child. I found perversion exciting. I found degradation and humiliation the only way to cope with the other me.

You gave me what I needed. You knew how to tie me up, fuck me in a BDSM style.  I let you control me. You knew my moods. You knew how I enjoyed begging to be fucked, begging to be seen. You knew how I had no self-respect, self discipline or self control. You took great pride in observing it, preserving it.

You knew how to activate me, then file me away when you were tired of me. I enjoyed being regarded as an object, being treated like a whore. I had that dual personality. I confessed to you that I wanted to be submissive to you. I wrote such things to you because I felt that was how our dynamics worked. I trusted you. It was the insecure, self destruct me speaking. I was filled with gusto because I had finally let my guard down. I trusted you blindly. You had no respect for me. You never did. Not this version of me.

I had seen signs from the very beginning but I ignored it. I ignored it because I knew that I needed to get to the edge of the cliff, to free-fall, to crash and burn, before I could bounce back.

I am free falling now.

Will you please not contact me, will you please not visit my FaceBook page, will you please exit left soundlessly?

That me, the one who fell in love, not with the real you but the imaginary you (Imaginary You: the one who loved me back, the one who cared, the one who called often, the one who never cancelled on dates, the one who believed that one day we’d be together like I did), was rapidly evaporating among the misty morning fog.

That free-falling me, would hit the bottom of the cliff any moment now, she’d die of agony, sadness, desperation, and above it all, a broken heart. 

May she rest in peace.

The next time you see me, I will be the person you knew for the last fourteen fifteen years: brave, happy, satisfied with my life, a loving wife and a caring mother, a successful career woman, emotionless, and forgetful. I will already have forgotten your street address, where you have been working, or what you and that other me have ever done. I shall tell you the trips I took with my family, the trips I will be making, and I'll ask you what you’d be up to, how's your dating life, and what is new. We will be two old, platonic friends catching up.

I would like that, to catch up, to be platonic, to pretend nothing ever happened. I am a good actress, because I am truly sincere and convincing. I would like to be your friend, as I have always been.

If you were to ask this version of me, which you won't, but if you did, "Did you ever love me?" I would give you a blank stare, like when you told me that you and I took a trip from Boston to New York. I didn't remember that trip, but I remembered the morning when you left me from that hotel, in Salt Lake City, how you told me "I'll see you tomorrow when you are back to San Francisco." You never did see me that day. We never saw each other under the same light, until last autumn.

Just like that Boston to New York trip, which I had no recollection of, I will not remember this burial, this eulogy, and the lovely, crackling bones that left at the bottom basin of the cliff.  

Reflection - Excerpt from the other site

I start to think about all the good moments we shared together. This is the kind of things you start to do when you are about to or have ended things. I think about all the wonderful moments we shared together, the kisses, the tenderness, the affection, the declaration. I realized that I could really love him. I had loved him. And how funny he would be willing to let it all go. All he did was nothing. By doing absolutely nothing.

Now I feel resolved and I am ready to move on.

But I don't think he wants to move on. He wants me to be kept in his little box, compartment to be exact. He wants to pull me out, push the button and activate me. I don't like to be activated.  I need to feel desired to be activated. He no longer desired me. If he did still, I no longer feel it. All he did was nothing.

Nothing is in fact, everything, in this case.

I am happy. He had brought something out of me, I felt, for a brief moment, loved, cared, and adored. I am happy those feelings existed for me,  I felt something, and that was enough. Prior to this, I thought those emotions were just fairy tales, folklore, and rumors. Now I knew it existed, and even someone like me could feel it.

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Love is a fickle. Love is fleeting us.

Love is an emotion for fools. I was a fool. I no longer am.

Words, Emotions, Definitions, Dreams, Feelings

Tonight I was on the train and since I had a terribly long day I was drifting to sleep. I had this weird dream and I almost missed my stop. It was actually two dreams but somehow got intertwined.

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You and I have agreed to go on a date this Friday. I had said that I wanted it to be a proper date. But I thought why a proper date, why can't we make it an adventure of a sort?  I am not a proper date kind of gal. I wanted adventure.

So these were my two dreams tonight on the train.

I had texted you and asked you to meet me at a strip club in the red light district. I was already waiting for you in a private enclosed booth. A fit, lean, scantly clad stripper was giving me a lap dance when you showed up. I asked her to give you a lap dance. I tipped her extra so that she was doing something more than the routine to you. Then to me. I could tell that you were turned on. We left the club. It was dark and it was in an ally where you had asked me to go down on you. There was no one watching and it was quiet. The street and the ally were deserted. I gave you head until you came in my mouth. I liked swallowing. You tasted good, as always.
 
Then the scene had changed.

I had texted you and said that "let's play!" I was already waiting for you at the bar at the Westin St. Francis hotel. It was a crowded bar at the ground level. I was in a very short dress, with no stockings and no underwear. I was in a pair of red velvet shoes. I was having a cocktail when you walked towards me. I nodded politely. I didn't seem to recognize you. You said that you were out of town. You made up a name. I said "Fantastic, what do you do for a living?"

You said that you consulted and you were here for a meeting. You asked me what was my deal. I said that you ought to find out. We chatted, I made up stories about me. You made up stories about you. You told me that you had a flight to catch and you had only two hours. I asked you if you would like to fuck. You said only if I would be willing to be tied up, you might want to slap me around, take a piss on me, and give anal sex a go. I said that these were extraordinary demands, and for right price, I would do anything you wanted me to do and be whomever you wanted me to be. 

You said "So you are a prostitute". I said "I am a professional."  You said "prove it". I took your hand and hailed a cab with you. The rest of the two hours I spent proving my point...

I wanted a good adventure with you. Setting the complex emotional stuff aside (which apparently I was no expert,) I wanted to have uncomplicated fun with you. I felt that I had come into your life to give you a release valve, or perhaps we were each others' release valves. I didn't really want to cause complication to your life, I didn't need to be maintained in a way that gives you extra work, I didn't want to be a cliche girlfriend, I wanted to look forward to some fun and exciting adventures ahead, with you. I wanted to keep you until you would tell me that you were sick and tired of me.

I sometimes confused love with lust, I thought lust and love were inevitably two peas in the same pod, I sometimes felt that emotional pull towards you, if I know what's good for me, I ought not to feel that way. In fact, was I even entitled to feel this way?

You often observed me from a distance. You often disappeared. I felt watched. Judged. I could always tell when you were upset. I could tell when you wanted to get away. Therefore, I sometimes felt that you were no more than a figment of my imagination. Perhaps you really didn't exist. I had dreamed every bit of you up. This was just some version of cosmic joke, an alternate universe. Perhaps I had created you with my imagination, my pen and paper.  I had lost my mind. You didn't exist in this world. You never did. I had invented you so that I can have a sense of adventure.  So I had a playmate to play with. Who were you anyway?  Was I the insane one? Or was I the sane one but living in an insane, imaginary world where you had come alive in my head?

But I made a promise to you nonetheless. You, the imaginary you, who I was convinced did exist.

Here was what I had promised: "I will do my best to stop acting emotional, clingy, demanding, dissatisfied. Emotional attachment is inevitable in any sort of romantic relationship. I have thought that I can separate the two. I cannot. I will therefore accept the fact that I'm attached to you. I will not stop lusting over you. So let me be your toy. I want to embark on these fun adventures with you, or perhaps it's a journey we are already on, in which case, I'd like to continue, please."

I had never felt this sexually free with anyone else. I remembered the first night on the boat, you asked me to be your sex slave. I desired nothing more. I came into your life, to please you.

Therefore, this was what I was, am and will be to you.

Your.Kept.Secret.Your.Sex.Slave.Your.Whore.Your.Lover.
Your.Playmate.Your.Sexual.Partner.Your.Confidant.Your.Toy.

I Am Yours, period.

On that sticky floor where you last entered me, you had said in the heat of passion that you loved you and you'd take care of me. I recalled returning the "I love you". But here was thing. I placed less emphasis on the "I love you" as I did with "I'll take care of you."  I thought that I needed to step away when you and I exchanged "I love yous" in the heat of passion. But I didn't need to. I was OK with that word after all, I was not OK with your promise of "I'll take care of you."

I was angry with it because you knew that was exactly what I wanted - I would like to be taken care, by you. I was tired being the one in charge. You couldn't possibly just say that, and then disappear. I was left to ponder, did I dream that one up too, along with that imaginary you? How could you say that you'd take care of me, and then leave me, and never to be heard again?

I instinctively felt that I belonged with you. That was how I truly felt. I was happy when I was with you. Love, in love, lust, in heat, these were just words, simple, unnecessary words. The emotions were real.

Happiness was real. I was always elated when I was with you.  I knew that you were happy too when you were with me. That was as good of a declaration as any, and it required no definition.

"I love you" described the ordinary emotions ordinary people went through. I didn't want to discount these words. but I had given it some thought. A week long reflection. I now realized that it did not describe how I felt about you adequately.

It was too ordinary, and I preferred extraordinary. So, while I did feel the emotion of Love + Lust,  that ultimate word that came to mind, still, after these many months, was "belong". As in, "I belong to you, I belong with you."I felt at home when I was with you.

Like a boat set to sail and wandered at sea for days, I had found my harbor. Even just for a night. I should dock and rest in the eye of the evening moon light.

You had always been my harbor. Imaginary or not.

I was safe and sound. Like it or not.

Bigger Rock to Hide My Feelings

There is always an aftershock of a sort. My trip had gone well but the aftershock had stunned me. It nearly knocked me out completely, this goes to show you that you don't know when and which part of your past would sneak up on you. 

In 1998, I briefly dated him. I was still seeing my boyfriend back east. In 2012, I am dating him, I am married, I saw my then boyfriend back east.  This was meant to be a rude awakening. When things tumble down just like that, it was a messy situation all over again.

But surprisingly it didn't feel messy. It felt organized, no chaos, no remorse. Just longing. My longing for him.

I think feelings should be outlawed. Someone who knew me more than I know myself once asked me "what are you going to do now? Hide under the rocks all your life?"  He failed to account for the fact that part of the reason that I'm under the rocks is because I am afraid of getting hurt. Like everyone else, like him. I hurt him. He was upset with me. He then hurt me.  And the world goes round and round like nothing has ever happened. We are now back on being "friends". Whatever that means. He won't see me, he won't tell me why. I suspect he thinks that he can't control what he feels about me, conflicted, but still with physical longing. I don't have that for him. I don't feel that way any more. I moved on. 

I moved my feeling elsewhere.  I am still hiding under the rocks.

My issue (well, I have lots of issues, this is just one of them) is that I'm tired of hiding under the rocks. 

I need to snap out of it. I need to find a bigger rock to hide.

Choices we make

I was not really paying attention when I got onto Facebook tonight. the bars on the right streams what people have been listening to on Spotify

I saw that the last song he played on Spotify was "I know you're married but I still love you."

I was certain - that this was a complete coincidence and had absolutely nothing to do with our circumstance.

Yet, I just started crying.

I realized at that moment that I had very intense feelings for him. I felt ridiculous.

The moment of realization came hitting me like a ton of bricks. The fact was - I thought that I could just let this go on, forever, remain status quo, not question how I feel, what he feels and whether we have a go of any sort.

The choices we make in life are not always so simple, so black and white, and each choice we make has a consequence. The consequence is such that I don't believe that this would end well. I think I'm in the process of falling. The process of falling is a dangerous route.

I suspect not enough shrink sessions would help me get through this.

But I know what I didn't know before. You couldn't possibly separate emotional attachment with physical attraction.

At some point, they catch up with one another.

Then you have a choice to make, what do you do? What type of choice one makes has a distinct consequence.

I dare not think about the consequence.

San Francisco Story # 15 - Taking a Break, or Not

Prologue“Baby, for the first time in a long time, I smelled spring the other day: it was a mixture of fresh laundered clothes, with a bit of sunshine, a bit of Angel's Trumpet flower and a bit of rain drop.”

Break? No Break!
“No break. I don’t want break.” You said.

“We already take a lot of break.” You continued.

“You are mine. I don’t want another man in your life.” You told me earlier, when we were fucking. You entered me from behind and kissed my ears, my neck, sending me to a frenzy. Those were the most sensitive parts of my body. I didn’t know how you found them. I never told you. You never explored that part of my body before. You kissed me. You asked me to turn around so that you could plant millions of kisses on my lips.

The Cab Ride
Earlier that evening, I was 20 minute early. “I’m here,” I texted you. I spotted your car, orange, sparkling clean, parked just outside of your apartment.  The cab driver was quite familiar with the route. They might have recognized me. I cabbed to your place often. I had your address finally memorized. I used to have to always look it up. But now I knew where it was, the exact street number to your apartment, which route was the fastest, how to bypass the traffic, the stores I’d pass in North Beach, and the turns they should make. It would take 10 minutes on a good day, 25 on a convention day. The cab always turned right on 3rd.

This cab driver was Chinese. He knew his route well. He turned at the right corners, he didn’t have to go through the infamous route that curved, downward spiral, the tourist route. He knew how to cut across. I tipped 40 percent. He deserved it.

I got out and I saw your shadow, behind the door, waiting for me. I saw you; you didn’t open the door until I arrived. You were inside, waiting for me. Strange. I thought to myself, why not come out and greet me? You seemed always secretive, but then when you opened the door I realized why. You had removed your shoes.

At the bottom of the stairs, I told you, “I was early, I was going to read on my iPhone, a Kindle book, before I ring you.”

“Why?” you asked. I was always awkward at the beginning of our meeting. Six months of dating, I still acted that it was our first meeting, proper, distant, unsure, polite.

I kissed you. Quietly.

“Let’s go upstairs, come on.” You commended. I handed you my gym bag, which contained my suit, change of clothing, a make up kit, a hairbrush, a pair of shoes, and some brushes for applying make up later.

Call Girl
The day before, I asked in my email to you: “Who do you want to see, your call girl, or me?”

You response was, “call girl, please. And no perfume tonight.”

I wore a leopard Bebe mini dress, back exposed, my black one-piece teddy had exposed breast cup, and my stockings were designed to expose my ass. My shoes were black raffled, Promiscuous brand, six inch tall, I had put on heavy eye shadows, glittering black eye shadow, with silver glitters all over, the kind you liked. I wore two strand of necklaces, one had pearls; the other pressed silver. My earrings were large and dangling. My light pink Bebe coat had ruffles on the bottom and it looked more like a dress than a coat. I had my hair styled, so it looked puffy, long, and curly, unlike my prim suited look. I worked in Investment Banking, I wore button-down shirts, Brooks Brothers, Jones New York, Tahari, or Max Mara petite size 2 suits to work, with long hair tied back.  But at that moment, I looked like a call girl, your call girl.

I climbed to the top of the stairs. Your living room looked sparse. You embraced me, kissed me like you always did. “I’m sorry it’s been so long, baby.” You apologized.

You held me so tight, I couldn’t breath. It’s been exactly six months since we started seeing each other, why did it still feel the same, the same out of body experience, the same level of excitement, the same yearning, the same craving as it did when we first re-met up, and a it did when we first dated 14 years ago?

We stood in your living room, my coat off, my bag  on the floor, my dress and shoes on, you grabbed me, held me tight and kissed me. Time stood still.  I wanted to cry. I knew it was different this time. I knew because I wanted to tell you that I wanted a break, a break from us, I wanted to stay away from you, because god forbid, I started to fall, I had not fallen for anyone for over a decade, I hated the butterfly feeling, the feeling of longing, the sadness, the obsession, the incredible confused emotion, the irrational overwhelming feeling that hit me like a ton of bricks. I had no idea it would happen, I had not felt anything remotely similar for over a decade, I was out of practice.

Emotional Declaration
I stood there, letting you kiss me. You professed, out of nowhere, “You know, being with you sometimes overwhelms me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I am not myself, I lose control. I can’t control myself.” You said matter-of-factly.

You continued to hold me. I had never heard you say that before, to me, it was all about the fucking. It was a physical, primal thing that occasionally would result in you murmuring “I’m crazy about you, my love” in the heat of moment, but never before sex, never in this calm, factual matter.

I couldn’t stand it. I felt overwhelmed too. I couldn’t possibly know what was that you felt of me. You told me so many times that you loved “fucking” me, which implied this was just a physical thing. I didn’t know you felt something more too. I thought it was just an illusion, my imagination, me being a woman.

“Come on, let’s go to the back.” You led me to your bedroom. The place I spent many nights, lunch and afternoon since we started seeing each other.

“What’s this room?” I asked as I passed the hallway, your spare bedroom. “Is that your office?” I asked.

“It used to be. Not any more. Go ahead and open it, if you want”. You said.

“No, that’s okay, I’m afraid there is a spider inside.” I was only half joking. I didn’t want to presume that I had any rights to your place. I didn’t want you to think that I was noisy. I was never quite sure what we had was, even this was real or my imagination, what you saw in me, what this was, and whether you had other women besides me.

You took out your Kindle Fire, and started to play music. I was not familiar with the music, it sounded romantic, slow and moody. I had still my dress and shoes on, the six inch heels. You didn’t ask me to take them off so I just wore them in bed. I was quiet. I wondered if a call girl should be making any demands. So I waited, to be asked what to do.

Watching Porn and Having Sex
You took your computer over to the bed, and started to play German porn. Three women, lesbian scenes. You liked lesbian scenes. You told me it was German porn. I liked German porn, its filth, kinkiness, and boundary-less.  You had told me that it would be okay for me to take on a woman lover.

You hiked up my dress, examined my ass with your hand. I couldn't tell if you had unzipped your pants or not. I felt you touching me, your fingers sliding in and out. “Watch the show.” You whispered in my ears.

But you didn't enter me. I waited. My ass slightly arched.  You rubbed your hand on it, I knew what you wanted to do, so I waited, anticipated. And  you slapped me hard. It hurt. I enjoyed it. You palm came down, again, this time on the other cheek. I liked being spanked by you. I liked how hard, and how sore it felt afterwards. Sometimes days. I wiggled my ass in the air, waited for your palm to come down again. And it did, several times. It hurt, but it felt good.

I watched as the women started to fondle one another. I liked watching women. I enjoy their sex scenes more than watching men. I was never quite sure that I was straight. I had been dreaming about eating pussy. I wanted to eat a bare pussy, I want to be making love to a woman. You knew that.

Then you flipped me over.

“Get on all fours.” You ordered me.

I did just that. Then you unzipped your pants. I always loved it when you took your cock out of your pants, while you were still fully dressed so that I could suck on it, the only exposed part.

You knew what I liked. I liked to be submissive, to be told what to do, to please, you.

The BDSM relationship ran at the core of our interaction. I wanted to be yours, your sexual slave, I wanted to please you in whichever way you wanted me to. You tied me up, spanked me hard, pissed on me, fucked me hard, and then you took care of me as if I was the most fragile thing in the world, you held me and fed me and washed me, and you took every opportunity to compliment me. You adored me as if you adored your newest toy. I liked that, I wanted to be your toy, I didn't want to be a lady.

I sucked on you as I was on my all fours, I wanted to use my hand, to gently massage your balls, to run my fingers up and down your cock so I could taste it. You jammed your cock all the way to the deepest part of my throat possible, it almost choked me and I liked it. You wanted me to suck you until it was rock hard, until you couldn’t take it any more. I loved your cock more than anything else in the world, and I couldn’t possibly enjoy anything more than being on my hands and knees and giving you a blowjob. That was always my go-to fantasy. To be on my knees, sucking you off.

Then you turned me over, removed your pants, and finally entered me from behind.

“Watch the show.” You had turned the show back on. The women started to eat each other out as they peed on each other. It turned me on. Watersports always turned me on.

I was still quiet. You were getting worried.

“What’s wrong baby?” You asked. I guess I was often more talkative, more expressive than that.

“Nothing.” I remained quiet. I wanted to figure out when it would be a good time to tell you that I wanted a break from this. A break for us would do us good. Because I started to feel. When I started to feel, I wanted to run away.  I was always good at running. But I had trouble telling you that, because just earlier, you told me that being with me overwhelmed you too. Because you couldn’t control yourself. Because, you too, had feelings.

I watched the porn as you continued to fuck me. You enjoyed fucking me from behind. I loved that position the most, so at some point, I must have let out a moan. I said “Oh baby.” It was the first word you heard of me since we started having sex.

“What’s that baby?” You seemed encouraged.

“Baby….” I whispered.

That simple, singular word, was our go-to word. We had stopped calling each other names, You only called me baby or sweetie. I called you baby. You kissed me all over to reward me for responding to you.

“Turn around.” You asked me, so that my face was then tilted, on the right, so you could reach me with your lips and you kissed me like you’d never kissed me before.

I knew that winter had thawed over, the spring was arriving.

Olfactorily Compatible
“Baby, get up.” You lifted me up and led me to the floor, a large bath towel was on the floor. You slowly let go of me. I fell on the floor, on the towel. I knew what the towel was there for.

I kissed the top of your cock. I sucked on it, I put my head under it, I licked your balls. I waited patiently for you to drizzle. I rubbed my head on it, like a kitten, waiting to be rewarded by her owner.


It started slow, then it became a steady flow.  I put my mouth under the flow, I wanted to taste your pee, I wanted you to pee in my mouth. I drank some and I let it run outside of my mouth. You finally let it go, and my face, my hair and my mouth, filled with your liquid, and it gradually flowed down to my body, my black see-through teddy, and stockings with my ass exposed, completely soaking wet. I loved the sensation of your urine on me, It was always the best part of our recent sexual engagements. I liked it more than you did, if I might say so myself.

I then was laid down on the floor, and you entered me again, my soaking, sticky body pressed against yours, folded in your liquid. I never had tasted anyone’s pee but yours, but like your cum, I enjoy the flavor of it. I knew then why you didn’t care for my perfume, very much like how you liked the way I smelled. I loved the way you tasted. It was just that simple, we were olfactorily compatible.
You were fucking me furiously by that time. “You are beautiful, you are beautiful.” You spoke as you came inside of me.

I let your spent cock rest inside of me, while you collapsed on top of me. I move the inner part of my vagina, contrasting and squeezing your cock, you smiled. I made those subtle movements while you were completely spent, at my mercy.

Shower
“Come on, let’s take a shower.” You lifted me up and took me to the bathroom. You didn’t like bright lights, you kept the lights low. You were peculiar like that. I liked bright lights, you liked dim lights or no lights.  You stepped into the shower, and turned on the shower head that was for me. We had taken showers before and you knew which side I wanted to stand in, just like the bed. I knew which side I slept in.  We had gotten so in sync, it was completely unexpected, yet so natural.

I showered quietly. Occasionally asking for more shampoo and conditioner, as I held my palm out, while you squeezed the bottle, a dollop would show up in the center of my palm. I thanked you and lathered the hair product into my hair.

I remained quiet, waiting for the right opportunity to tell him that perhaps it was time to take a break, from us.

You stopped under the other shower head,  let water run at a much lower temperature. I liked hot water, steaming hot, you liked it cooler. As I let the hot water washing away your smell, and as I cleaned up my wet, lubricated pussy, you had come close to me, held me and started to kiss me. I wrapped my arm instinctively around your neck and returned your kisses. You held me in the shower, kissed me gently, as if you were still asking for forgiveness for not able to see me for three weeks. You knew how much I disliked you changing your schedule the last minute, you knew how much I was disappointed because you cancelled on me the last minute.

You kissed me to make it all okay, it seemed. I let you, still silent.

You finally let me go. You stepped out of the shower, and brought me a fresh dry towel. I dried myself and fetched my clothes in the living room. It was a teal colored off shoulder dress.

“You are one of the lucky ones, you look good without make up.” I heard you in the other room. I dried my hair and showed up in that new dress of mine.

“It felt like a fashion show. You change so much.” You then complimented my dress – “you look like a Greek goddess.” I smiled.

You were always giving wonderful compliments when you were with me. I wondered if this was part of your statement about being “overwhelmed and not yourself.” You became this person who provided compliments to his lover constantly, as if that you had worshiped her; yet, when you were in the bedroom, fucking, you ordered her around like she was your slave.

“I like your wild hair.” You turned your attention to my now birds nest look alike crazy hair. I took out my brush from my gym bag to brush it.

You disappeared into another room to wash the towels, the towels drenched in your liquid.

“We always make a such a mess when we have sex.” You commented on it but did not seem to mind at all at this dull task.

I came into the bathroom, as you were washing the towels. I was still quiet as a mouse. You got up to wrap arms around me. I sought your lips so that I could kiss you. I kissed you gently, I let my body relax, tightly wrapped around you. I was melting but I tried very hard to stay calm.

“You are such a wonderful creature.” You parted your lips from mine, finally let go of me; you turned your back on me as you continued the task of rinsing the towels.

You then took my black teddy and stocking to wash. You offered to wash them. I thought that was so sweet of you.

You were the caretaker I always wanted. I wanted you to take care of me, till the end of day, but that was not something I'd ever say to you.

After Sex
I went back to the bathroom to apply make up, you came to look for me. I walked out of the bathroom, jumped into your bed. I smiled. You came around and said, “Scoot over”.  With that you hoped into bed, and pull me close. I lay my wet-haired head on your chest, you started to massage my head.

I purred like a kitten.

I felt utterly, completely belonged. Making my next comment more different. But I pressed on anyway.

“Do you think we should take a break?”  I asked.

“No, I don’t.” You answered.

“I’m starting to have feelings.” I continued.

“It’s difficult to have feelings and I think a break will solve that problem."

“We are already taking long breaks from each other. We don’t see each other enough as it is.”  You protested. All the while holding me.

“I don’t like the feelings business. Baby. I am scared.” I told you. You listened.

"You can't stop feeling. I feel a lot." You said.

“Should I take on another lover?” I asked.

“No, I want my dick to be the only dick in you.” You answered quickly.

“What if it were a woman?”

“That’s OK. Especially I get to participate. I want to watch you eating a pussy while I fuck you.”

“That sounds lovely. I’d like that.”

“Baby, are you seeing anyone else?” I asked.

“No, just you. I know you think I have another secret life, I don’t. I just have you. And I don’t want any break.”

“What have you told your friends about me?”

“Just this and that, your background.”

“What do they say about me?”

“They are intrigued by you.”

“Is it because I’m married?”

“No, just by you. As for being married, these things happen, right?” You caressed my hair, gently. You were referring to the fact that you were dating a married woman. You weren't phased by it, you were quite accepting of the fact that I was married. You knew that my body and soul, belonged with you.

I became quiet again. The conversation was not going as I had expected.

“If you want to leave me, I want two months warning.” I declared.

“Do you want your severance pay too?” You teased.

“Yes, that too, and two months advance warning.” I insisted.

“Baby, it’ll take you 10 minutes most to find another boyfriend. I will not let you go, first of all. And even if I did, which I won’t, It’ll take me a lot longer. I may never find another person like you.” You meant it when you said that. I felt another tuck in my heart. I was feeling sick. I wanted to find my inhaler in my purse.

This, felt like a declaration of permanency.  A sense of resolution, a sense of commitment, a sense of …love.

“Why would you not want to get married?” I switched topic.

“I just don’t see the point in it.”

“Did you have any childhood trauma?” I asked.

“No I didn’t.”

“Well, I did. That’s why I don’t care for marriage.”

“But I am now married.” I ended on that comment. The reality was that I was having an affair, a six-month long affair. I had no guilt, just incredible longing, longing of you.  That’s the true state of my marriage.

“Look how well that turned out.” You remarked.

I didn’t want to engage in this heart-to-heart conversation any more.

I got on top of you. You flipped me so that you could be on top. I forgot that I was still in this role, the submissive role, and I liked it more when you were on top, in charge anyway. I wanted to be taken care of. I needed your dominance to feel secure and strong, oddly enough. Complete opposite of all my past relationships and my marriage.

“What is that you do?” You asked me.

“Sarbanes-Oxley?”

“No”. I proceeded to tell you what I did for a living.

You were visibly bored but you put on a good show to endure what I had to tell you. You wanted to know me outside of the bedroom. That was new, and that took only six months.

“What is that you do?” I asked of you.

“We build models.” You told me exactly what you told me the last twenty times, the last fourteen years I’ve known you, the only profession you ever held. You used to go to client sites a lot, working for others, then you started working for yourself, you now had a small firm with some number of people working for you. I had seen your office, but not the new one. I just knew that you owned a start up firm, for the last ten years I've known you. Before that, you lived in Europe, and before that, we dated, briefly.

I remembered searching for old emails that we exchanged over the years as I hardly remembered anything between the time we went on the water rafting in the late 90s to now. I remembered then you were never really far away from me. I remembered your writing to me, always inviting me out to do things, coming to your company’s party, always ending your email with the polite “best”, and now we were just naked, exchanging bodily fluid.  The most intimate exchange of all exchanges.

I told you about my upcoming relay race, my recent half marathon and the other races I had signed up to do. I told you about my pending family vacation and then I went quiet.

“So we are not taking any breaks?” I went back to the original topic.

“No.” Your answer was firm and final. In this relationship dynamic, I deferred to you to make decisions.

“OK.”  I retreated.

“I get nervous when I don’t see you for a long time.” I feared. I feared losing you.  That I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know whether I had you or not. If you didn’t know if that some person was yours or not to begin with, how would you then know if you would lose that person?

“I know, baby, I am so sorry for leaving for so long.”  You hugged me so tight. I could tell that you were genuinely sorry, You knew that you hurt me.

“But there was nothing you could have done.”

“No. Nothing would change.” You loved your work. You had other priorities. Priorities that did not include me. I was the after thought. I knew that going in. I knew that I’d never be your top priority, despite the fact you were equally overwhelmed by your emotions. Despite the fact you said that you might not find anyone like me, again, or at least, not for a long time.

Stand-Still or Making Progress
We were at the same stand-still. I felt like crying. I should not be asking anything of you. But feeling was a strange thing, lately the feeling business made me wanting to cry. The last time I felt this way, I got royally screwed up in the head when things ended. It was the last gate before I would show my full vulnerability. It would not end well. Someone would get hurt, someone, could be me.

You drove me back to the train. You had a six am flight to catch.

“If I talked to you on the phone, would it make it better?” You asked me.

I paused for a long time and finally said yes. It was the best you could do, yet I didn’t trust you would do that. You were never a phone person.

“I enjoyed our correspondence when you were on the road last week.”  I told you. It was true. It was the highlight of the day to hear from you.

“What did I say?”

“You said ‘I miss you and I hope to see you soon.’”

“Yes I did say that.” You nodded your head and smiled.

I didn’t realize you were quizzing me. But I remembered everything you ever said.  I was falling for you, and you knew that too. That's why I wanted a break. To stop falling. To stop feeling these overwhelming emotions, to stop feeling that I cared about you, to stop wanting to know what the future held. I should not have such or any expectations. That was what affairs were for, to not think but to do. Smart people knew that. I apparently was not that smart. I lacked foresight. This, was not the outcome I had anticipated six months ago.

“I’m going to drop you off on the right, OK? Do you have something to read?” You asked me.

"Yes I have a few books on my phone’s kindle app.”

“Good. Have a good train ride. Baby.”

I reached back to you, kissed you. Stopped. Kissed you some more.

I always wanted to know when I’d see you again, but it was useless. We had promised that we’d see each other every week, and after the promise was made I didn’t see you for three weeks. I should not ever put any stock in this empty promise again.

Your life was too chaotic for you to manage. Having expectations of you, would only disappoint me, sending me to a frenzy, depression even.

But when you dropped me off at the train that night, I felt infinitely better. I knew that you wanted me. You didn’t want any breaks. You wanted to be with me. You didn’t care about the norm, the rules. You were never the same as others, the others being those who were involved with married people. You accepted me for who I was. You adored me regardless of what.

Your life was as busy as mine, as complicated as mine, and yet you wanted me and I wanted you.

I remembered what I wrote a few weeks ago. I did want to grow old with you. I just didn’t know how. I still had not figured out how. But I wanted to be there, with you, until all of your hair turned gray. Until you started to forget everything. Until your green eyes stopped burning. Until the very end. That, again, I would not ever tell you.

The Non-Ending Ending
You made me feel alive. I had found a place to call home. An emotional home. A sexual liberation that I had been looking for and finally achieved. An obsession that lasted six months and counting. And for the time being, for the very first time ever, I felt, you might feel the same way too.