Maybe it’s more than just our commonalities, maybe it’s more than just the intensity and fulfilling nature of our sexual interaction. Maybe there’s more to this Mr Right For Me business, than I initially thought.
YMK, and I are experiencing what I would call an affinity for each other. We both talk up big about maintaining our emotional distance from each other, but it seems to me, every time one of us makes such an impetuous declaration, we somehow draw closer together, either through pure attraction or through external circumstances.
I am caught up. I am feeling things, and now I’m not telling myself it’s too much, I’m just wondering why I’m being so prudent in the face of it.
Two Saturday nights ago, YMK and myself went to a fete called Frozen, held down in Pier 1, in Chaguaramas. It was to be my first fete since Cooler Fete on Carnival Friday, and we had been building up to it for weeks.
The Padawan, SD1 and the regular crew were supposed to go with us, but in the end, it turned out being exclusively YMK’s friends and associates there that night. I knew one guy, but the only woman I knew, and only in passing was this chick C, who was one third of a little FWB threesome YMK was involved in some months back (before our thing started). She is small and attractive, not quite pretty, and YMK says our skin both have a luminous quality, but you know, I’m not getting into all that. The other third of that threesome, who’s also a C, lived next door to me in San Juan, and I knew both women without knowing one way or the other what was happening. I think I’ll call the threesome configuration C&C Music Factory.
When he told me about his threesome activities I was shocked! Maybe because I’d never had a lover be so completely open about his sexual history the way YMK has been with me. He’s told me quite a few of his sexual adventures, and he’s very open about his sexuality and his ‘pussy problem’. So all along, I’ve been maintaining as realistic a picture of what’s happened and going on. Also, he hasn’t spared me details or couched the truth for me, he’s told me up front what’s he’s been up to.
The threesome thing kind of threw me temporarily, because you know I’m fairly vanilla when it comes to my sexual preferences. I like my ass smacked a little when I’m coming, and I’m still waiting for a man to tie me up, but you know I’ve neither done anything like extraneous partners casual or otherwise.
Understand, back when he told me I wasn’t jealous. I was shocked, but you know he explained to me: He and one of the C’s had grown up together (the neighbour); the other C and he had been friends for a long time; you know, he was being passed between them for a while, until one night the three of them were drunk after a fete, and well both wanted some of YMK, and one thing led to another. I can’t get vex with him over that. What’s more, that thing with them wasn’t emotional but more physical release and kink attraction than anything else. I understand that certainly on an intellectual level.
At the time, as he was relating it, he kind of said as much as he did it for the freak-factor, he also said after the first few times, he felt uncomfortable. One of the C’s was ‘too much into it’, he said, so much so, the other C noticed as well. As convoluted as that particular story gets, the end result was that the C&C Music Factory died a natural death, and a couple months later, things between myself and him had already begun to develop.
Whatever it was, I understand his part in it, and shocked or not, it was a part of his past. Besides, I believe him when he says he hasn’t been with anyone else sexually since we hooked up, and especially so since the demise of his relationship with his now ex-girlfriend.
Except, I wasn’t expecting to party with one of the C’s at Frozen.
When they all got there, YMK, C (Nos), C (of C&C fame) and her cousin T, you know, I take everything in stride. I didn’t bat an eyelid. While I was getting ready, YMK kind of hovered over me. He’d go outside in the yard and talk to the others but mostly he hovered over me. As usual our conversation were just running, running, running and he stole pinches on my nipples and at my poonkie through my capri jeans.
I heard C in the backyard laughing at something, and well I can’t help it! I admit it! I am a female, and I’m becoming possesive where YMK is concerned. Before I knew what I was saying or doing, out of my mouth popped, “Is C better in bed than I am?”
You could see him literally go “Urk!” in his head, his eyes slid to the left as he began to search for a way to answer.
“I don’t want to compare you two, and I don’t know if I should answer you.”
I said nothing.
“Okay. You’re different.”
It was no answer, and I continued to stand there, lips pursed, my moue in effect, a trifle annoyed.
“I’ll tell you what, both of allyuh cunt could take real licks.”
I looked at him, and cut my eye.
“Oh gorm gyul, don’t vex. You know, that was a part of something else, and well since you, I haven’t had sex with another woman.”
That softened me up a little. “You had sex with your ex.”
“That was my ex and how long ago was that?”
“I don’t know why, but a part of me just wants you to be a virgin,” I fretted.
To that he laughed and laughed. I couldn’t help smiling myself. A part of me knew I was being ridiculous.
“Don’t we all want a virgin? Hmmm… I was fortunate enough to find a virgin once, but I lost her.”
I walked off and went into the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. He followed me.
“But look at what I got instead,” he said softly, reaching out to tuck a lock behind my ear.
I let the matter drop.
We went to the fete, and well YMK proceeded to get shit faced. I mean, by three o’clock he was almost falling down drunk. Not only that, although he did wine on me, he wined on C as well, and on more than one occasion, I felt like I could have been any girl there.
At one point, I caught him watching the ass of a statuesque model looking woman in the fete, and when he turned back to me, he caught my eye and said, “Don’t worry baby, you look better.” In my head, I’m going, ‘Right, nice save bitch. I know I look better.’
Later on, at the stage where he was on his way to drunkenness, and I was ‘tight’ as they say and he was coercing me to do something or the other, and protested, “Why do you always do that?” a few seconds, he bent and kissed my cheek and then whispered “I love you anyway.”
I don’t know if I should panic at this point, because this is now the second time he’s told me that, except the first time he took it back, and that time he was drunk. There on the dance floor at Pier 1, with the Frozen fete raging all around us, and not a little bit of alcohol racing through both our systems, I was disinclined to take it too seriously, but you know, it’s becoming clear to me, he has more than just passing feelings for me.
I don’t know how long I can go without giving voice to my own feelings that are now going beyond what I had originally bargained for when getting involved with the erstwhile Young Mr K.
I must be crazy, it’s not like he hasn’t been telling me he’s willing to walk away from his life, and follow me to England. Whatever, there’s this completely soft and open part of me where he has taken up residence.
—–
At Frozen, after he’d drunk way too man rum and cokes, he said to me softly, “I have to sit down somewhere.”
Feeling quite tipsy myself, I agreed and we walked over to a bench and he threw himself into it. I sat next to him, and he put his head on my shoulder and ‘capped out’ as they say around these parts. After a while, don’t know how long, I was tight like I mentioned before, he pops up.
“I have to throw up.”
“Well just hold your head over the bench a hurl into the bush behind you. I got up and helped him turn, keeping a spiky tree’s needles off his head, and well my boy hurled with gusto. I dodged splashes.
I reached for his washrag and wiped down his head and the back of his neck. He hurled again, and then I sat back down, he curled up to my side, and knocked out again.
I took a nap. Both of us, like two old people in the fete, propped up on one another on a bench, just blepped on each other.
I got a second wind though. I eased myself up and from under YMK, and propped him gently onto the back of the bench, and then went to dance a little more. As I walked away from him, this guy grabbed my arm and announced, “I want to dance with you.”
“God luck with that,” I whispered to myself.
I pulled my hand away and went looking for Nos, C and the other two chicks we were liming with (I don’t know the other girl’s names, Tammy was one I think,) and began to dance by myself.
Soon it seemed, this guy grabbed me from behind and stuck on. He wined on me, and held me firm. (For the uninitiated, this is part and parcel of a Caribbean fete…. even the most simple, if you’re cute and ya wining down the place, strange men and the ones you know, tend not to leave you alone.)
In no time at all, my hand-grabbing friend had jammed in front and suddenly I became a manwhich. What’s worse, the guy in front had a little chubby and he was pressing it into my stomach. :mentalblech:
When the song was over, I pushed them both off and went back to sit down with YMK. As soon as I settled next to him, he curled into me again.
At about three thirty, he said he wanted to lie down, so I put his arm over my shoulder and we walked (slowly) to the car, me bracing him so he wouldn’t slip down and sprawl on the ground. Once we had made our way to the car, and after I opened it, he threw himself across the back seat.
“I’m hungry!” he said.
“What do you want to eat?” I asked.
“Burger.”
So off I went, stood in line for a half an hour, and brought the burger back, which he said he couldn’t eat once I had sat back down in the car.
“Can I sleep on you?”
“Sure.”
So he curled up in my lap and went to sleep, the burger behind us on the seat, waiting until he got around to it. I put my head back, and fell asleep again too.
Eventually, the others came out of Pier 1 and after a certain amount of assing around, got into the two cars, and we made it back to my house. As I got up, easing YMK off my lap, the last thing I whispered to him was “Call me when you wake up.”
He grunted in the affirmative, and I told everyone good night, and went into the house, and fell asleep almost right away.
The next day, around about lunch time, my cell phone rang.
“Hey baby.”
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Who is this?”
“K!”
“You don’t sound like you baby. You all right?”
“You know where I woke up this morning?”
“Tell me.”
“At 9.30am in the back seat of C’s car, in her driveway.”
I stiffened a little. What do you mean C’s driveway? But I said nothing.
“I crawled inside and collapsed on her couch, and I just woke up again.”
“How do you feel, you threw up a bit last night.”
“I did? You know I blacked out, I don’t remember anything that happened.”
“So you don’t remember wining on C?”
“I wined on C?”
“Yes indeed you did. I could have been any girl in the fete last night.”
I proceeded to tell him in as much detail as I could, everything that happened. He says he remembers nothing.
Then, “You can take my shit,” with a little note of incredulity in his voice.
Inside I answered, “At what cost though?”
Truth was, the whole scene the night before didn’t bother me. It was mildly frustrating at one point, but nowhere near upsetting. In fact, I was just moved by tender feelings most of the time. Even while I watched him dance on C, and T and a couple of other girls, I didn’t take it personally. I was only slightly irked and it was quickly and easily suppressed. Later I was curious that jealousy didn’t descend as it can and usually does with me. Can’t help it you know? Mine!
Except, that night, it didn’t bother me; at least not in a problematic way. It just rolled off of me and back into the way of things, I didn’t take it personally and it didn’t stop me from taking care of him, when he needed someone to do that.
What’s more, he may not have remembered anything that night but you know, he did call me when he woke up.
—–
Last week was a torturous. After our little quickie standing up in the bathroom of my empty and echoing now ex-apartment in San Juan, we didn’t see each other for days. It’s the longest I think we’ve gone without seeing each other, since the night we met six months ago.
Last Thursday, Trinidad celebrated Corpus Christi and well as it was a holiday, my boy came down to spend the night with me.
We cuddled and kissed for a long while, just happy to be around each other.
Why is it that he can say things and I don’t react?
“I don’t want you to fall in love with me,” he blurted out.
“What does that mean?” I asked, more than a little stung.
“I just care so much about you, and I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to do anything to screw up what we have. You know, I bad. I’m bad.”
“You’re pushing me away,” I replied.
“No. No I’m not.”
“So what do you call that? It’s a classic case! Men always do that when they feel more than they want to. Push what they want the most away, so it doesn’t get under their skin. There’s no way to be with someone and avoid hurting them.” I replied.
He buried his face in my neck, and kissed me there. I held him and told him not to be scared, that I was scared too. Then we were quiet for a while.
Then the conversation kicked right back up again, at least until we started to kiss.
Aren’t you all bored with my tales of sexual adventure, winsomeness and naughtiness? No?
It was pent up feelings of missing, of nights of horniness and well on the other side of it, he was crowing, because after three hours of non-stop lovemaking, for the first time in our relationship, he got me to stop for five minutes. He winded me.
I lay there bomb blasted, shattered and cum happy, just breathing; my mouth slack, my muscles like water.
Five minutes later, “Baby?” Followed by gentle kisses, licks and nips.
“Are you tired? Are you sleeping?”
I shook my head.
“Hmmmmm?”
“No,” I croaked.
“Because,” he pressed his erection into my buttocks, “I still ain’t break yet.”
My pussy clenched and I rolled over towards him, he slipped his tongue into my mouth, and his fingers found my nipples again.
He tried to pull me over him, “Fuck me.”
I resisted, I was too tired to move, but still wanted him inside me.
“Fuck me, please.”
I made a protesting sound, and pulled him over me. He relented, and he gave us both what we wanted, anyway, anywhere, anytime it seems.
Our post-coital conversation spent an inordinate amount of time around his declaration that his next goal is to wear me out completely. He said he knows he can do it. He will rest up for a week, do nothing extraneous or exhausting, and he will accomplish this someday. He wants to give it to me so good, I go right to sleep and want nothing more.
I laugh at that. (I mean, all I could do is laugh, right?)
——–
The next morning, a public holiday (God Bless Trinidad & Tobago, surely no other nation takes public holidays as seriously, and enjoys so many of them) with no work to run off to, and a week’s fast over, we lay in bed laughing and talking.
As all our conversations in bed seem to lead to, or away from, we were ready for more physical activities in very little time.
This time, he said “I had to beg you to get on top last night, and you still wouldn’t do it.”
“You don’t have to beg me now, I’m ready.”
“So fuck me then.”
So I did. More than once, he likes it when I am on top; I can tell by the way he holds my ass and he gasps, sighs.
After I asked him, “Do you like the way I ride?”
It was his turn to nod his head.
After he left that Thursday afternoon, my room seemed emptier, conversations seemed thinner and it felt as though something went East with him.
—
Two days later, while we spoke on the phone, he told me that K (the chick who went with us up Grand Rivere) told him I was the best thing that ever happened to him.
I think he’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time; a reward for something good I did and say what, he may be a bad boy, but I’m a bad girl so doesn’t that kind of cancel all that out?
I mean, his resolve to follow me to England isn’t wavering, in fact it seems to be getting stronger.
I keep telling myself that I am not in love, but I do not know how long that is really going to last. I don’t know how long I can go on holding back, holding back. I’ve been telling myself I won’t let it come down until I meet him in Heathrow; when he tells me he loves me in these unguarded moments, even when he took it back and fuelled by alcohol, my heart jumps, but I don’t cave in. I’m being so cautious with the feelings I admit to, and although those feelings swim in diaphanous, amorphous internal atmospheres, I just can’t put form to them yet.
SD1 has been teasing me unmercifully for weeks. She’s quite convinced I am in love, and I keep denying it. Mostly because I’m not sure what I’m feeling right now, I’m confused and terrified.
I’ve never passed this way before, but I am lingering to see, aching and full of possibilities, tremulous with anticipation. Something familiar approaches.
Is it a Lion that matches my Lioness?
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