28 Shades of Indecisive; #27

I noticed him across the dim lit room. It was that hour when the party gets to a lull and everyone’s settled into their little corners for the long haul. The hour your eye starts roving; scanning each face in the room to try and guess what they are in for. I’d agreed to accompany my friends to this house party as I had no better plans that Saturday night.

He had an acute and intelligent face, only outshone by his megawatt smile; and when I looked up to check him out again, he noticed me. Cue shy smile and look away. What else does one do in these scenarios? Keep staring? Wave? Both would arguably be considered too aggressive.
So I kept to my drink, pretended to listen to the conversation around me, all the time wondering if he would come to me. Surely the shy smile had effectively conveyed the “come hither” morse code.

With a friend in tow, Megawatt eventually sauntered over a few hours later. His name wasn’t as impressive as his smile. So we’ll stick to the name Megawatt. His friend Bob, a burly fellow, was quite talkative, obscene and occasionally; a smug, admiring imbecility breathed from his nose and lips. He was the kind of man who exhausted you just by listening to him as conversation drifted around.

Magawatt worked with a telecom company I can’t be bothered to remember. Must have been one of those start-ups. The girls dropped off one after the other, the last one leaving with Bob and soon it was just Megawatt and I. Knees brushed against each other, little conservative touches here and there, it was really cozy. He was quite interesting and we discovered we had quite a lot in common. The hour grew late and soon we had to leave. I feigned frustration as none of my friends were anywhere to be seen. I’d texted them to leave without me.

He offered me a ride home; I expected nothing less. When we got home, he walked me to the door. We’d exchanged numbers earlier and before he left, he pulled me in for a bear hug; kissing my forehead and unwittingly unleashing a delicious throng of sensations within me. I was sold. I didn’t see him again for a while but we spoke occasionally on phone and chatted incessantly. His job required him to travel quite frequently and between our busy schedules, meeting up was almost impossible. So I was particularly excited when he invited me to his house a few months later. I was curious to see if the throng he’d ignited a while ago still burned.

It was a lovely Saturday afternoon when he picked me up; with beautiful sunny skies, the kind that inspire poetry. He seemed to have filled out more. His tight tshirt strained against his broad chest and chiseled arms; his jeans blue with promise. There was never a lull in the conversation; every gesture and glance seemed to be building up to a certain cresendo.
He lived in a quiet suburb with a neat row of apartment blocks. His apartment was on the second floor; we took the stairs, fingers interlaced.
But nothing could have prepared me for the gory sight that hit me the second I walked through the door.

The migraine-inducing wallpaper defiling his living room had a reddish houndstooth pattern that swirled creepily over the walls and ceiling. It seemed to give the whole room a feeling of impending despair. I swallowed and hoped it wasn’t trying to tell me something; possibly that I’d bitten off a little more than I could chew. I summoned my inner Zen and tried to calm down. He’d set up a little display of liquor and snacks, and we settled in to watch the lineup of movies he’d picked up. I tried not to drink too much, my imagination was in overdrive. It was getting dark midway into the second movie; I’d settled into the nook of his arm, all fear and foreboding long forgotten. Megawatt’s hand snaked up my neck and drew me in for a kiss. His supple lips drew in mine, pulling me astride him. He not only reignited the throngs of sensation, he set me on fire. He lifted me and made way to his bedroom, laying me gently on the bed. As he pulled away to take off his tshirt, I glanced around. Besides the eyesore houndstooth wallpaper that stretched to this room as well, the second thing that caught my eye was the bed. The four wooden posters around it were all embrowned and slightly mossed with age. It looked like it had been handed down to the first born sons of his lineage for generations. I winced when it creaked in protest at our combined weight.

Before my mind could register that, Megawatt moved to turn off the light, throwing the room into semi darkness. Streaks of light from the setting sun played across the ceiling, conjuring up scenes of incredible beauty and despair in my head. I’d never had sex in the dark. I liked to go into such situations fully aware of what stood before me; I was helpless against the thousand unutterable doubts that bore irresistibly over my thoughts.
He peeled off my clothes with utmost care, it was borderline surgical. Everything about his touch seemed choreographed. When I tried to touch him, he’d push my hands away. He kissed, licked, sucked and cajoled every sensation out of my body until I was spent but still he did not get inside me. With an energy borne out of frustration, I reached for his willy.

There it lay between his legs and mine; limp. Flaccid like a fish out of water.
I held on to it, massaged and stroked with tragic futility.

“I think I’m distracted,” he said after a few moments.

I’d never heard that one before. So novel was that excuse, that I couldn’t think of an appropriate response. I got up and gathered my clothes, silently dressing up in the now pitch black room. Covering up his limp biscuit, he followed me saying we should talk about it; but there was nothing I could contribute to such a conversation.

I asked him to take me home. An air of deep and irredeemable gloom hung over and pervaded all through the journey back home. When I got out of the car, I heard him say, “I’m sorry” with an air of affected civility before he drove off.
He called me a few days later asking if we could start over but I simply couldn’t. I wasn’t looking for a relationship with him so it was not a priority to psych- evaluate what could possibly distract a man who’s having sex with me.

I told him I was starting a job in a different town and I simply didn’t have the time. We haven’t spoken since. I should have listened to that wallpaper; turns out walls speak as well.

Written by Morticia; A pseudonym chosen by a wimpy friend who couldn’t let me post these chronicles under her true identity; for obvious reasons, I guess. Read #28 here



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