i don’t remember waking up. there i was in my bathrobe and slip-ons with a glass whose contents i could not quite tell. i figured since am in my bathrobe and behind me is a bed, the room must have a feminine presence. under the linen bedsheets she’s naked i presume. its Monday. don’t i just love these extravagant floor to Ceiling i-can-see-you but you-cant-see-me-windows.
i catch a glimpse of her at the corner of my eye. she asks me to get back to bed saying its too early. i keep silent staring into the nearing dawn hypnotized by the waves crashing rhythm. i hear shuffling as she gets out of bed.everything happens in slow motion.am i high? i take a sip. she rests her head on my back pressing her body on me and takes away the glass. she doesn’t speak and i love the music, the melody is in her movement.
i lean on the wall watching her walk away. i want to follow. as she makes her way back i turn to face the early morning light and its pure delight to watch the pout on her face,” i have to go”.you can almost feel her skin through her linen bed sheet now a flowing robe. there is a fire in your chest and a shortness of breath.
and she derails my train of thought. i act all nonchalant as she makes for my robe, question in her eye,”shall i proceed ?” my robe undone; her eyes alone would make you sin. my heart sings songs i have never known as she slips into my robe. left arm slung around my neck her right hand on my inner thigh slowly probing, then i jump out and she’s upon me.a deer caught in headlights is when she holds your face and drags her leg around you. auto pilot is when she says something nasty jumps and locks you in between her thighs but, we shall overcome. soon enough. “this is not a good idea…!”, is a feeble attempt at protest because you cant speak when your mouth is engaged.
choices. Give in, pull away, push away or run away the consequences are real. you know you will regret whichever choice. you pray hard that its a dream that you will wake from but you are ripping each others clothes off. clothes you never wore, the instinct is primal but is it final ? you remember Jesus. no, he won’t save you. you miss the moments you waited for sunrise by yourself. now, she won’t parade her nakedness as willingly as she did before. it was simpler back then. no strip tease it used to be ,” love your top, could you take that off”. she would look at me funny like she didn’t hear me and would just look back at her. and when she was topless I’d ask her to walk to the coffee table for me. no sudden movements.she would take a pose as i caressed her with my eyes. she’d walk back to me and i would leave my seat to receive her with a drink hot or cold depending on the weather.its then i’d cover her, sit and chat some more. its here that my voice trails off in nostalgia.
you don’t want to listen to the sounds you two are now creating in the groaning and purring, the rocking and groping. you should see your face, all concentration, drive and ambition oblivious to the spoiler alert; ‘wake-up-muttley-you-are-dreaming-again’. “you stopped writing”, she budges in; I’ll caption this. she’s on the receiving end of a cunnilingus of a lifetime. lifetime because the last time you wee both here was at your honey moon. you want to steal a glance to see the product of your efforts; her face contorted in pure ecstasy and watch her squirming in delight. i wont dwell on this.
i wake up from my reverie and there she is ready to ask me what am thinking. you are thinking,” damn your daydreams !”. right? right!
she hands you a cup of coffee,”here darling..”. you twitch at every “darling” “sweetheart” “honey” names. she knows this. you always want to run but her fingers do the walking. she rests her palm on your chest she knows her pages,” i know there’s something on your mind”. i smile drawing the cup to my mouth,”what ?” she asks confused. i know where i want to take this and am thinking of Annie Leibovitz.” let me hold that for you”, i tag lightly at the bed sheet and she looks at me. i lower my voice telling her not to move but she wont let go of the darn covering. would you ?
i let it alone. seven minutes to sunrise i think. i say nothing look at her in the eyes giving indication of wanting to touch her as i watch her response. intentionally i almost touch her then pull back like i have something better to do.” wake up and smell the coffee”, i say and wink at her. i take a sip. look at her. take another sip. she now has that cute anger, arms folded across her chest and her stare presumably intended at burning holes through me. i lean towards her quickly taking in a scent of her and walking away. to find a better view or to lure her my way.
i remember yesterday. dancing in the rain at night as i headed for a cold shower. the background music is the heavenly sounds of the Caribbean island of Jamaica. this cold shower is special; back home, its the cold season and am so free. its so warm here. i say ‘heavenly’ but i have never been there, i guess its the feeling of beauty and peace. she used to take me there i don’t know if she still can. at this thought of her i look her way briefly and i seem not to recognize her. its a trick of the mind. its four minutes to sunrise so i cant explain. questions scroll through my mind. i stare into my cup thinking,” everything is ‘instant’ these days”, and take a final gulp of the coffee.” you’re running away/you’re running away….don’t u know you can’t run away from yourself”, these were Bob Marley lyrics now playing in my head as i sought to ignore the questions. “A relationship is a relationship”, is what i was once told long distance not being a plausible scapegoat . here i was still contemplating murder and trying to convince nobody. i was building my case. the moment you tie the knot, the jury is out and the panel of judges studiously taking notes.
cold kisses. professionally placed on the cheek. and they say passion is a burning flame, i smile to myself and walk into the bathroom. i place the cup on the table in there. i neither know its proper name nor its purpose. i push the door absentmindedly and hang my bathrobe on the hook affixed to it. i hope she’ll read the invitation to the shower that’s why i don’t lock up after myself. i hear the sofa by the full length bathroom mirror creak.
she sits out of my direct line of sight looking at herself in the mirror. she may be asking herself her own set of questions too; “am i still beautiful ?”, “does he love me anymore ?”, “does he even care ?”. its in the way she inspects her body. tilting her head back touching her neck and then with her fingers brushing off imaginary dirt off her cleavage making her breasts move about. with her other hand she holds the bed sheet and then again with the teasing. she’s knows am watching.
like all good things the end is in sight. i strayed from the path and the moral of this story should be “do not let the course of events take the direction of your erection”.
you do realise that when you marry you tie the knot with the family. you are tied to her prejudice, her temperament, her childhood, her father issues and her soap opera expectations you will eventually most assuredly crush. this she will never forgive. the fairy tale princess and the happily ever after. am sorry and here’s why
for better or for worse. not for worst ! you always try and end it, officially that is. she will blame it on herself you know this but at least she wont excuse her conscience in the classic ” i do it for ‘the’ kids” case. sixteen years but we never got to that. we were in pursuit of ‘the dream’ and the perfect future for ‘our’ kids. she will say ” it didn’t just work out… but we remain good friends”. ” we wanted different things” means i was not supportive and understanding. she will say i got up and abandoned her.
well, i waited for sunrise… and that is now ruined.
joy comes in the morning i heard it sung one time at a couples’ church service. sunrise is a promise of new beginnings… hope.
i’ll rush out the bath, run through the morning rituals. give her a kiss on the cheek, “have a good day”. D-day. i have an appointment with my lawyers. divorce lawyers, must i say it out loud ?
her breathings changed it must be something she’s doing to herself. if she offers that we partake of the conjugal, then what ? somebody help me for my heart beat moved up a notch. no guessing where she’s at .no escaping this. i bite my lip.
its a moral question or is it ? …seven minutes to sunrise
for Lydia Adongo