“We’re all a little weird. And
life is weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible
with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying
weirdness, and call it love.” - Dr.Seuss
Voilà, my baby here we are
again. Every time we get together, the rest of the world fades into
black and white.
Your long, naturally dark hair cascades
down your delicate shoulders and mysterious chests like waterfalls
hitting half-submerged boulders; your grinning eyes sparkle with a
mischievousness that reminds me of how you caught my attention. And
you have your soft, tasty lips I can kiss, lick and bite all day
every day, all night every night. When I am not kissing, licking or
biting them, your lips often blossom into a smile that angels will
envy, flaunting your teeth that outshine pearls.
You start giggling - Oh my God, oh my
God, oh my fucking God! The sexy giggles that you constantly burst
into are so intoxicating I need no wine. You giggle when we are
brushing teeth together, looking into the mirror we are kind of cute;
you giggle at my lamest attempt at hilarity, rescuing my pride in no
time like G.I.Joes saving the world; you giggle, my dear, when I
press my mouth against your cheek and chant your name, my man man
baby, in a childlike high-pitched voice after you do the same to me.
And by the way, can that be our little love ritual? Every time you
giggle, my heartbeat accelerates a little; every time you giggle, I
feel it down there a little; every time you giggle, baby, I feel the
four-letter clichéd word that starts with L.
Then you start talking. You say the
craziest shit that makes me, a self-proclaimed bad boy, blush with
shame. Deny it all you want but, you do have a dirty mind. But no
worries though. Through your free flowing naughtiness I see a brave,
unfettered soul, and your dirty jokes convince me that you may be the
name of the Tsim Sha Tsui mall where we watched Life of Pi,
the One.
I try to tear down your clothes and
unbuckle your bra, not necessarily in that order, amid all your
apparent objection. I have not mastered the fine art of undoing your
bra with one hand yet. In fact I have not mastered the fine art of
undoing your bra with both hands yet. And your token resistance only
serves to fuel my primal desires. Yes baby, the more you resist me,
the more I want you.
I want your body and I want your soul,
but I wonder if I deserve them. Years of romantic frustrations almost
convince me of the depressing belief that I am not worthy of love,
and confirm my worst fear that my genes will be weeded out by natural
selection. Then you show up out of the most mundane place – a
convenient store in the subway. I talk, you smile, I ask for your
number, you give it to me, and we are in bed. I saw, I came, I
conquered.
Despite all my insecurities and
clumsiness I manage to get you topless. Alas, the ampleness of your
chests pleasantly surprised me! I rejoice at the thought that the
most pleasing secret of yours is safely kept in your daily apparels,
and only I, your boyfriend, get to relish it at night. I briefly
sniff your bra with my eyes closed and fling it away and attack what
truly matters. The word horndog flashes through my mind. In no time
my mouth is full of you. My tongue to your chests is what Alice to
her Wonderland.
Trust is a recurring theme of our
fledgling relationship. You say trust is the foundation of all human
relationships, and I agree. It's not that I don't trust you. It's my
inferiority complex that sometimes gets in the way.
When your fingertips electrify me by
their gentle touch of the tip of my erect, unyielding manhood, for
the very first time, I moan with pleasure. And you show talent for
fellatio. I flip you over and sink into you like quicksand.
Immediately I lost control of my body the same way I can't control my
feelings. Or I am in control but just don't seem to get you there.
Either way inferiority overwhelms me. I
just can't believe you are true because you are too good to be. Your
love confuses me, but your tears ache my heart more. Nevertheless
through all my mood swings and immaturities you are still by my side.
We have sex, strawberries and green
tea, laughs and tears, and more sex. You are my morphine, killing my
pain and becoming my worst addiction; you are my sole source of
intimacy, and my greatest motivation for living; you are my guardian
angel sent by God, protecting, comforting and guiding me in the ugly
cruel world.
I fear no fears as long as my baby
loves me.
No comments:
Post a Comment