by Karen Botha
Elliott
I thought women were complicated. Turns out guys are just as bad, if not worse. You expect their simplicity to make life easier. That situations will be simpler to read.
But no.
It seems people are just people and their gender makes no difference to their complexities.
That’s all fine. Except I don’t understand.
This is just a house, a few ancient stones piled on top of another in such a way that the end result is elegant. I’ve done the same with the interior. Arranged things which match so the space is functional as well as charming and comfortable.
So, what’s the big deal with his stuff?
He tried explaining. “It’s part of who I am,” he said.
What does that mean? How can possessions be a piece of your life? I understand we need them to make life easier, but why does he need old things when we already have better quality?
I asked that and he almost bit my head off. The phone vibrated with the venom in his voice as he delivered at full volume the opinion that his pieces carry memories, “It’s not just about their daily function, Elliott! These possessions are full of memories.”
Nope, I still don’t get it, even though he's still delivering his side of our growing argument at maximum capacity.
It’s gone past the point of whether his possessions match my gorgeous home now. I’m not a complete dick. I can see this is important to him so even though I don’t understand, I’ve said, I’m happy for him to come back with all his shitty bits in tow.
But, that’s not good enough. He needs me to comprehend. “You can’t just say that and expect everything to be OK, Elliott.”
I’m not sure what to do.
I can’t make myself fathom the unfathomable. It’s like understanding algebra. I don’t get it, and probably never will. I can feel how a car runs on the tracks. I can suggest adjustments to the set-up based on experience. But ask me to put that information into an equation and it’s not happening. That’s why I have engineers.
I muse the point. I guess that’s what counselors are, the engineers of relationships.
Hell, we’re not going for counseling before he’s even moved in properly. That is not a good sign.
And in that moment, the gravity of the situation hits me. If we can’t manage the simple process of officially sharing our home then are we really meant to be together?
My head is going to explode. I should be relaxing on vacation, but the tension in my temples is worse than it was at the end of the season.
But I don’t want to give up. Not because I don’t want to be beaten. This isn’t about winning and it is certainly not about losing. It’s about sorting out an unfathomable mess.
Words are just churning and we’re not getting anywhere. I need to adopt a different tact
I pick up my phone and text Kyle. It’s much safer than calling at the moment. “Be here on Friday at 10am. We’ll speak properly then.”
That gives me five days.
Elliott
The thing about having money is that it speaks. It takes only a call or two to make the necessary arrangements. In just a few hours, I’ve managed to clear out our bedroom and closet space and walls are already being removed to make way for a new master suite. The spare bedroom and my closet space will transform into a huge walk-in-wardrobe with floor to ceiling storage of every kind. I’m also going to steal part of that to create two individual toilets. I’m converting the rest into a shower room, complete with side-by-side shower stalls.
I can’t believe I’ve never done this before. This house is huge. It doesn’t need so many bedrooms. The space is way more functional laid out like this.
And Kyle will love it. My beautiful, sensitive, Kyle.
I last about two hours before it’s time for me to vacate. The dust is everywhere already and as much as I close doors between the rooms which are unaffected, it somehow manages to seep under. I shove old sheets under the doors but all that does is mean that moving between rooms becomes tiresome.
It’s not like I can really become engrossed in anything, I can’t hear myself think, let alone hear music or the TV. I try working out, but I fear that the ceiling may cave in on me and I struggle to focus because I’m now busy developing an exit strategy should the worst actually happen.
Instead, I shove on my outdoor running shoes and go for a run around the grounds. I pass the place where we had the picnic with his parents and then when I end up at the far end of the lake, memories flood back from our races. I vividly remember that unusual feeling of wanting to win, but not really minding if he does because I’m just happy to be with him. He’s the only person who has ever made me feel like that. Even with Noah, it was different. I wanted to beat him more than anyone else.
I’m not in competition with Kyle.
I carry on jogging, my breath coming in shorter bursts as my speed increases.
Is this what he is talking about? Is this outdoor space my version of his possessions? A stimulus that carries me back to a place in history. A trigger that keeps those memories which I hold dear, fresh.
Maybe I’m starting to see where he’s coming from.
But then a niggle of evil creeps up my throat, causing me to clench my teeth.
My happy memories are all about him. He has reminders of other people and he’s bringing them into our life. The possessions I have are purchased because an interior designer told me that they are what I should have. She did a good job. The place looks fabulous, but is this why it’s never felt like a home?
Do I not have these special items because I’m constantly on the road, because I’m accustomed to living out of hotels and an RV?
I’m back at the other side of the lake, back to where the paths split and now merge but I’m left with an unsettling realization which has my neck locked stiff. For all my success, I’ve missed a very important piece of life.
Kyle
When I got the text I was inclined to tell him to go to hell. But, this is typical Elliott. He must have a plan and the idea that he’s at least trying to improve our situation lifts my mood. I’m less listless and more impatient. Five days is a long time to wait with bated breath to learn whether the man you love has evolved enough to be where you need him to be to meet your needs and develop his own.
At least I have the mental capacity to do something to fill my time now.
I hop on the motorbike that Elliott bought for me with such aplomb. The machine we toured America with together. How can he not understand that possessions are filled with memories?
Donning my leathers that match his, and the top of the range helmet he purchased because he understands the importance of being well protected in an accident, I rev the throttle. The engine growls and the power forces the machine to buck between my legs, a satisfying show of force as I lift up both feet allowing the momentum to take hold.
I don’t know where I’m riding. It’s just good to be out in the fresh air. Instinctively, I head to the country lanes, to a space where I can ride free, away from congestion and where the bike will flourish on open roads and nip around blind bends.
The sunlight is low, and the temperature is lower. The biting wind eats through my leathers, through my skin, and chills my bones. I’m alive.
I have choices and Elliott is making his as well. Even if it doesn’t work out between us, I have a future in much the same manner as this road ahead. It has curves and some kinks are sharper than the others, but if I really want to make my way to the destination of my choosing, I just need to keep going.
My knee scrapes the tarmac as I disregard the speed limit and open the throttle until the bike tilts, leaning into the corner. The sun glints off my visor blinding me, but my hands are full. I’m unable to avoid the glare by tilting it up, so instead dip my head, focusing on the path I'm taking while controlling the monster growling between my thighs.
I hear it before I see the semi-truck hurtling toward me. I’ve veered from my side of the singl
e carriage way and it’s only then that I realize the vibration I’m feeling from the tarmac is only partly from the motorcycle. The other half of the substantial instability is from the Wagon now sounding its horn as it lunges past.
The weight of it rattles my balance. My pupils dilate. The air balloons in the neck of my jacket. While the cold air chills my skin, it's clammy under my leathers. I smell the musty padding of my helmet and hear my rapid breathing pushing reserves to every one of my alerted senses.
As soon as I’m round the bend, I straighten my motorcycle. And slow.
My heart feeds on the adrenaline that kept my attention fixated on survival. With danger out of the way, my thoughts instantly snap back to Elliott. Is this how he feels every time he races?
I have my destination in sight as I glide toward it, one fucking chilling loop of the road at a time.
Kyle
When I arrive at Elliott’s there’s a commotion. Vans are parked on the gravel, there’s banging and crashing and workmen. Lots of workmen.
I pull my bike up next to a Toyota Estate I don’t recognize and head inside.
For some reason, confusion about what’s going on prevents me from announcing my arrival, so rather than shouting ‘hello’ as I normally would as I enter, I simply step over the threshold and stare.
The place is a mess.
A thick layer of grime covers every available surface despite the plastic sheathing which I walk head first into as I exit the kitchen. The almighty crashing is coming from upstairs, and I can hear Elliott chatting in softer tones in between crashes.
A choke catches in my throat as the dust settles. I cough but he doesn’t notice me among the kerfuffle and continues speaking.
I follow his voice, glancing to the left as I reach the top of the stairs. I’ve worked out what he’s doing and with expectation held in my bated breath, I push my negative feelings to one side. He’s trying. We may have work to do on his understanding, but he is certainly trying. That is in no doubt. And if we look at where we were one week ago, then his progress is massive. We have a chance.
I find him in the small bedroom toward the back of the house. He doesn’t see me when I first poke my head around the corner of the door. Rather, he carries on discussing the pros and cons of whether he needs to keep his horse riding paraphernalia.
“I can’t really ride much at the moment because if I get injured I can’t drive. It’s a clause in my contract. I'm not allowed to ski either.” He points toward another batch of bulky equipment in black zippered bags.
“My suggestion if this isn’t something you use would be to get rid of it and use the space for something more valuable to your current circumstances.” The woman is average looking. Average height, average brown hair cropped in to her neck at the back with an average looking face devoid of make-up. She’s dressed in practical jeans and polo top.
She’s also kneeling in front of a huge pile of Elliott’s crap.
As Elliott nods, he turns his head. It’s only the slightest of movements but it’s enough for him to catch me out of the corner of his eye. My heart floods at the defiance of love. When it is true, it never ceases to stop searching for what is right, no matter what we try to throw in its way. I most make a movement because his head swivels back, his eyes bulging as they take me in.
The reunion should be more awkward, but I can’t stop the grin from splitting my face. My eyes glisten with the effort he’s going to. He reads the joy radiating from my every pore and his cautious glaze melts. Without thinking, our bodies seal together and we kiss. There’s no doubt it’s going to happen. Our mouths meet, our lips part and our tongues intertwine in less than a second. Our hands grab behind the other, pulling each other closer. The pressure between our mouths rises as our teeth graze and our lips widen allowing our tongues to delve deeper.
The woman clears her throat behind Elliott’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Should I leave?” She pushes her long fringe behind her ear displaying crimson cheeks.
I’m stiff and grip El to me as we twist at our waists until the throbbing calms and we can once again part.
“I’m sorry.” Elliott’s fair skin tone matches the same crimson as his helper. “This is Janice. She’s helping me get rid of some things that I no longer need so that I can create more of a shared space for us.”
The woman smiles, but her eyes are still focused on the carpet.
“Hi. I’m sorry to interrupt,” I stammer through hot breath. This pulsing in my crotch is not subsiding.
We stand, clutching each other, a silence hanging awkwardly in the air the only sound being her stockinged feet shuffling over the padded flooring.
Eventually Elliott replies. “Sure, that would be great. I’ll be down in a moment.”
The woman nods. She knows this will take more than a moment.
Elliott
“I told you to meet me on Friday. It’s barely Wednesday?” I’m chastising him between nips of my lips against his. “What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t wait until Friday. I knew if you wanted to meet me at a specific date and time you were planning a surprise. I just didn’t know what.” He smells of Kyle. That musky, manly scent mixed with fresh air. He's unfiltered by branded chemicals, mixed with the leather of gear he’s wearing for protection. It’s my favorite smell in the entire universe right now.
I suck air in through my nostrils and bury my forehead against his shoulder. “Do you like my offering?” I’m assuming his response means he does, but I still can’t stop the cringe as his chest raises before he replies.
“Yeah, I love it. And I’m going to love being involved in the project now, too.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“You know, surprises are sometimes just another form of control. I’m happy with things as they panned out.”
My heart snaps. A sudden stoppage of just one heartbeat as the implication behind his words registers. I didn’t mean this to be about control, I wanted to give him the complete package.
Thoughts spiral around my brain. Kyle takes my face in both his large palms and tilts it until our eyes meet. “I love that you're prepared to do all of this for me. And that you need everything to be perfect before you make your big reveal. But now we can do this together. Create our shared life as one unit.”
I close my eyes as his face draws nearer. The energy between us shifts, but instead of his lips meeting mine again, he drops them to my neck. He grazes his tongue over my three-day-old stubble which I’ve let grow over the lifetime we’ve been apart. Shivers run from his touch, sparking my nerves where they’d laid dormant. My groin is instantly alive again as he fingers my dusty t-shirt, raising it above my head and discarding it on the to-keep pile.
My skin tingles and my nipples peak as he pushes me back against the closet, his pressure riding against my groin. The zipper of my old pants cuts into my naked penis and the zing makes me feel alive. I unhook the clasp and spring free as the jeans, which are now a size too big, pool around my ankles.
He looks up at me, desire flooding the dark pools of his eyes. I meet his gaze with my own adoration. “I love you Kyle. Don’t leave again, even if I am being a prick. It’s not that I don’t want to understand.”
“Shut up, El. We’ll talk it through later. But right now, I just need you.”
His tongue flicks over his lips and before I know it I’m groaning as his hot mouth encases me and I throb within the deep recess of his mouth. “I’ve missed you,” I muster between my jagged breathing. My hips buck forwards as electricity takes control of my groin. The sharp corner of the wardrobe kneads my spine as I work, bruising each synapse.
A surge builds and I gasp, scrunching my eyes. For a fleeting second, I consider the workmen next door. And the plain woman diligently sorting through my china downstairs. The chance of being caught by so many people in close proximity only increases my excitement. Kyle is sucking me off while they’re all only a few meters away.
Think of
something else. Anything.
But it’s too late. My toes curl as the force of Kyle's touch proves too much for my desperate body. My calves cramp, my quads tense, and “Oh.” I slide down his throat. He opens, takes me completely, and I explode. He swallows again as heat surges through my chest, lifting my heart rate, and sending my head into space.
My hand clamps against the wall, the other I realize is buried in Kyle’s hair, forcing me deeper inside him, making us as near to one as we can ever be.
The spinning in my head slows as I release my grip on him.
He chokes. “That was intense,” he says as he rubs his watering eyes.
“I’m sorry. I missed you.” I bend to meet him on the floor, meeting his mouth and opening it once again so I can taste myself on him. Inside him.
The salty, flavor on his tongue is evidence of my love running through him. It’s enough for me to lie him on the ground and unzip his leathers.
Elliott
I have missed him so much. He’s only been gone a matter of days, we’ve been apart for way longer due to work, but the not knowing whether we’ll make it has made them an extended torture.
It’s cold outside now and he has jeans on under his leather bike gear and peeling the layers from his body takes time I can’t spare. I’m ready to see the whole of the man I love, and my fingers fumble like an inexperienced teenager with zips and clasps, Velcro, and buckles.
He lifts his hips and I slide everything down in one easy movement. Until I reach his boots. I curse the safety I had in mind when I bought the ones which span up to two thirds of his shins.