I walked into the kitchen and I heard the music behind me. The sound was sexy. The thoughts that were running through my mind were sexy too. And dangerous. But then again, looking at him was dangerous. To kiss him was something I knew I should forbid myself from doing. I wasn't sure I would trust myself if I did. And yet, I really didn't yearn for much more than his kiss, yet I felt starved for some form of contact with him. But I wouldn't let him know it. He would have to make the first move. I had done everything to make the evening possible.
"How about a little bet?" I asked, as I tried to keep the excitement in the air.
"Sure, are you ready to lose?" he responded, without even knowing what he was about to bet.
"Have you ever played backgammon?" I asked.
"The answer is yes, and now you're in trouble. And what was it that you wanted to bet?" he questioned.
"Well, let's see what happens after the first game," I laughed, coyly backing down.
I walked to the shelf and pulled out the game and came back to reality very quickly. The backgammon board had been wedged on the shelf between books and the stereo speaker. When I pulled out the board, the books fell over, and knocked the speaker off of the shelf. I heard a crashing sound and I looked at the floor and saw that something white had broken. There were a million little pieces of what appeared to be ceramic on the floor all around my feet. The speaker had fallen but was still in one piece and the brown wood held together despite it. I looked up at the shelf to see what was missing and then, with regret, I knew. The beautiful Asian woman that my Grandmother had finished several years before she had died.
"Oh," I sighed mournfully, when I realized the damage.
Tristan got up from the couch and came to my side immediately.
"My Grandmother made this a few years ago," I whispered, and as I looked at him I knew he understood.
He bent down to pick up the statue's ceramic head and her hat that had been slightly chipped off. The precious gold rim around her hat had been severed and it appeared irreparable.
"Let's see if we can put this back together, it looks like there are enough whole pieces."
So together, we gathered the many shattered fragments and I wondered again if I was being punished. But I felt the need to rebuild it in privacy where I could wallow in my sorrow alone.
"I'll work on it tomorrow, I really just want to take my time and make sure that I do it right. But thank you for helping," I said to him.
The pain stayed with me over the loss of the statue and its changed form since my Grandmother had created it. As I carried the grief deep within my soul, I was aware of something else that had taken place. Tristan and I had shared something together and I pushed myself to move on that night.
We had played some backgammon and got creative with the stakes, but just played for fun despite it.
Hours passed by but conversation continued to flow. Everything seemed to matter to him. Tristan found importance in all of my words and I felt energized as I shared it with him. He was inquisitive. He encouraged me to unpeel every layer of story and explain it in detail to him. He inquired about words and their meaning in English and how they were distinct from others. To him, speaking was an art. He was expressive. He created pictures in my mind when he spoke. In some ways I could tell he also viewed it as a science. He wanted to know tenses and my use of vocabulary and asked to be corrected when he made mistakes. There were native born Americans that spoke incorrectly yet he strived to articulate well. He was unique. It was important to him to expand his knowledge and I was impressed with his need to do so. There was something deep within him that gave him an ability, an intensity that allowed him to touch me. He touched me within, in a special way, as Tristan had an irrefutable, burning passion for life.
Listening to him was easy for me as I drank in all that he said. He was direct, yet thorough, as I felt his stories, and they penetrated me as if they were my own. We talked about war, Europe, and sports, family, jobs and dreams. We talked about hardships, relationships and friends, and that's when I told him about Jordan. He refrained from commenting about Jordan and me, which was probably appropriate to do. He was a good listener but he also had a lot to share. I was pleasantly surprised at his ability to express himself, even on issues that were sad. We discussed almost everything with ease and comfort, understanding, honesty, and trust. And still, we always managed to laugh.
"You know Tris, it is strange, but I still can't believe I've known you for less than two weeks," I finally verbalized.
"Yes, I know," he said. "It's really unbelie-e-evable," as he elongated the third syllable in the word. I realized then that it was his "e's" he accentuated and I adored watching his mouth as he did so.
I could have imagined what time it was, and for that reason I didn't look at the clock. For me it was late, I felt it in my eyes, and for him the hour was ludicrous. But I didn't want him to go. At that moment, I wanted the night to last forever.
Our energy was beginning to dwindle slowly and it was clear that we were fighting the need to sleep. We were still on the couch, facing each other, our bodies sat one foot apart. My knees were curled up in front of me and his rested sideways on the couch. Within a few minutes time, we had shifted positions and were sitting in exactly the same manner. Our elbows were leaning on the back of the couch, our hands grasping the back of our own necks. Our heads were tilted over with our ears to our elbows, as we used our own arms as a headrest. Suddenly, the conversation went silent. We were looking at each other. It grew into a stare. Neither of us moved. No one said a word. We both sat entranced in our own peaceful state and still, we remained separate. The music in the background continued to play yet somehow the room sounded silent. I could hear him breathe. I felt the air begin to get heavy. We were staring directly into each other's eyes and neither of us was trying to conceal it. His mouth was smiling slightly and his eyes were intense. I couldn't feel my own mouth but I knew that my eyes were locked with his. We were feeding off of each other. Together, we had allowed ourselves to become thoroughly and blissfully vulnerable. I felt frozen. He hadn't moved but I felt him all over me. I wanted to speak, but I couldn't. It was like being in a trance. I couldn't see it, but there was a link of some sort floating in the air between us. It was almost tangible. It was the reason I could feel him. We were connected. I felt the heat start to rise within me. My own breathing grew louder. I felt a burning sensation inside my chest. I thought to myself, Tristan, please, take me in your arms now, I feel like I'm going to burst. I wondered if he could read me then, and I really hoped that he could. Almost ten minutes had passed and we remained like statues, speechless and virtually immobile. But the sheer mix of agony and ecstasy together was a state one could never forget. I was absorbing him, one step at a time. He was giving himself to me, blatantly, through his vital and expressive eyes. I was growing dizzy. He was draining me. He was taking all that I was giving him. I couldn't take it anymore. I had at one time found comfort in exposing ourselves, but it began to explode inside of me.
"I'm not sure how much longer I can look at you like this," I finally whispered out loud to him.
He stared deeper into my eyes. I felt weak. I was no longer in control of myself. Like a child, I was totally at his mercy. And at that moment I felt his warm breath, and his lips surround my own. His urgency was clear as he grasped my hair tightly and pushed his body against mine.
I remember thinking then, about the magic that occurred when two people were intimate and close. About the obvious differences that displayed themselves regularly, but suddenly seemed to disappear. The accents and clothing or ethnic appearances that were no longer present or relevant. There was no judgment. Not during passion. It struck me more clearly when his voice was silent and I could not hear his foreign sound. So as he kissed me tenderly, our differences went unnoticed as our given identities were diffused. I wasn't even certain of why those thoughts surfaced, but I think it was related to simplicity. It was about people just being people. About everyone havi
ng the same needs. About human beings and how beneath the surface everyone shared the same core. Or maybe it was just about wanting it to be that way. But no matter how much I wanted to believe it, my instincts told me something else. Something that told me that whatever was happening, was not quite the way it seemed. Yet at that moment I felt him surrender to me and I too, could not go back.
Tristan controlled himself out of respect for me but he revealed his desire despite it. As his fingers found their way through my dark tousled hair, my body arched forcefully towards his. He played with my hair and its untamed nature as he created a more seductive look. He pulled on it knowingly and as he did, my head followed his strong coercing hand. As I resisted him, I yearned for him more and his technique which I found new and exciting. While I explored him, I heard him groan as I uncovered his secrets and desires. His ears were sensitive as I used my tongue to bring him the utmost pleasure. I moved slowly down his neck which increased his need as he took my mouth into his. His hair was made of silk but was thick with body as I ran my hands gently through it. I looked at his face, this time knowing that I could touch it. His face felt strong. The way I envisioned it would. But it conveyed strength and softness all at once. As I touched it I could think of nothing else. The draw of another person. I had finally felt what I dreamt I could feel and the power of it was incredible. I was attracted to his person both inside and out and as he looked at me his eyes told me that he felt the same. His fingers examined the length of my arms, my waist, my hips, then my legs. I squirmed as he journeyed around my body and I fantasized about not holding back. But I respected him for respecting me. And I felt good about the limitations that I had obviously conveyed to him as well. My hands continued to investigate his personal territory, his body that anxiously awaited me. His lips were full and wonderfully creative as he teethed on my fingers gently. He licked them and sucked on them and brought me to the point where I had no choice but to join his mouth with mine. I enveloped his tongue and tasted his lips and felt his body grow with desire.
"You are making me crazy," he whispered.
As his need grew, mine did the same but for more reasons than my own physical needs. I wanted to make him happy and I took pride in knowing that I could so easily do so. My fingers drew a line from his lips to his neck and down his chest with interest. His muscular torso in no way surprised me but the confirmation of it only aroused me further. His body responded to my probing touches and his lamenting told me that I had made new discoveries.
Our bodies were relaxed and moist with sweat, as we lay in each other's arms on the couch. My head rested contentedly on his firm chest as he stroked my forehead and hair. Through unspoken words we had kept our promises, to each other and to ourselves. Our passion had erupted, but still, the mystery remained. Our lips had met but that had been enough, and in time, I knew there would be more.
It was late and it was as good a time as any to break the flow of the night, if in fact we were planning on doing so. And I would see to it that we would. Despite all that I felt for him, there was still Jordan, and more than that, there was my pride. He could have all of me when the time came, but until then, I had to keep a part of me for me. He had touched me in a way that no other had and I felt confident I had done the same to him, but something, something was gnawing at me.
The words of my loved ones raced through my head, "German, flight attendant, doesn't live here, fling, Jordan." I wasn't sure myself if what they were saying was bothering me or if there was really something more.
We had been snuggled together for almost an hour after the heat of the moment had calmed. We were still sitting cozily, me between his legs facing him, and his arms affectionately coddling mine. We wore painted-like smiles on both of our faces, energized by all that had consumed us. It had been a physical high that I had never quite imagined and as we sat there, the feeling progressed. It was a feeling of having been taken over, out of control but safe. It was the sudden realization of being alive or rush of adrenaline that was intoxicating. And it was happening again.
He turned to me and held me facing him and asked, "Do you feel it? Do you feel what I feel right now?"
I looked back at him and wanted to cry out loud to release all the emotion I had been feeling.
"Yes." I blurted out. "I can feel it in the air between us." I put my hand in the space between us and said, "It's right here, it's so strong, I feel like I can touch it."
We were locked once again in a world of our own where neither of us as individuals were capable of entering.
I looked at him then, and openly admitted, "I don't want to ever accept feeling less for anyone than what I feel for you right now."
He smiled back at me with a look of intensity and said, "I know, neither do I."
Through our eyes and through our words we had somehow given a part of ourselves to each other. It was all so outrageous, given the short period of time that we had known each other. Yet he was leaving to go back to Cologne, Germany, his home, the following day. Ironically enough, as we sat there embraced, it was difficult to look towards the future. At that moment despite our declaration of feelings for each other, I didn't think either of us had any expectations. It was easier to just live for the moment. So we both proceeded as if there were no tomorrow and life consisted of the next twelve hours.
"I think it's probably time for us to get some sleep if we want to do anything tomorrow," I said.
The words just escaped me, uncensored with ease, confident that he wanted to maximize his time with me too. He read my words right as he got ready to leave and knew that it was not an invitation.
"Yes, I should probably get going, although my body doesn't know whether to wake up or go to sleep," he responded. It was 4:30 a.m. which was 10:30 a.m. in the morning for Tristan. He had been awake for over twenty-four hours yet his priorities were obvious to both of us.
"So, is ten o’clock too early for you, we can meet and have some brunch?" he asked.
"Yeah, that sounds great," I replied, still surprised that he was willing to exist on so little sleep, knowing that he hadn't had any, and that he had to work the flight back the next day.
"What time do you have to leave Manhattan for your flight tomorrow?" I wanted to know.
"Well, the pick-up for the crew at the hotel is at 4:30 p.m., so the latest I can get back there is about 4:15 p.m.," he said with a look of regret.
It was beginning to dawn on me. The man that had awoken my sleeping passion, the one that I had been waiting for since I had returned home, and the person that appeared to share my dreams, was leaving tomorrow for his home across the Atlantic. Suddenly, it did not seem possible that we had disclosed our strong feelings, knowing that the following day we would not be able to share them together. And they were not just ordinary feelings. They were of a special kind found once in a lifetime, and that was only for those who were lucky. It was the affinity we shared, the bond, the attachment, that seemed absurd to be lost due to the distance we lived from one another. But I knew that the distance just provided me with a convenient excuse not to explore him further. There were many excuses, yet this one, out of all of them, was just easier to digest. So I fought hard to remember the reason that I had allowed myself to be with Tristan just one more time. It was a chance to experience an emotional ecstasy I feared I would never feel again. At least not with Jordan. And maybe never again with anyone else. I wanted to live out what felt like a dream, just once, so I could draw from it, and live vicariously through it, if ever I felt deprived. By having felt that titillating sensation, it would give me the strength to move forward and keep my promise to Jordan. I would know that I had experienced that unique thrill of emotion and I could put it away in my memory box. Forever. I would feel complete in knowing that I had truly experienced, the yearned for, storybook romance, and therefore, it would never be an unsated mystery to me. I would not seek it out like so many others because I had had it. But that was the problem, I had had it. I knew in my heart then, that h
aving had one evening of unforgettable passion was not enough to satiate me forever, but instead, had only created a sweet irresistible temptation to live the feeling again. And maybe even once again after that. I wanted to bottle it and prolong the feeling forever.
But even if I did break my promise to Jordan, something inside told me that my relationship with Tristan could never be completely pure. It would be filled with the passion it already had but it would be complicated with forces that I was not yet aware of. There was so much we would have to overcome. The obvious obstacles played back in my mind, and yet, I sensed that there would be even more. Something I could not compete with. It would be strong and powerful and I feared in the end that it would take him from me. But even Tristan would not be equipped with the tools he needed to protect the synergy that we shared. My mind drifted back to specific incidents of the times that we had already experienced. Times that I had felt him restrained. And times that generated questions in my mind that were suddenly hard for me to ignore ... on the beach in Menjangan when he seemingly avoided me as I laid on my towel alone, ... when we were saying good-bye in the restaurant in Bali, he never even stood from his seat ... and when he entered my apartment only several hours earlier he hesitated, albeit slightly, when he took me into his arms to greet me. It was as if he were afraid to expose himself entirely, afraid of what he might feel. And yet, I didn't think he realized his sporadic vacillation at all. I had rationalized his hesitancy to display his feelings blatantly, initially, because of Jordan's presence. It was understandable. It was appropriate. But Jordan had not been with us tonight. We had been alone and any limitations that were put upon us were all but self-imposed. Yet still, there was a consistency in his behavior that conveyed an element of confusion, one that I saw lied deep within him. It was a subtle indication of bewilderment that said he was trapped between two worlds; one where he desperately wanted to give himself to me, and one where he couldn't wholeheartedly. My thoughts flashed quickly back to Courtney, and I wondered if he still felt for her. Maybe he was not ready to make himself vulnerable if he had been hurt by her at all. Maybe he was involved with someone in Germany, someone we had not yet discussed. It was possible, there was so much I didn't know about him. If that was so, it would explain why he had been torn inside and seemed to keep a part of him detached. His affection appeared to come in spurts. Almost as if that remote part of him could consistently and willingly respond to me but was not easily able to initiate. And yet, he had taken the initiative when the time was right. He had kissed me when it seemed like nothing else would have sufficed, for either of us. He had been demonstrative, overtly so, and expressive in many ways. His hunger for me had been apparent, his crave was indisputable. He almost appeared surprised himself, at the degree to which he longed for me. One had to look hard to see his caution, and it was only because I was searching that I saw it. His restraint was subtle, almost undetectable, but I sensed it, nonetheless.
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