As You Wish
The first thing she noticed about him was how much he reminded her of someone she used to love. Even before he could introduce himself she had superimposed a preconceived image onto him. She was aware of this, and tried to not do so each time they spoke.
She liked his body, his long legs as they would naturally extend towards her, touching her unassumingly and lightly. She liked his body extending towards her as he reclined, or stretched. She liked his smile, the gap between his front teeth, the fact that his eyes could be brown or black. She told him black eyes don’t exist, that eyes can only be a very deep brown. He asked her what her eye colour was, in an attempt to flirt back, and she told him that they were light brown in the sun. He told her later he didn’t know how to flirt. But that was not a problem, because she didn’t have trouble asking for intimacy, which was sort of a new experience for her as well.
He liked her ass, how giddy she got when she was upto her childish whims. She got the feeling she liked him more than he did her, but even that was fine by her, because she was not in love, she was in a sort of happiness and lust. By his touch she could tell he would give her love but would not commit. She wanted his lightness, simplicity and warmth.
In the pictures she took of him, he looked different. She superimposed her imagination on him, such that his pose, his smile, everything would remind her of someone else, or rather of what she personally longed for but hadn’t quite received. Her romantic picture of him ran in front of her and took precedence, giving wings to her longing for pleasure. She did this with every man she met, overextending their truth into a romanticized ideal that wasn’t them at all. It wasn’t surprising that all they did was disappoint. She was angry with him twice for ignoring her, for putting his male friendships first, but it wasn’t his fault, he was being himself. She knew that and had to accept that, these expectations came from her and bound her to an idea, not a person. She didn’t want to bind anyone nor would she want to be tied down.
They were as different as the chicken and the bear. He wanted to sun himself on an island with an infinite supply of joints, she wanted to find true love, have a child or two and cherish a mutual sense of deep understanding and evolution with another. He wanted to lay back and let things happen, she wanted to run after life and sculpt it to her fancy. She wasn’t in love with him, she knew that, she was in a sort of happiness and lust. And that was fine by her.
She noticed grime running in his fingernails and felt put off. She noticed how dirty men could be and felt repulsed. His lips were a dark purple, from all the smoking. She liked his smile which was like a 13 year old’s. A part of her just wanted to cook him eggs and watch him eat it, that would satisfy her greatly. She did exactly that on their first group breakfast, and told him to not help out with the cooking. She did this with people she liked. She wanted to treat them to things, to offer them honey, cigarettes, chai, any little thing, and if they accepted it that made her very happy. When he declined something she would casually but secretly with love offer, she felt a streak of annoyance and anger run through her.
He told her that her eyes gave her away too easily. That he knew she was attracted to him right from the start. She told his she wished she had a different pair of eyes that could hide how she felt. Anyone could read everything from them.
His lips tasted of pickle and dal when they touched hers. She loved it. His breath upon her lips was ever so light and wonderful. They hungrily tasted one another, after three days of waiting with rushed breaths, boners and wetness. They slept with one another, his long fingers took her small hand and placed it decisively on her chest, or his. She slid her hands across his body, choosing the most comfortable spot to let them rest, which was often in the crook of his hip bone. It was she who was overcome, by cold and attraction, and had asked to sleep beside him. They could not do much because they shared the bed with another friend. Rapid desirous breathing, chakras swirling in rhythm, the feeling of incredible safety and warmth. In the morning, she felt suffocated by the warmth. The sun was out and they had too many layers on, and his body felt imposing and hot.
He would feel cold easily and quickly, and with his muffler and cap on he looked innocent and young. She wanted to protect him. He called her a show off for telling everyone that she had been the first to climb up the mountain among the three. She laughed, basking in the glory of having been the girl to climb up the mountain first. She wanted to see the scars on his back, but when he took his shirt off, he shivered. He protested saying that people who enjoy winter sex are mad. She disagreed, saying that two bodies pushing into each other would create friction and heat.
He rolled her a cigarette from pure tobacco and she smoked the entire thing, having vowed never to smoke again. She enjoyed it, it was not like your store-bought cigarettes, and it was a different experience in the cold. He would stretch his legs out onto a pole, sunglasses on and bask like nobody’s business. He was a professional chiller, and made sure to get the best spot for sunlight and comfort. He said that if he were an animal he would be a penguin, or a panda. He said she would be a fox.
Can you lust after someone without liking them? She wasn’t sure. The lines would blur as her attachment grew, that she perilously swung away, abruptly at times, rudely, disrupting a warm circle because she was uneasy with the extent of her emotions. One moment she was laughing, involved in the local experience, the next she was a stranger, squinting after something only she knew, trying to protect herself. She saw him laughing broadly and loudly with his male friends, and felt like they were a different breed of animals altogether. She felt like a cat, needing to lick and satiate herself when they rolled upon the seas of their own private stories and jokes. He told her not to take things seriously, that they were only mucking around. He told her that she thinks too much. She bristled and told him this was who she was.
Their bodies fit, she wanted to stay like that for a long time. She told him she wanted a boyfriend with his body. She told him she wasn’t in love with him, that they were too different for that. She told him that she just wanted to have sex with him. He hmmed and brought her body closer into his. Cradled together after listening to cluster 1 under a tapestry of stars, thick as freckles on a gypsy’s face. Stars like so many freckles, they could be mistaken for skin. They weren’t alone then. Friends, and a snowy white dog, who she petted and petted.
They never did though. Have sex. Bated breath and expectations. Clinging bodies and longing. Long fingers and pretty feet. Big smiles and affection. Holding on tight because they wanted to get away from the chill. Nobody wanted to promise anyone anything. They were happy in their own rhythms. He told her it was just as well. Nights well spent. She put on the music she’d saved in a place with no connectivity and got into a different flow. She told him she could easily get into a different flow, that she didn’t need him. She remembered The Princess Bride and asked him to decide. She told him “As you wish”.
