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Game. Set. Match.
They’d always meet somewhere out of each other’s way. Some back road B&B, some motel along some street in a town that civilization has forgotten, but always somewhere where they’re both just strangers. Anonymity was on the top of their list – that and a hundred more requisite items that they both deem essential to cross off.
They never blatantly say it. It seemed trifle to do so, like saying it would mean that it was really happening and they didn’t want that. The more they deny what it was, the more exciting it was for the both of them. Denial was something they did with such class and precision. It was more than a hobby for them. It was who they were.
Most of the time, it was just a waiting game. Each person would have a prescribed waiting period as to who would contact who first; waiting to see who would give in first, who’d crack first, who’s more screwed up in the head. The loser would be the one who made the first move. So far, she’s the Grand National champion. Not that he has ever made her feel that way. He’s always ecstatic when she calls and he makes her know it by the way he kisses her and talks to her and looks at her.
Sex is always polite – asking if one could, using “May I...” instead of “Can I...” as the ability to do an action wasn’t being questioned, it was more of seeking permission, an approval. They never talk, silent as ever - letting the slip slap of skin do the talking. Sighs and controlled moans replace words, as they talk too much when they’re not in the throes of physical intimacy. The sounds of sex was best spoken without words.
The sex? It was a bonus. The real prize for them was the conversation. The pleasure of being able to exchange words, ideas and thoughts; to be able to throw quips, puns and take it with such intelligence, class and sophistication; to be able to argue, disagree and compromise, that was the real motivation behind the meetings.
It was one night at the tail end of autumn that she asked. She was smoking her Marls, ashtray propped on her thigh as she was sitting up on the bed. “How long are we going to do this for? Don’t get me wrong – this isn’t a prelude to a sappy goodbye speech. I’m not asking for anything more either. It’s just that I’d like to have my expectations levelled and my options open.”
He sat up from his position beside her and faced her. “Options open? Are you...seeing someone else? Someone new?”
She chuckled as she blew out smoke and stubbed the cigarette on the ashtray “Aside from you, no.”
“Then I reiterate. Open options? Are you not...satisfied with this? With me?”
She held his face and kissed him deep. “Stop being such an insecure girl. This is to your own benefit than mine.”
He took her hands and pushed her away a little bit. “How is this to benefit me? And for the record, I’m not insecure...way to kill the afterglow.”
She took in a deep breath and rolled her eyes like it could make a sound. “Think about it, if we were to keep this up any longer, we’d find some sort of attachment with each other that wouldn’t be healthy.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, because as opposed to this – this is perfectly fucking healthy.”
“Emphasis on the fucking.”
“Whatever. Go on...” he waved his hand in both an ebullient and dismissive manner.
She looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. “Why are you here?”
He actually looked perplexed. “What do you mean, why am I here? I think the reasons were perfectly clear a couple of minutes ago.” He ran an open palm across the disheveled state of the bed.
“Let me rephrase that. Why did you come the first time?”
He smirked. “Well, you did do that hip roll thing and I just couldn’t stop myself”
She slapped his arm a little harder than the usual playful physical abuse. “Focus, Damien.”
He rubbed his arm and winced. “I swear you actually have a sadistic side to you, Helena”
“Answer the question.”
He took about a few seconds to ponder on the question. She took this time to light another cigarette.
“I...honestly don’t know.” He breathed out, in sync with her exhale of the nicotine and tar filled white smoke.
“I figured as much...” She looked at him and smiled. She put the ashtray on the side table and stood up to take a shower, leaving him there still thinking.
But behind the closed bathroom door, as soon as the droplets of water hit her skin, she also let go of her tears.
They never blatantly say it. It seemed trifle to do so, like saying it would mean that it was really happening and they didn’t want that. The more they deny what it was, the more exciting it was for the both of them. Denial was something they did with such class and precision. It was more than a hobby for them. It was who they were.
Most of the time, it was just a waiting game. Each person would have a prescribed waiting period as to who would contact who first; waiting to see who would give in first, who’d crack first, who’s more screwed up in the head. The loser would be the one who made the first move. So far, she’s the Grand National champion. Not that he has ever made her feel that way. He’s always ecstatic when she calls and he makes her know it by the way he kisses her and talks to her and looks at her.
Sex is always polite – asking if one could, using “May I...” instead of “Can I...” as the ability to do an action wasn’t being questioned, it was more of seeking permission, an approval. They never talk, silent as ever - letting the slip slap of skin do the talking. Sighs and controlled moans replace words, as they talk too much when they’re not in the throes of physical intimacy. The sounds of sex was best spoken without words.
The sex? It was a bonus. The real prize for them was the conversation. The pleasure of being able to exchange words, ideas and thoughts; to be able to throw quips, puns and take it with such intelligence, class and sophistication; to be able to argue, disagree and compromise, that was the real motivation behind the meetings.
It was one night at the tail end of autumn that she asked. She was smoking her Marls, ashtray propped on her thigh as she was sitting up on the bed. “How long are we going to do this for? Don’t get me wrong – this isn’t a prelude to a sappy goodbye speech. I’m not asking for anything more either. It’s just that I’d like to have my expectations levelled and my options open.”
He sat up from his position beside her and faced her. “Options open? Are you...seeing someone else? Someone new?”
She chuckled as she blew out smoke and stubbed the cigarette on the ashtray “Aside from you, no.”
“Then I reiterate. Open options? Are you not...satisfied with this? With me?”
She held his face and kissed him deep. “Stop being such an insecure girl. This is to your own benefit than mine.”
He took her hands and pushed her away a little bit. “How is this to benefit me? And for the record, I’m not insecure...way to kill the afterglow.”
She took in a deep breath and rolled her eyes like it could make a sound. “Think about it, if we were to keep this up any longer, we’d find some sort of attachment with each other that wouldn’t be healthy.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, because as opposed to this – this is perfectly fucking healthy.”
“Emphasis on the fucking.”
“Whatever. Go on...” he waved his hand in both an ebullient and dismissive manner.
She looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. “Why are you here?”
He actually looked perplexed. “What do you mean, why am I here? I think the reasons were perfectly clear a couple of minutes ago.” He ran an open palm across the disheveled state of the bed.
“Let me rephrase that. Why did you come the first time?”
He smirked. “Well, you did do that hip roll thing and I just couldn’t stop myself”
She slapped his arm a little harder than the usual playful physical abuse. “Focus, Damien.”
He rubbed his arm and winced. “I swear you actually have a sadistic side to you, Helena”
“Answer the question.”
He took about a few seconds to ponder on the question. She took this time to light another cigarette.
“I...honestly don’t know.” He breathed out, in sync with her exhale of the nicotine and tar filled white smoke.
“I figured as much...” She looked at him and smiled. She put the ashtray on the side table and stood up to take a shower, leaving him there still thinking.
But behind the closed bathroom door, as soon as the droplets of water hit her skin, she also let go of her tears.
