She will like my pictures and posts on the various social media platforms. She will comment on my posts and tweets. I will reply to her comments. She will reply to the replies. She will go on liking all my other pictures and commenting on other posts.
She will slide into the DM. It will be the normal, “Hi how are you?” And I’d reply with, “good and you?” That would lead to a date. Okay not necessarily a date but a rather drink up event. And another.
Things will be okay. I will like the fact that she initiated the first step. She will tell me how I’m great intellectually. I will tell her how easy it is to make her laugh, how I like her puns of sarcasm, and that it makes me feel good.
She will open up like a lilac flower when the light first hits its petals. She will tell me things about herself. I on the other hand I will keep things on a bare minimum. Just the basics of arousing her insatiable cure of trying to solve the mysterious guy she met on a social media platform. By the end of the third date it will not feel rogue to not breach whatever lies between us.
The sex would be great. One of those mind blowing earth shattering orgasms will rock her like a quake. For a moment I’d develop the what ifs of what would happen if I got into something more serious than just shagging. Well I like her enough, so I proceed to another round. We tell each other of how good the game is and that there should be definitely a rematch. But there is nothing on my end. I know it’s a lie. I wouldn’t want to become a bloody fucking person to get attached to feelings after sex with her.
The next week there’s a public holiday on a Thursday. Instead of going out she comes over and we cook together. She has exemplary culinary skills. We both like the process of turning ingridients into something sumptuous. We dance to music during the two hours we are cooking. Glasses of gin side by side. I feel that there’s chemistry flowing between us. We both are attracted to each other.
Once the food is ready we don’t eat, but instead we’re caught up in the throngs of ripping each other’s clothes apart. She’s ready, I am ready. Fireworks happen again for a couple of hours. After that we go back to the living room. She’s only my tee with nothing underneath. We eat both eyeing each other seductively. She chooses some random movie on Netflix and proceeds to cuddle up with her head on my chest. Then she will ask, “what are we?”
I will be quiet for the next few minutes wondering whether I should tell her what she wants to hear or the truth.
In those minutes while I’m pondering my mind, she says, “is it me perhaps that I might be the problem?”
I tell her that she isn’t the problem. It’s just that I’m a bad person and I was only in this for some fun and to get over someone I used to know. Basically it was the rebound sex that I was after.
The weekend that comes, she will call. I will not pick her calls. I will neither reply to her texts. She will even go back to the basics. Sliding back to the DM. I will be a bit embarrassed for having to ruin a good one who had no business being caught up in my own selfish desires. It grows into some sort of guilt. We were good on every thing else apart from the neediness that came with sex. A week passes. I’m tempted to text her and tell her that I was an idiot. But a bad person is always a bad person despite the number of redemptions they have.
I will check to see if we are still friends on the various social media platforms. She hasn’t unfriended nor blocked me. She still likes my posts and comments on my whatsapp status from time to time. Then also that comes to an end. Months pass into a year. Then one day when I’d have gone to the hospital for my annual check-up, I’d bump into her along the corridors.
She will flash that infectious smile of hers and I’d be genuinely happy to see her. We would greet each other but she’d instead hug me tight not minding the social distance rules. She will whisper that she misses me, and I will just say same. We will have some small talk. At the end I tell her that I’ll call once I get home. See if we can have a drink and catch up like old times sake. Her face changes to a slight tinge of sadness, and she says, “yeah sure.”
I don’t call her, and she doesn’t call back.
A week passes. I call once, but she doesn’t pick. I tell myself that it was bound to happen. Of course I wouldn’t have called back if I were in her shoes.
On a Friday evening, my phone rings. It’s her. Heart skips a beat. I pick up and say Hello. She goes on to say that she couldn’t pick at that time due to her running up and down.
“I’m sorry.” I say.
She sighs at the other end of the phone. Then she says, “I made peace with it that I couldn’t be your woman at that time. I guess I was a good person that you met at the wrong time. I still do believe though that you’re a good person. It’s just that you guarded up too much high in your castle that you tend to forget to look at the commoners down below.”
“I called to apologize.” I say then I hang up.
I’ll think about her.
Two days later she’ll text, “old monk down by the oceanside. You and I catching up. You game?”
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