Restructure- on your own terms

Self-Consciousness

Grey arrangements always put one in a funny place.

First, you have this intimate relationship with this stranger lover and then you would try to (in your head) get over whatever physical or mental barriers of self-consciousness you might have of yourself.

What tend to connect us (me and my lover) is merely our bodily fluids, perhaps from a night of alcohol mismanagement/ judgement impairment. I call it body language.

The other forms of communication that would ensue or not post sex would really be reliant on a variety of circumstances and of course, post intimacy attraction.

Quietly, I often mused at the rise of such arrangements in my life- how little they know of me and vice versa. The mere idea of them penetrating me physically but never my soul makes me a little pensive. After all, I didn’t grow up to be physically callous about me but there are days where I psyched myself to dispel that protective, egotistical “I” in me and let my experience be one social experimentation of see how far I could put myself out of that safe comfort zone of “moral” orderliness.

“I want to penetrate you and rape your soul.”

The Old Boy once declared ardently in one of our passionate, in good jest communications.

I only show hand to the point I could handle it. After all, I am one who is still trapped in my Ego and that physical self-consciousness of my earthly body…

****

Post-sex, I wiped us up.

We cuddled for a bit.

Then he got up and went to the bathroom to wash himself up.

The chauffer and his friend were waiting in the car outside my residence.

For the first time, I noticed that he had shaved as we stood before the big mirror across the wall.

He looked at himself in the mirror examining his naked body at different angles.

Then I hugged him from behind and kissed him lightly on his shoulder. He smiled at me somewhat shyly through the reflection of the mirror.

“Do you think I am fat?” He continued looking at himself in the mirror self-consciously.

“No baby, of course not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course, silly.”

He turned to hug me and kissed me.

This was a man who trains for boxing four times a week with a personal trainer. His firm body has hardly an ounce of fat on him. In his youth, he was a swimmer.

Half the time, I was more thinking along the lines that I was the fatty with my excesses at the tummy.

Much later, I googled Ted when I was back in Australia. Then I saw those pictures of the golfers taken in 2001 (which I shared with the Old Boy). He has lost a fair bit of weight so he must still be haunted by the shadows of his “fat” days.

Then rather amusingly, I recalled that prior to our intimacy at my place, we were at his friend’s party. He was feeding himself with some form of a local pork dish and was sucking the succulent juice left on his fingers. I ate nothing (given that I was still suffering from the ill effects of hangover from our previous big night).

I asked him what he was having.

“Isn’t that all fat?”

He nodded his head.

“Eww…” I looked at that piece of meat on his hand disgustingly and rather carelessly.

He then got self-conscious and very quickly, got rid of the pork and refrained from another one.

It didn’t help that I had such a bad hangover appetite that for the nth time that night, he had remarked that I don’t eat very much at all.

It must have made him feel like a “pig” as I quote him on sms once when he updated me that he had been slack with his training and has been eating like one since I left.


****

“I need to lose more weight to be confident for you. I don’t think I would be ready in September.”

“Don’t be silly, Nano. You don’t have to lose weight for me. If you do, do it for yourself, not me.”

“Do you think I am fat, P?”

“Silly, you look just fine. I would take you for what you are if I were single.”

“Oh really? This really makes my day.”

We moved onto another topic.

I found Nano back on the topic of Ted. My dinner with Nano and my hosts was curtailed that night as Ted and his entourage came to pick me up at the shopping mall owned by Nano’s family. Nano was hoping to get to know me better that night.

“So you did it with the Chino?”

“Yes. Do you know him personally?”

“No. But he is so ugly!”

“Don’t be mean, Nano.”

“But he is.”

“Looks are not important to me. His name is Ted, by the way.”

Then the conversation got carried over to something else.

Out of the blue, Nano got back to the topic.

“But he is ugly as shit…”

“You are so mean, Nano!”

“By the way P, do you think I am ugly?”

****

Throughout the duration of our grey arrangement for the one year or so, he never touched me.

I have always deemed him as a mimosa that shied away from my touch.

With every greater passion, I felt for him, the more he got into his shell.

Apart from kissing me, he never touched me. While I gave him pleasure and rouse his dormant privates to a thick hard rod, Dope even in his state of pleasure retained his restrained demeanour. His hands stroking my back lightly as we rubbed our bodies wildly together, my mouth continued to head south.

Post intimacy while we laid in bed, me in his arms, he would speak in his usual deep, quiet tone where confidentially, I caught glimpses of his soul.

“You know, I’ve only been with one person…”

He admitted self-consciously. It wasn’t the first time that he had to remind me. He has come to view me as being more “experienced”.

“What does it matter, Baby? I like you for what you are.”

I would stroke his face affectionately.

“I haven’t done it with her since December…”

That would have been a bit more than a year.

He is a fine-looking Eurasian young man. In his youth, he was once a model.

In our university days, I was totally infatuated with him. My plan to get him on a weekend school trip to the beaches was thwarted by an interceptor, a Japanese girl. He had a number of girls going after him.


When we got back weeks later, he got attached to someone else. His current Designated Love.

But we met again six years on in a new city, me having progressed carnally in my love, accumulating experiences that perhaps I would rather not have wished for.

Funny, he remembered how we first met (his first, not mine since I was observing him with interest long before he noticed me). Six years on in our late twenties as young professional adults, my Dope (then I thought he was one of the better catches that I would like to snare in my teeny booper-ish age) and I would indulge in many a quiet nights rendezvousing at our favourite bar as we watched our watches closely and abide to our restricted times…

I met him when I have gained a fair bit of weight. I felt really fat. We were twenty.

And Dope being self-conscious with me now? How would I ever guess it would have been this way round?

Labels: THE P-oignant Moments