I love you. My Ai Wei Wei #2

 Is she or is she not another spy?

Continued..

I woke up with a start from a short but blissful sleep to find her lying next to me. Whatever happened the night before seemed like a distant dream. It couldn’t have been real. It seemed too good to be true. It seems overnight a friend turned into a lover. 

Lying next to me so silent, still and warm in the muted morning light, she was in deep peaceful slumber. 

I tried not to move for fear of waking her. As I lay stretched on my side, my shoulder was still hurting from my unexpected scuffle with the Chinese spy months ago, the knife was lodged in-between my shoulder blade and spine, the sharp tip punctured my aorta. I was still healing and secretly hoping the one sleeping next to me isn’t another plant plus I wasn't ready for another blow. Well at least there were no new wounds since last night. Still I knew I had to be cautious. But so far I could tell she’s no mortal danger to me. I did my homework she’s got the goods for the mission. 

Question is; whether she’s willing and at what price. I was about to find out. 

She woke up as I was looking at how beautifully comfortable she slept. She turned to me and smiled, as though she had done this to me a thousand times before. Maybe that’s why she looked so beautiful. It just seemed so natural and deeply intimate. I leaned over and kissed her. 

It wasn’t until about noon that we finally dressed to go downstairs for a late breakfast. Though still in the dress and heels she wore the night before, she looked every bit as resplendent. Now even more radiant. 

We ate breakfast and drank coffee with languid casualness showing no signs of missing a dinner promised last night. Satiated with our first meal of the day, we drifted back to the living room for more lovemaking on the couch. 

Later in the afternoon, I drove her back, we parted reluctantly, only to reconnect via text of what remains of the day, talking later in the night, making plans to journey south to mission headquarters. 

When we met the following day, we both agreed it already felt too long. We buckled up for the delightful road trip not caring if we arrive. We finally did, only to see her joy and approval of mission headquarters. She was sold. We spent the next eighteen days and nights together. With no visible wounds to show. 

HBTY my WW.

To be continued. 

I love you. My Ai Wei Wei

Art or Artist...? Novel or Novella...?

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

He was stealing glances at me while queuing at a counter in the airport.

Our eyes met briefly but deliberately. Neither of us smiled.

I registered an interesting face. A dignified one. 

But a stranger nonetheless. I was in no need for men that weekend.

I escaped a litany of them to relax & enjoy myself in this quaint little town.

Coincidentally we shared a taxi to our hotel and was formally introduced to each other at the pre-wedding party.

We sat drinking beers, smoking cigarettes and talked. 

We shared stories of solo trekking in the Annapurna. We connected at the intellectual level that night.

The next two days we spent time exploring the town eating and drinking- in town, out of town, at the wedding reception, the dinner party, and the after party. 

I enjoyed seeing him and having him around. 

He's fun.

We had a great time as a group of friends celebrating our friend's wedding parties.

We met back in the city months later after he returned from his travels over the year-end holidays.

He surprised me with a present over a quiet dinner of pasta & wine in a fancy restaurant where we talked till late. We shared a common interest in books and authors. But I think we shared a deeper longing for spirituality. Both of us were searching. For life. For meaning. For fulfilment. 

Whatever it was, we certainly weren't going to find it that night.

We reluctantly parted as he had his work and family to go home to and I went home to be alone.

As I lay down to sleep that night, I decided that I like that guy. He's a gentleman and a thinker.

We kept in touch solely through each others' social media postings.

 

Months and years passed until I came back to the local scene. 

It has been an introspective year, I was restless. I was impatient. I felt like a caged tiger. 

It was depressing to take stock of my achievements to find that there seemed to be none.

So I ranted and raved my frustrations online. I was also bored.

He responded almost instantly. He asked if we could meet. 

I said maybe. He suggested dinner. I said maybe.

I was unsure. It's been so long. 

I hardly know him. We've only met a couple of times.

What if he was a serial killer? Worse, a human trafficker. 

So we texted offline. I got tired of texting so I called him.

I was so glad I did. He sounded so different. So different from the person I first met. 

If I had enjoyed him the first time, I think this is an even more enjoyable version.

He sounded so exuberant, so joyful. His voice was calm and reassuring. 

We spoke late into the night, at the end I agreed to meet him for dinner. Why not? I thought.

The date was set two week away. The wait was agonising. 

I just could not wait to see him. He had charmed me, way before he was due to meet me again.

It was a Thursday when I saw him again. He offered to pick me up from my place.

I gave him the general location but not my address for reasons if he was unstable.

He showed up on time and I jumped into his car. He looked every bit the gentleman I knew.

Looking more lean and tanned. Still as attractive.

He promised me dinner but first he insisted on pre-dinner cocktails at his place.

My heart skipped a beat. But I decided to go along with his plan.

Music was playing as I entered his simple but beautiful home.

I felt immediately at ease, at home and a feeling of calmness descended upon us.

We never left for dinner after that.

We sat and watched the sunset over cocktails. We switched to a bottle of rare vintage Rioja after sunset.

"It's a special occasion!" he said while breaking the cork of the 30 year old vintage. 

Decanted, the wine aged beautifully lingering long and strong on a palate of chocolate, dark berries, spices with sweetness of character. The latter trait also describes the man who was my host, 

He skilfully entertained me through the night, coaxing me to loosen more than my tongue.

I told my current story in great detail, then my past in even greater detail. He listened in silence.

I felt liberated to unload years of stories of my childhood to stories of relationships and affairs. 

I felt a sense of pride and relief in unburdening the load I had been carrying all these years. 

I felt uplifted. And I was intoxicated, in every sense of the word. The bottle was also empty.

I had never had sex in quite a long time. I simply never had the chance. I was in need mode.

And here was a charming as fuck (pun intended) individual who has loosened my tongue and now me.

Sensing my willingness, he stood and beckoned me across the patio. I relented.

He took my hand in his and drew me effortlessly close to his chest. 

My face looked up to his face and we kissed. Hard and hungry at first then gentle, soft and long.

We continue kissing as he gently edges me to his leather couch. By which time I am already stripped down to my underwear. He proceeds to kiss my face, my ears, my neck, my shoulders, my breasts. His lips were so soft and gentle. So wonderfully inquisitive.

He takes his time to explore my naked body. Licking sucking and kissing every part his hands and tongue could reach. At times it feels like he has more tongue than hands. He eventually descends to my belly, kissing and licking my tummy and belly button. Moving lower, he pause to gently remove my underwear then dives head-on into my centre. 

He ate me full and wholesome that night. Like I wanted him to, the first night I sat with him almost six years to the date. I have him finally having me. Sweet and long. Pure languid bliss.

We continued to talk, smoke, and drink and then made sweet love all night long. 

It was only at dawn that we could finally tear ourselves from each other to collapse into deep slumber. 

To be continued...

 

may i feel

Following my earlier post on the poetry of ee cummings here, 

I've stumbled upon yet another one of his love poems that borders more on the physical side of love that America's second most popular poet writes prolific. 

 

may i feel said he 

may i feel said he (i'll squeal said she, just once said he) 

it's fun said she (may i touch said he, how much said she, a lot said he) 

why not said she (let's go said he, not too far said she, what's too far said he, where you are said she) 

may i stay said he (which way said she, like this said he, if you kiss said she, may i move said he, is it love said she) 

if you're willing said he (but you're killing said she, but it's life said he, but your wife said she, now said he) 

ow said she (tiptop said he, don't stop said she, oh no said he) go slow said she, (cccome? said he, ummm said she) you're divine! said he (you are Mine said she)

Cummings always considered himself just as much a painter as he was a poet or writer. Especially in his later years, spent at his home in New Hampshire, Cummings would paint during the day and then write at night. Beginning with his years at Harvard and continuing on into the 1920s, Cummings identified with the artistic movements of Cubism, Dada, and Surrealism. He particularly admired the work of Pablo Picasso. 

 It's also his birthday today. Happy Birthday Edward Estlin Cummings. What a love fiend you are.