Dear John, yesterday I kissed the friend I had been telling you about. Her name is Margaret.
Kissing Margaret stirred the strangest feeling in my mouth. The first kiss was brief. Fast. And Cold. We were lying sideways with my right arm below her head. My eyes were closed during the meet. I was worried. Maybe ‘scared’ more appropriate. I knew she wanted me to kiss her. She had wanted that kiss for months. But, I also knew how quick I could change my mind and when we broke off from that slice of bliss, her large eyes made me believe in love.
I tasted the plastic in my mouth. Lip gloss. Her rastas were brown. Not unlike her skin. Her cold committing lips called endearingly.
I needed another hit. I knew the moment would end. And badly.
But at least, the moment was ours.
My eyes were still closed. This time, it was warmer. Her fingers scrapped through my unkempt hair and my hands wondered around her anatomy. She had the body of a Douala goddess. Fair skinned, large eyes, small pink lips, steady smooth voice and chubby tummy. Her sweaty embrace exuded crude passion. Her silent moans made me firm and her mouth, the doorway to her imperial voluptuousness.
It lasted a couple of minutes. Real time. For me, space and time had frozen. Typical. John, we both know this wasn’t the first kiss I have had, but at least, this was the first mouth that had reached the projected expectations. In look and feel. Faith tasted ( and looked) glorious.
I knew we were never going to date. Or that if we had a relationship, I would be the first to hurt her feelings with my mood swings. I understood her skeptism and desire to keep covering her shapely bottom and full breasts.
Consciously or not, she understood I had a certain lethal nature. That my jokes, smooth moves and sensual gaze had been exercised far too many times.
” I have to go now…I…have some things to do at home”.
A lie we both understood. Staying could lead to further regrets. The moment had been perfect but the spell was broken. One of us had to let go. She was smarter this time.
” 10 more minutes. Please. You’ll go at …5 55″
Showing her the time on my computer screen did not lessen her resolve. I love an independent woman. More if she is pretty. She smiled.
John, I have told you about my condition many times. I don’t particularly feel attached to anyone. I sometimes think I am a sociopath. But every once in a while, I find myself daydreaming of a time when I would be truly grateful to have someone else’s arms around me. A woman’s preferably.
I have built a castle of unreliability around myself. Especially when it comes to matters of affection and attachment.
I have a girlfriend. I don’t love her anymore. I know she loves me very much. That, saddens me. I know she will find out soon and that, I will probably be the one to tell her. It will hurt her and I will be the bad guy. But from what I have seen with all my ex-girlfriends, it always turns out better for them.
Dear john, you might think I am writing this letter to make you feel sorry for me, Please, do not. I am already sorry for myself. Every woman I have kissed has taken a piece of love away from me. Every heart I have broken scarred my soul. I am not heartless. On the contrary , I have become more romantic and as emotional as a straight young man can be.
I just think I second guess human intentions and in my quest to find my one , true love, I have lost every hope at the game of love.
John, I might die alone. I need your help.
P.S: I hope to write movies in future. In the meantime, I write when I feel as to. I would love to get your critique of this piece. It is supposed to be an email my main character (Martin) sends to his younger brother (John) to whom he is particularly attached.
What is your take?