Monthly Archives: May 2015

Imagination Running Away From Me… Again

As always, I was on a damp and overloaded train right in the middle of rush hour. Everyone was grabbing everything for balance but right next to me, there was this couple who were seemingly in blissful misery. The wife, I assume, was holding on to a bar and her husband had his hands clamped on to her waist and there they stood for 15 minutes in stone cold silence, looking like they could be so much happier elsewhere. They weren’t even facing each other; he had to stare at the back of his wife’s head the whole journey. Now, I particularly loathe couples that partake in PDA overzealously. You know the ones. The ones that are only doing all that rubbing and touching and kissing and hugging just to make sure everyone else knows they are indeed together. Fair enough, some couples aren’t into PDA too, maybe the couple next to me was like that but their coldness to one another was so unnatural. You could feel the tension between them.

For some reason, my mind wandered and I came up with a scenario that could have occurred when they got home. I just couldn’t help myself. I’ll call the wife Jenny and the husband Ben because they looked like Jenny and Ben to me. Enjoy.

Jenny and Ben walk rigidly up the stairs to the 4th floor apartment. The rain soaked through their clothes, chilling them to the bone. Ben hurried ahead to open the flat, almost leaving the door to slam on Jenny’s face. He wandered into the kitchen. Without a word, she claimed the bathroom, locked the door and stared at her bare face in the mirror. Was this who she had become? Was this what marriage had done to her? To them? She pulled her thin gold wedding band from her finger and almost threw it. Instead, she delicately placed it on the counter by the sink before filling the bath with piping hot water. As she discarded of her clothes, they slouched and squelched on the ground. So what exactly was the problem? They didn’t have money problems, they had come to a mutual agreement about having kids: not yet, maybe never; he was there when she needed him and he was gone when she’d had enough of him. But that’s the thing: she never really had enough of him because he wouldn’t touch her. She slipped into the water and let it consume her, warm her. They hadn’t made love for weeks. He was always too tired, not in the mood. The furthest she had gotten was unzipping his jeans but he quickly grabbed her hands and said “not now, Jenny. I promise you, later but not now.” But later never came and her every attempt to have her husband was rebutted. For a second, she thought he was gay but she’d been through his internet history. He was watching things but not that way inclined. She even thought he was cheating but then again, no. Look at him, no one else would want him but her. She sighed as she closed her eyes, swirling about in the soapy water. It wasn’t until a timid knock on the door shook her out of her reverie and there and then, she decided the only way forward was to confront the situation. She wrapped herself in a towel, unlocked the door and walked straight passed her husband who watched her carefully, wondering how much she knew. By the time he got back to their bedroom also in a towel, she was lying on their bed, wearing absolutely nothing staring at the ceiling.

“Jenny,” he called. She looked at him and smiled the smile that used to stir feelings in him when they had first met. He would do anything to feel that passion, that lust but he simply couldn’t.

“Why don’t you want me, Ben?”

He sighed and walked to his side of their room-length wardrobe and began to pull clothes out, throwing them onto the bed, onto his naked wife. He couldn’t look at her.

“Please get dressed, Jenny,” he groaned.

Suddenly she was beside him, pressing her body against him, the only barrier between them being his thin towel. Her hot breath streamed against his ear, the hairs on his body stood on edge. He would do anything but even this proximity didn’t help.

“Don’t you love me anymore?” she whispered. He turned to see the pain in her eyes and he almost shook her. You’re the not the problem, I am.

“Of course I do,” he said as he tucked a strand of her straw-blonde hair behind her ear. She leaned in to his hand and before he knew, she was kissing him, hard and unrelenting, hands grabbing for towels but just before he could stop her, his towel fell to the ground and all his secrets were exposed. She looked down at his limp self and all the pieces fit into place.

“Wait… do you have what I think you have?”

“I didn’t want to tell you.”

“You have erectile dysfunction.”

“I couldn’t tell you. It would wreck us.”

“But there are medicines, treatments. We’ll get through this.”

He held her hands and in that moment, he loved her more than life.

And that, guys, is what my mind procured in 15 minutes. My imagination didn’t run with me, it ran from me, I had to catch it.

Song of the Week

If you haven’t already, please read my guest post for SnatchedXO.com here. It’s empowering and all that jazz.

Love,

Georgina ❤

The Issue At Hand Evolves

I have been MIA for way too long, I know. I couldn’t think of what to write and I wasn’t even prepared to bullshit you or myself through something meaningless. They say time is the best answer to everything (they don’t, I’m just making it up as I go along) but that’s all I needed. I got my mojo back.

When we were little, there was always this curiousity towards the opposite sex. There was the whole “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” kind of thing. There was this air of innocent intrigue, keyword being innocent. From year 4-6 of primary school, the whole class used to chill together, we were all friends, good friends, friends that MSN’d together at 6pm until dinner was ready. I personally think I skipped the “boys have cooties” phase, I was born hormonally charged. I’ve always liked boys; I didn’t shy for them nor them me either. I think I had my first kiss when I was 8. I remember being so blasé when we’d play truth or dare as young’uns when first kisses were imagined by others and cherished on the top shelf of the mind of others, kept with all the much-loved memories. I didn’t see it as something monumental. It was just a thing. It was almost something I could do without.

Did your mum ever give you that talk that scared the shit out of you when you were younger? Did she ever tell you touching a boy could get you pregnant? I am so lucky for a mother who didn’t wreck my mind like that. I don’t think I knew the actual mechanics of sex until I was 11/12. Boarding school made sure I knew every single excruciating detail.

But what I’m saying is, when we were young, heterosexual friendships weren’t something that was out of the blue. They didn’t threaten anyone, really. Seeing a young boy and a girl being friends didn’t necessarily raise eyebrows as it does now. Drama evolves with time. It may have been around when we were prepubescent and it is ever so present now that we are grown but it’s just so much more in your face. The fact that you’re not meant to have a genuinely friendly friendship with a member of the opposite sex is fiercely shoved down your throat. You are almost taught to believe your platonic relationship is destined to become tinged by attraction eventually. Just wait on it.

For instance, let’s say your girlfriend/boyfriend has a best friend of the opposite sex. Wouldn’t you want to know everything about this supposed best friend; be everywhere when your significant other and said best friend are together and most importantly, know whether they are having/had sex or not? It is just impossible to have peace of mind when your lover has an opposite sex friend who was there before you. There’s no way you would allow for such a friendship to form when you are in the picture, no way in hell.

Once we reach a particular age, I’m going to say 16 as that is the legal age (stay safe, kids) even though I witnessed this and have lived this since I was 12 – platonic relationships between the sexes do not exist. You cannot have a friend who is a boy/girl and just leave it at that level. There is always that underlining tone of sex being whispered in the background even if you know in your heart that you’re not necessarily attracted to the person. I remember I was texting someone I had just met and we were in that phase of asking questions and once I got past the standard enquiries such as how old are you, where are you from, what university are you studying in, I went straight for “do you have a girlfriend?” even though I knew I wouldn’t ever be with this person in any way shape or form. Or the time I was texting someone whom I had again just met and less than an hour into our text-versation and establishing common ground, he was asking to meet with a wink emoji. The wink emoji. It’s almost primal, dare I say it. Maybe it’s our bodies’ way of ensuring we find a mate and by doing so, we are psychologically programmed to find a potential, secure said potential, establish then eliminate competition. Occasionally and unknowingly, you just catch yourself on the first step of this process and ask yourself “wait what? I don’t even like him/her, what the hell am I doing?”

I guess with age, what is important to me changes. I’m getting old, I am 19 years of age. Before I can blink, the –teen will be a distant memory. With age comes maturity; comes change that I can’t fend off even if I wanted to. My attention has shifted to what matters now but might not matter in 10 years. Tastes have changed, tolerance has changed. Things that mattered, don’t. Things that I couldn’t think about without feeling a huge swirl of emotion only make me smile now. Every little thing that happens to me is a lesson to be learnt, wisdom to be acquired, another gem to be kept. The drama evolves but it will always be around. Maybe when I’m 29, I’ll look back at this phase in time and laugh too.

Song of the Week

This song makes me bust a move.

 

And this tune tune tuneeee. This album came out the year I was born.

I will be back, promise. I’ve missed writing. I’ve missed you, blogosphere.

Until then,

Georgina ❤