Our talk, part I.

With my ear pressed to the phone eagerly, I can hear you breathe. Trouble and peace in an accent from the middle of two oceans, between west and east. Your existence consuming me even though an earth keeps us so far away, our love separated physically most days, but tied infinitely by the heart. I always try to hold onto the memory of your face, just in case. I don’t ever want to forget and sometimes I’m afraid I might. Anyway… I can’t ever forget you all over me, I think about that a lot. And the most remarkable part of you inside of me, trying to do things I’ve never done, in a rhythm similar to Hayati when Souad Massi performed. You make my breath quick the moment I hear your voice on the phone. My hands start gliding up my silhouetted sides picturing my undone. I’m in turmoil when I don’t see you in front of me, and when you go far… Because sometimes when you leave, I don’t know if that’s the last time I’ll have you in my arms. You tell me you’ll steal me away for you, hold me prisoner in an oceanfront apartment in Haifa, to have me whenever any moments allow you to be. However, I’d still be missing you from another land, alone, still without you in my arms.

You’re too far, my young King.

“Ma…,” his heavy breath exhales through a static connection, cutting through complicated emotions and names.

Truth - We are so far, it troubles me to think of you lonely where you are… It’s a place I’ve seen before. I don’t ever want you to be lonely or without more nurturing thoughts. You’re younger, too beautiful, precious… Too much. Too sweet taboo with those pet names, my love. Your attachment to them of sorts. And I just can’t be with you always and it tears my heart a part. You’d rather be on the phone with me than obtaining what you need. I ask that you satisfy your needs, only promise to call me when you have a chance. So I hear your voice, feel close through another woman’s touch when you explain in detail everything you’ve done.

“My love, tell me,” I reply.

“She is not you,” sweetly, deeply and curtly he remarks.

More truth - And he is not you.

Of course she’s not me. She doesn’t moan out loud nor flinch nor beg at the sprawl of your fingers choking her life force away. She wouldn’t understand your inner dismay. She doesn’t know what you like to be called nor what you crave. She will never call you that word anyway.

Truth - You know that, right? She won’t understand what it means to you, who you are and from where it comes. A rough road driven long ago. Twists from journeys and scenes flashing in front of you, the only time you don’t have control. How you struggle with balance when you’ve seen, heard, tasted so much, and all the losses and what was taken when you presented trust. The misleading encounter when you were young, at that time when you’re all tenderness and young. When hardness and kindness look alike and it’s difficult to really know the difference. My heart breaks to know vulnerability was taken by such wickedness. I would have done everything to protect you from such pain, my love. A lioness… And because of, I know your taboo names mean something. Come to me, my Prince. I’ll whisper anything you want.

More truth - You are all you ever need to be to have everything you want.

“I hate you, Queen,” he scowls, tearfully.

Truth - You never mean that.

“I fucked her so hard as if I could will you beneath me. Why can’t we be?” He says through his teeth.

You love women, their architecture, design. You’ve loved them since the first moment you masturbated to thoughts of one, trying to recall every part of one. Your favorite, the mature kind. I remember you told me about the wife across the road, down the way, before you went off to war too soon. She’d let you watch her through a glass pane window, so you could learn where to touch, and then maybe practice some more later on.

You developed too quickly into loving women in the most perverse, most beautiful ways, most intimate and dark ways. You don’t just notice the curves, you notice the line dividing the line that intersects and shapes the curve. Fantasizing yourself in between those curves, you allowing those lines and divide to pull you in. You enjoyed teaching yourself exactly where each line leads next, so you know where to go next, all while those lines intersect, holding you in.

I’m familiar with your ways, you confide so much. Unfortunately, I can’t be with you right now, and without, you become temperamental and violent. It takes a lot to calm and settle you into one spot. It can be almost impossible to get to you quick enough when you need me most. And sometimes you like to hurt. Please, just do this for me… Talk to me, my Prince.

Truth - You desire sometimes more bodies to join us, why not when by yourself. But you say, being without someone isn’t what makes you go insane. It’s the idea of not having me one day. Moving on…

Sometimes another woman can help, if willing. It’s okay, my love. Your impulses, private moments. You don’t have to feel such pain.

His raspy, deep tones continue, “Be in my grip. Your nipples, rosy pink, lick. Wine to my lips, flick. I’m dying here without you, please. Don’t you know how much I love you, Queen?”

More truth - I love you, too.

You groan so low and slow in a monotone, monochrome version of out loud with an accent on each note.

“Tell me about her,” I insist.

“Why won’t you be with me?” He insists more.

You always insist more. I imagine she did not know that about you. You and your ways, Prince.

Truth - I feel nothing other than you are home, I’m like wife, ma and mami, I’m yours. I’ll take care of all your demands, needs, wants, and allowing all your marks and much more.

I can hear you grabbing your cock, making my heart race. You over there sulking, picturing me biting my lower lip. I’m clenching my inner thighs, massaging only air, only wishing you near. To be under your mass, to serve only you with any tension you’d care to apply. To sip your cum from your licorice vine, as you insistently force I do all the time. Yelling to take each inch of your girth, your tip, pushing further until my lips connect and wrap around your hardness, erect and enlarged. And the meaning of tenderness when calling out names, the ones you shout out loud while holding me down in your sort of embrace.

“We can’t always be right now. I can’t always. You know this, seldom time permits. You’re life, my life, him,” I try to act nonchalant, but interrupted.

“Fuck him,” he inserts his voice.

“My young King,” I insert only sweetness.

Truth - You make me tremble how you can yell in such a calm, seductive, Cheshire grin.

I ignore and continue, “Isn’t it enough to know that I will come to you and only you? To promise you this, to fulfill all your needs and wants. That we’re open and free to be as one, a unique situation, for us to be able to be.” I exhale, trying to convince, growing restless from this conversation.

More truth - It isn’t enough for you. You do not take part in, you do not share. You are all-consuming, selfish, and somehow fell in love along the way. Your life, my life, him… I’m not sure how it fits. You say you would also love him, all I have to do is ask.

I’m in love with you very much, you already know this though. You want to be in my life as more, but right now, you go invisible as soon as the phone call ends. As the last line of Hayati, “No one knows of me but God.” No one will know me. Not when you leave, my love.

“Tell me about her. Describe her. Everything, please,” pleading, I beg.

You like that, begging, pleading, spreading out for your display. Makes me think of Monterrey. My breasts pressed against a cold glass pane, asking over and over and over for you to cum inside of me. My thighs propped up and tired while clenching fully my throat on each side, me becoming your mold and shape. You even know where to hold in order for me to still breathe. You yelling, “Don’t you move, ma… Do as I say, please, or, you will have to learn my other ways…” Those gripping hands now permanently a part of my own anatomy. I feel them even when you are in another place, far away.

How did you know to do that? To fuck me so hard I would remember, forever. To never forget, you and that tight, hostage-like embrace. You whispering in a redundant mantra, “My angel, don’t fucking move,” and adding in between each measure, “Do you know how much I love you.” Not a question, only a statement crying out for me to console.

And to be continued in part II.