MANICHAEAN
09-21-2011, 08:09 AM
THE SEDUCTION OF M’S ROXAS.
He had been sitting in the entrance lounge of the Peninsular Hotel, Manila, having lunch when she arrived. An SMS the previous day said she was excited at seeing him again.
It had been a turbulent and unfulfilled relationship before back in Qatar. But then women never really knew what they needed in a man. It was something that had to be ascertained somewhere along the way, amidst the tears, the break ups and the emotions that had to be unravelled.
He saw her first as she emerged, through the intermittent flurry of security checks at the front swing doors. She seemed quiet and self-contained as he remembered her. She saw him, waved and approached quietly for a kiss on the cheek.
A lot had changed in her world since that first intense affair back in the Middle East. They had broken up, she had found a new suitor, got pregnant whilst drunk she said, and was now back in the Philippines adoring over a one year old baby girl. If the subject was ever touched upon, she seemed oblivious to the abandonment by the child’s father, but one sensed a deep anger at a betrayal of values.
Reality is the cold steel of survival in difficult circumstances, especially where the vulnerability of infants is involved. He had sent funds at regular intervals, not so much to buy back her affections, but from a combination of knowing that, whilst he felt sorry for her situation, there still existed a deep love he could not ignore and that it was useless to fight against.
“How you been keeping?” he asked. “ Fancy some lunch?”
The dark Chinese eyes absorbed him. “Mmmmm” was the response.
He had checked her in earlier with reception & so after the usual formalities of enquiring as to how was so and so, and had you heard from what’s his name, they proceeded up to his suite on the tenth floor.
She had rebuked him once for being too soft with her & he knew now that she had been right. Some women appreciate assertiveness, even physical when required. At least she had been honest enough to spell it out.
And so, he was in no mood for further pleasantries. He sat in the chair by the window.
“Come here,” he said.
She came and he took her head in both hands and kissed her strongly, while at the same time pulling her body onto his. His arms were fast around her, he seemed to be gathering her into himself, her warmth, her softness, drinking in the suffusion of her physical being. She relaxed, and seemed to melt, to flow into him and there was no resistance. They stayed for some time in each other’s arms, the smell and texture of her long black hair in his face, the feel of her waist and shoulders encompassed in his arms. He had come for vindication. As he drew nearer to her, he plunged deeper into her enveloping soft warmth, a wonderful creative heat that penetrated his veins and gave him life again.
He felt his limbs growing fuller and flexible with life, his body gained an unknown strength. He was a man again, strong and rounded. And he was a child, so soothed and restored and full of gratitude.
Outside by the pool below, guests dipped and dived in the cool water and others lay back on lounge beds under tall overhanging palms. But inside all that afternoon, and all that long night, two reunited souls progressed on that journey of lovers, peeling back little by little that which lay before them. He now knew what it was to be awake and potent in that other basic mind, the deepest physical mind.
She professed to have a headache and wanted to sleep. It was a coquetry which now he could see through. Her top was the first garment to come off and he could see she was still heavy with the milk her child required. The bra was undone with no fumbling and she lay on her front clasping it to her like some protective shield.
He straddled her and proceeded to massage her bare back, shoulders & arms. Small moans came from her. With one swift movement the belt was unbuckled and pulling her roughly towards him, he pulled off her jeans, first one leg, and then the other.
He pulled her again close to him and went down between her thighs.
Her eyes opened wide, her whole body was vibrant with the hesitation and excitement of what was for her a totally new experience. It was cool and soft down there, the light imperceptible scent of the gateway to a woman. Her moans began to come from her mouth and her neck arched back, seeking solace, easement and sanctuary in the cushions behind her head.
“This is my body. Take it as my sacrifice and gift unto you.”
She pulled the duvet over the two of them, like a protective womb, but the light that filtered through was enough for him still to gaze up from where he lay with awe on the soft, rounded upper torso that stretched before him.
He went down gently on her, a touch here, a caress there.
She soon broke, and the shattered dam of sensuality convulsed her body in shudders as shouts broke involuntary from her lips.
“Jesus!” was in there somewhere, combined with incoherent shouts of shock mingled with pleasure.
When finished, it was not finished. She had tasted of the fruit. In fact she progressed way beyond his expectations. She was soon ready to handle him, something she had shied away from before. It was almost like a tutorial, except that this time she was in control. He lay there convulsing with each delicate touch of her fingers, unable to communicate properly to what she considered, questions of importance.
She was breaking barriers by the minute, and did as she was told, as he watched her long black hair effortlessly rise and fall upon his very existence.
There were strange fountains of his body, more mysterious and potent than any she had imagined or known. She had thought that there was no source deeper than the phallic source. And now, from the raw clay of a man’s body, from the strange flanks and thighs, deeper, further in mystery than the phallic source, came the floods of ineffable riches. She would touch him. With perfect fine finger-tips of reality she would touch the reality in him. This was her sustaining anticipation. The fingers of silence upon silence, she received the maximum of unspeakable communication in touch.
There was humour in there as well and no tears.
“What does it taste like?” he asked.
“Like a hot dog,” she replied and laughed openly with her head held back.
Her fingers went over the mould of his face and beard. How foreign he was – ah how dangerous! Her soul thrilled with complete knowledge. This was the glistening forbidden apple, this face and body of a man. She kissed him, putting her fingers over his face, his eyes, his ears, to his neck, to know him, to gather him in by touch.
She felt him quiver, and she came down involuntarily nearer upon him. He could not help himself. Her fingers had him under their power. The fathomless desire they could evoke in him.
But by now she knew and it was enough. How much more of him was there to know? Ah, many day’s harvesting for her hands upon the field of his living body. Her hands were eager, greedy for knowledge. But for the present it was enough for there were all the after days. And even he was glad to be checked and held back. For to desire is better than to possess, the finality of the end was dreaded as deeply as it was desired. He felt a full, unutterable sleep coming over him, the sleep of complete exhaustion and restoration. And he slept as if time were one moment, unchanging and unmoving.
The night was one of holding each other tenderly. She had learned at last to be still and perfect. She had a full mystic knowledge of him, and in this knowledge there was some of the inevitability and the beauty of fate, a fate which one asks for and which one accepts in full. And at breakfast the next morning there laid between them a peace and love that transcended the separations imminent in a world of transient existences.
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He had been sitting in the entrance lounge of the Peninsular Hotel, Manila, having lunch when she arrived. An SMS the previous day said she was excited at seeing him again.
It had been a turbulent and unfulfilled relationship before back in Qatar. But then women never really knew what they needed in a man. It was something that had to be ascertained somewhere along the way, amidst the tears, the break ups and the emotions that had to be unravelled.
He saw her first as she emerged, through the intermittent flurry of security checks at the front swing doors. She seemed quiet and self-contained as he remembered her. She saw him, waved and approached quietly for a kiss on the cheek.
A lot had changed in her world since that first intense affair back in the Middle East. They had broken up, she had found a new suitor, got pregnant whilst drunk she said, and was now back in the Philippines adoring over a one year old baby girl. If the subject was ever touched upon, she seemed oblivious to the abandonment by the child’s father, but one sensed a deep anger at a betrayal of values.
Reality is the cold steel of survival in difficult circumstances, especially where the vulnerability of infants is involved. He had sent funds at regular intervals, not so much to buy back her affections, but from a combination of knowing that, whilst he felt sorry for her situation, there still existed a deep love he could not ignore and that it was useless to fight against.
“How you been keeping?” he asked. “ Fancy some lunch?”
The dark Chinese eyes absorbed him. “Mmmmm” was the response.
He had checked her in earlier with reception & so after the usual formalities of enquiring as to how was so and so, and had you heard from what’s his name, they proceeded up to his suite on the tenth floor.
She had rebuked him once for being too soft with her & he knew now that she had been right. Some women appreciate assertiveness, even physical when required. At least she had been honest enough to spell it out.
And so, he was in no mood for further pleasantries. He sat in the chair by the window.
“Come here,” he said.
She came and he took her head in both hands and kissed her strongly, while at the same time pulling her body onto his. His arms were fast around her, he seemed to be gathering her into himself, her warmth, her softness, drinking in the suffusion of her physical being. She relaxed, and seemed to melt, to flow into him and there was no resistance. They stayed for some time in each other’s arms, the smell and texture of her long black hair in his face, the feel of her waist and shoulders encompassed in his arms. He had come for vindication. As he drew nearer to her, he plunged deeper into her enveloping soft warmth, a wonderful creative heat that penetrated his veins and gave him life again.
He felt his limbs growing fuller and flexible with life, his body gained an unknown strength. He was a man again, strong and rounded. And he was a child, so soothed and restored and full of gratitude.
Outside by the pool below, guests dipped and dived in the cool water and others lay back on lounge beds under tall overhanging palms. But inside all that afternoon, and all that long night, two reunited souls progressed on that journey of lovers, peeling back little by little that which lay before them. He now knew what it was to be awake and potent in that other basic mind, the deepest physical mind.
She professed to have a headache and wanted to sleep. It was a coquetry which now he could see through. Her top was the first garment to come off and he could see she was still heavy with the milk her child required. The bra was undone with no fumbling and she lay on her front clasping it to her like some protective shield.
He straddled her and proceeded to massage her bare back, shoulders & arms. Small moans came from her. With one swift movement the belt was unbuckled and pulling her roughly towards him, he pulled off her jeans, first one leg, and then the other.
He pulled her again close to him and went down between her thighs.
Her eyes opened wide, her whole body was vibrant with the hesitation and excitement of what was for her a totally new experience. It was cool and soft down there, the light imperceptible scent of the gateway to a woman. Her moans began to come from her mouth and her neck arched back, seeking solace, easement and sanctuary in the cushions behind her head.
“This is my body. Take it as my sacrifice and gift unto you.”
She pulled the duvet over the two of them, like a protective womb, but the light that filtered through was enough for him still to gaze up from where he lay with awe on the soft, rounded upper torso that stretched before him.
He went down gently on her, a touch here, a caress there.
She soon broke, and the shattered dam of sensuality convulsed her body in shudders as shouts broke involuntary from her lips.
“Jesus!” was in there somewhere, combined with incoherent shouts of shock mingled with pleasure.
When finished, it was not finished. She had tasted of the fruit. In fact she progressed way beyond his expectations. She was soon ready to handle him, something she had shied away from before. It was almost like a tutorial, except that this time she was in control. He lay there convulsing with each delicate touch of her fingers, unable to communicate properly to what she considered, questions of importance.
She was breaking barriers by the minute, and did as she was told, as he watched her long black hair effortlessly rise and fall upon his very existence.
There were strange fountains of his body, more mysterious and potent than any she had imagined or known. She had thought that there was no source deeper than the phallic source. And now, from the raw clay of a man’s body, from the strange flanks and thighs, deeper, further in mystery than the phallic source, came the floods of ineffable riches. She would touch him. With perfect fine finger-tips of reality she would touch the reality in him. This was her sustaining anticipation. The fingers of silence upon silence, she received the maximum of unspeakable communication in touch.
There was humour in there as well and no tears.
“What does it taste like?” he asked.
“Like a hot dog,” she replied and laughed openly with her head held back.
Her fingers went over the mould of his face and beard. How foreign he was – ah how dangerous! Her soul thrilled with complete knowledge. This was the glistening forbidden apple, this face and body of a man. She kissed him, putting her fingers over his face, his eyes, his ears, to his neck, to know him, to gather him in by touch.
She felt him quiver, and she came down involuntarily nearer upon him. He could not help himself. Her fingers had him under their power. The fathomless desire they could evoke in him.
But by now she knew and it was enough. How much more of him was there to know? Ah, many day’s harvesting for her hands upon the field of his living body. Her hands were eager, greedy for knowledge. But for the present it was enough for there were all the after days. And even he was glad to be checked and held back. For to desire is better than to possess, the finality of the end was dreaded as deeply as it was desired. He felt a full, unutterable sleep coming over him, the sleep of complete exhaustion and restoration. And he slept as if time were one moment, unchanging and unmoving.
The night was one of holding each other tenderly. She had learned at last to be still and perfect. She had a full mystic knowledge of him, and in this knowledge there was some of the inevitability and the beauty of fate, a fate which one asks for and which one accepts in full. And at breakfast the next morning there laid between them a peace and love that transcended the separations imminent in a world of transient existences.
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