Page 22 of Oh Boy!
Nathan
I’d almost forgotten how the weight on one’s shoulders could lessen. How one’s muscles could relax with every passing minute. How one’s soul could grasp that it’s at peace. Nothing compares. How could I have forgotten? Were my hopes of finding my soulmate crushed by how quickly my relationship with Fanny turned sour? Yeah, I genuinely believed that she was the one. Life proved me wrong. How stupid of me to think that burying myself in any willing pussy would magically bring the next potential candidate to light. What about the chemistry? The connection? The pull?
“I can see clearly now…” Johnny Nash’s lyrics tumble from my mouth as the song blasts. Granted, it’s not the type of music that I usually listen to while practicing calligraphy.
With an uncontrollable need to express myself on paper, I gathered my nibs, walnut-based ink, brushes, paints, and pigments this morning. When I sat in front of my drawing board after my light breakfast, I breathed in and out. At once, my fingers had a mind of their own and a singular purpose: sharing my take on this infamous story involving a book of spells. Inevitably, this story came to the forefront, and I felt compelled to expose more.
My ambitious new project was waiting for me; now is the right time. I’ve decided to pay tribute to the urban legend that I’ve become slightly obsessed about… The legend about the ancient star-crossed lovers and their forbidden love that transcends time. As with my other obsessions, this has to remain a secret—at least for now. Every cell of my being has basked in the euphoria that’s taken residence ever since Sally mauled me at Starbucks, over a month ago. Don’t get me wrong, I admired her bold and unexpected move. She acted so hesitant before, as if testing the waters.
Straightening my spine after hours of work, I hear my stomach grumble and grab my beloved steel vintage Omega Speedmaster from the kitchen counter to check the time. Doing calligraphy with my favorite accessory on isn’t an option; my wrist needs its freedom. “Holy shit!” I say to myself, chuckling at the realization that it’s almost three. “No wonder why I’m starving.” I’ve learned from experience that some addictions have a way of curbing my appetite. Being a workaholic is one of them.
Lightheaded and still focused, I pause the music and mindlessly consider the outline of my book while scrubbing my stained hands. I fix myself a BLT and a side salad, then use my lunch break to check my messages and missed calls since I put my iPhone on airplane mode.
To my surprise, Virgil called twice while I was incommunicado; he must have sensed that I was working on our favorite legend. My friend’s as passionate about it as I am. I haven’t heard from him in ages; he does that sometimes: disappears from the surface of the earth. “What are you up to?” I murmur. Yup, talking to myself is apparently a new habit! I’ve been living in my own little world since Sally and I started whatever it is we’re doing. I, too, should update my friend on the recent developments in my life. Obviously, I’m not ready to confess how overwhelmed I am by my current love interest—please, please, please, add quotation marks to the last two words because it seems that I can’t assign an appropriate label.
I wouldn’t want Virgil to think that I’m back to square one when Fanny and I were reunited and we whispered unrealistic promises like forever, always… or “toujours,” because I love the sound of the French words. If I reveal how I feel about my blonde obsession, he’s going to freak out. He’ll forget that I’m not eager to recreate what I believed that Fanny and I had. He’ll forget that my feelings for the French woman morphed into a genuine friendship. He’ll forget to keep his big mouth shut regarding what he calls my “nasty habits,” aka fixations, addictions, and now adding Sally to the mix.
Nah, can’t allow that.
But I’ve missed the fucker and there’s a couple of things I need to address since I can’t call David to talk about sex.
Nope, not doing that.
For now, I wolf down my tasty sandwich in silence and ponder the sensations that Sally elicits in me. One day at a time, I’ve allowed myself to consider that it may lead to something more. With each brush of our skin, every sweep of our lips, our souls have reawakened.
Yep, I felt that.
From the moment I laid eyes on this delicious and strong creature at Miyagi Wisdom, an ache settled inside of me. That should have been my clue, but I guess that I confused it with my need to fuck. What? I may have skills that other guys aren’t equipped with, but I’m a man. It’s common knowledge that guys have urges that have to be expressed. The woman I coveted was at arm’s length, but forbidden territory nonetheless.
Back then, Sally sent signals telling me to back the fuck off; I acquiesced and went after the next best thing. Sally’s friend was a willing victim. Sally’s friendship was an unsatisfying consolation. Sally’s texts were a soothing balm. I lured myself into believing it would be enough.
My mind, body, and soul knew better. Despite my best intentions, I long to fuck her senseless, but that hasn’t been in the cards yet. Over a month has passed since our first kiss. I’d never press the issue, but desire is written all over her face. Yet, nothing’s happened…
We’re both working in New York at the moment and seeing a lot of each other, but whenever my fingers venture anywhere near her panties, her body goes rigid. Getting the hint, I redirect my actions to safer territory, such as her phenomenal chest, which is amazingly responsive. So, yeah, “nothing’s happened” is an exaggeration. I’ve run my tongue over ninety percent of her sinful body. My fingers pinched her hardening nipples. My teeth playfully nipped her soft skin. She let me do that and reciprocated to some extent. As for third base, well, we’re not there; honestly, using my hand is getting old pretty fast.
With these thoughts in mind, a ludicrous one pops in.
Could she be a virgin at twenty-six? After all, her fake boyfriend was a front to keep guys away …
“Fuck! Why didn’t I think of this sooner?” I worry my lower lip with my teeth, thinking that there’s nothing wrong with being a virgin, apart from the fact that I’m far from ready to take anyone’s virginity. I’m not equipped for such a responsibility
Next thing I know, I frantically clear the table and snatch my phone to dial my friend.
“Hey, man, what’s up?” I ask, feeling all worked-up by my troubling thought before Virgil has the chance to say hello. I start pacing the kitchen.
“Just got back from Tibet is what’s up.” His statement is delivered in his signature hoarse voice that’s always so laid-back that it gets on my nerves; I have no clue how he can stay collected no matter the circumstances. And here I thought I was doing a great job keeping my cool. “You had no clue that I was out of the country, did you?” His question met with silence. I apologize for being a shitty friend; that’s par for the course with me, but acknowledging it felt like the right thing to do.
“Hot Jade tagged along, I assume?”
“Yup, Jade did.” He doesn’t comment on the adjective that I used to describe her, as if immune to her tempting curves. That’s why I enjoy teasing him. At least, he sounds amused that I find him somewhat predictable; we’re like an old couple, giving shit to each other. I’m unquestionably the jerk in our bromance. Virgil Blake is the coolest guy in the world and wouldn’t hurt a fly. “She missed her family. It’s been over a year since she saw them, so…” Those two have an unusual long-term relationship. They’ve always been together, but they seem to be comfortable with taking breaks to play the field. Virgil and I are similar in that we prefer monogamy over sharing, but what he has with Jade is of another nature. Guess I’m not creative enough to embrace such a lifestyle!
I stop pacing to sit at my desk and heave a heavy sigh before I say my piece. “Speaking of girlfriends…” I trail off for effect and update him on how things are progressing with Sally, who I don’t call my girlfriend yet, but she’s not a hook-up either. I give him the Cliff-Notes version to avoid embarrassing myself for not scoring the girl on the first date, although I’m well aware that he doesn’t give a flying fuck about that sort of thing. Also, I don’t disclose Rupert’s sexual orientation because that’s nobody’s business but his. I rest my chin on my palm. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“What? The fact that you’re so irresistible, but this girl’s resisting you anyway!” A bark of laughter roars on the other end of the line.
“Fuck you!”
“Thanks, but no thanks. It might come as a shock, but you’re not my type.” His voice is calm, but tinged with mockery. Ass! “I’m sorry to inform you that you’ll never have a taste of my mouth—or anything else for that matter!” He clears his throat and carries on, “I must say, I’m starting to like her even more. I’m back in Jersey for a couple of weeks. I’ll borrow my dad’s car, and we can meet for dinner. I’ll bring Jade. What do you say?”
“I say, ‘No way, Jose.’ It’s way too soon. I’m not even sure Sally’sthatinto me.”
“Because she hasn’t slept with you yet?”
I grumble my agreement. “I have no idea what’s stopping her, and I’m being very serious here.”
“I know. Can I suggest something ballsy?”
I lift my head and run my fingers through my hair, wondering what my witty friend’s come up with, and grunt, “Sure.”
“Ask her.”
