He Wasn't All That Bad...

Mr. P has always been mercilessly painted as the villain in my life but having recently gotten over him plus the maturity that comes with age, I thought I'd shed a positive light on the villainous character granting him, at least, an explanation as to why he deserved such a pivotal role on Just Me.

Mr. P and I lived in the same hostel (dormitories in Malaysian universities) for two years. Brown people in local university hostels tend to stick together so we were introduced and it wasn't just a chance meeting. During his first semester, I knew him simply as a junior and not even the good looking one in the bunch because I was always partial to larger, taller men. Mid semester onwards I started getting to know him better because he frequently spent time with a girl from my batch who I was close to.

Being a university jock he was one of the hot brown men on campus that most brown girls wanted to court. Being a sportsmen he was lean with a four pack and had extremely strong arms and shoulders though not blessed with a broad upper body. He was mostly smooth except a little sprouting on his chest, smooth hair on his arms, hairy legs and luscious pubic hair. The other great thing about his physique was that he didn't have those chicken legs and flat derriere most brown men come with. Briefly a varsity football player, he had strong thick muscular legs with a derriere firm enough to bounce coins off of! Two perfect scoops of dark chocolate ice cream! Darkkkk chocolate *in whispers* Boy could he fill up a pair of shorts. And that final detail to complete the picture was, more than anything, proportionate to his body and might I add perfectly shaped.

Physique was something I discovered much much later although evidently, I have yet to forget (and I don't want to either :P ). What came first was the eagerness to always be with me. I've never met someone who wanted to be with me, talk to me and adore me as much as he did. Back then, all we had was his motorcyle with which we traveled everywhere. Before I moved into his empty three persons room when both his roommates left to stay off campus, he'd come to my room almost every day to take me out to eat and after that we'd end up in his room just talking. Sometimes he'd just play a game on his PC and I'd be reading something or completing assignments on my laptop. Other times I'd just silently sit there and watch him play his games or he'd be laying on his bed silently watching me work on my laptop. When we did speak he spoke about his dreams, his family, his ideal woman, his aspirations, how he wanted a better life for his parents and much more. I think this was when I started falling for him; how this simple minded, economically underprivileged person with an education that barely got him into the university had such big aspirations. Someone like me; born to educated working parents, sent to extra tuition classes to excel in school, spoken to in English since childhood, and, as expected, scored straight 'A's in public examinations; found his ambitions, in spite of his upbringing, very attractive. I wanted to help this boy because helping him would help his family out. And this was before we did anything physical.

In a manner of speaking, he was a caring person. He never let me go hungry. He'd go out of his way to make sure I had food. Even if the cash was sometimes mine, the effort was, quite often, his. I don't know if this is a brown people thing but there's this sentiment towards food and promptly making sure someone you care for is well fed. More reasons I fell for him. Transportation was something I initially struggled with after every trip back home. I'd have to walk a long distance to get back to campus from the bus stop after having commuted via LRT; something I never had to do after becoming closer to him. He'd always fetch me from the bus drop off point or have someone do it if he was unavailable.

Besides being simply caring towards me, he adored me, for the most part at least. I was someone he was intrigued by. How I spoke English so well; how I was a popular dancer in campus; how I knew people with media influence (locally popular brown people at least); how I was a caring person myself; how I often cared for him by offering moral support and helping him through tough times, even financially. His intrigue turned to infatuation, something I did not see until that drunken night. Ah that drunken night... Very few things in my life equal the euphoria from that single surreal moment when I awoke (partially sober) to him rubbing his excited member on my hips.

I remember the morning after.
People weren't kidding when they say they are giddy with the buzz of excitement infatuation gives them.
I knew it that morning.
My stomach was filled with butterflies every time I thought about the night before.
My heart skipped a beat and I literally lost my breath in pure ecstasy.
The fact that the man I was unknowingly crushing on, the one I thought was too straight to even consider anything remotely romantic, gave me the ultimate reciprocation sent my chest fluttering and made my knees weak.
I knew I was his first and that it was his first time receiving a job; it didn't take long (TBH I had to bob my head no more than five times).

My relationship with him was the thing of dreams! I had this strong man with me who was a sweet and somewhat misunderstood character besides being popular, powerful, revered and desired. While, I was the creative, flamboyant, confident butterfly, who was just as well known (if not more) and adored because of my dance talent. It was like the hot jock secretly in a relationship with the famous sweet pretty boy. From the start it was he who made all the moves to win me over; from getting close to me to finally sealing the deal on that drunken night. It was my epic romantic tale. One I don't think I'll ever get from anyone else. There were times that we'd be working together on a project and I'd look at him while he was delegating tasks and think, "That's my man!" I've seen that very pride in his smile whenever he'd notice other people complementing me on a performance after a show or an event.

Confused Girl had once told me that Mr. P had confided in her that he would hold on to me forever. This information came to me when I was going through a rough period with him when he had fallen in love with Confused Gal. Something else I didn't see coming. At that point sexual intimacy between us had unfathomably stopped. The only time we touched was when he wanted a massage to relax and fall asleep. Saying I was confused as to why Mr. P had not pursued me for an orgasm in a while would have been a gross understatement. Until of course, the revelation of his feelings towards Confused Gal gut punched me deeper than anything I'd ever felt before. And it came from an unlikely source when I least expected it.

Anyway, he kept his promise.

Mr. P never cut ties with me.

I severed the relationship.

I had to, for my sanity.

I planned my epic exit from his life when I attended his graduation.

Couple of days after the event, when he left for work, I wrote a letter for him on a Microsoft word document in his PC, left a note directing him to it, packed my bags and left.

Without telling him.

That bus ride home was torture.

The following weeks were also torture.

I would only speak to him two years later. And biennially since for brief moments lasting minutes.

I've had my epic love story.

Finding one greater than this seems impossible.

How is anyone ever going to sweep me off my feet like he did?

Nope.

Anything after this is sheer practicality.

Unless God has plans for me.