I hope you had and still have support from family, friends or any other caring and good listener... — Amity
Huh, this is not a story I tell very often. I won't tell the whole thing here for sure, but thanks for the kind words, it is much appreciated.
I once told it to a girl, I mean a woman, a total stranger. This I can evoke here, it's a good and light memory of intimacy. It will help balance the other one. Sorry if I brag a little.
It was on a flight from Beijing to Bangkok. The flight had been delayed quite a bit and we had met at the odious buffet of a brutalist business lounge, a room without windows deep inside the immense airport. She was Chinese, thin like a reed, preppy in her business suit, round face, one eye a bit astray, not too much... There was something innocent in her, in that strange look, as if half of her was keeping track of the sky all the time. It gave her the face of an angel, somehow. I liked her, and more importantly, I trusted her, immediately. I could see she liked me too. I was in a suit too, preppy and all. Both in our thirties. We started chatting in the lounge, eating whatever we had picked.
I am a romantic bloke, but also a very shy guy. I don't do pick up lines. I don't do dates, they seem preordained and planned, lacking what I naively cherish in romance: surprise and spontaneity. But once in a long while, a woman has had the good sense of hitting on me.
She was not really hitting on me, not in any heavy or unladylike manner, but she was clearly interested. What was happening between us was more than just the boredom of two strangers, trying to keep each other company during a long wait, in an aggressively ugly place. We clicked, almost magically like in romance novels. The way I like it.
When the plane came we asked the steward if we could sit next to one another on these comfortable business class seats.
She was on her way back to Australia where she had come to study, and was now working in some consulting firm specialised in China. She was flying a lot in those planes. Her marriage (with an Australian) was unhappy, and without love. She had a way to say that... bowing her head, but still, in a low yet assertive, factual tone she said it, sure of her rights to sexual and romantic happiness as a young woman in this modern world.
She had been a child during the cultural revolution, she remembered a few things, first the hunger and the cold, then the violence, and the shame of her parents who were teachers, lambasted and beaten up by their students.
I told her many stories too, all real. And since back then the story of that other girl was recent, I found myself telling that one too. I emptied my soul to her, and like you guys, she forgave me and comforted me.
We kept talking of many things throughout the night. We had started to lean on one another to murmur our stories, not to wake up other travelers who had all dozed off. At some point our heads touched, and we both let them there. And then the rest of our bodies followed suit, in a progressive, timid at first then bolder and bolder exploration of one another.
All this time she was checking on the angels above with her left eye, or perhaps on God or on some Chinese equivalent. Whoever they were, I believe they were looking back upon us, because we both missed our connection in Bangkok and ended up in the same hotel room.
At some point I told her she was truly beautiful. She retorted categorically that she was not, that by Chinese standards she was ugly. She had a round face (which for some reason was bad), small tits and an eye checking on God. And yet to me, she looked like an angel.
She left the room first, without any fuss as the practical woman she really was, on her way to Sydney.