Introspection: Rose (Addendum #8)
An Inch Taller Than Her Country Girls (Dec. 2002)
I love, respect and admire Rose. I will cherish her for the rest of my life.
She loved me, helped me unconditionally ,and worried for me.
This said, I apologize for my candid story, but it has to be candid for my own benefit. The story started in Norman, Oklahoma, in 1988.
Rose was short but boasted to be taller than most Filipinas.
She took pride to have a lighter skin than most Filipinas.
Apparently, she was part Chinese, from her father’s side. Her mother was tall, huge and large, a pretty contrast to Rose.
Rose married a giant of an American in the Philippine and divorced him when they settled in the USA.
Rose had a smart girl, Shannon, and a boy, Jason, who grew to be big. Both kids are of large stature and well-behaved.
Rose worked awfully hard at many jobs to make ends meet.
I met her at a night club in Norman, a thirty minutes drive from Oklahoma City where she lived. She liked to dance a lot and wanted to dance with me. Rose had thick prescription glasses, like mine, and always wore pants.
She was stylish, spent at least a couple of hours on her make-up, and another hour for its removal before going to bed. Rose also sold cosmetics on the side, the sort of multilayered selling agent.
That night, she gave me a lift in her car to her apartment in the city. In her bedroom she stood on my feet and kissed me.She said: “You are thinking too much. If it was not obvious what I want, you would not be in my bedroom“.We shared a hot bath.
I was shocked at the sight of her hips, tremendously large, naked; her waist was uncharacteristically thin. She was plagued by nasty varicose from her knees down to her ankles.
Her varicose was a visual handicaps only, but no real bother in her active life, since she never complained or shown tiredness.
Rose consulted a cosmetic surgeon for her drooping right eyelid, in order to be pleasing to me, she said, though I never brought up any of her physical aspects. The consequences of the surgery were too dangerous and the physician did not recommend it.
Shortly after we met, she had to removed her appendix and she was terribly disappointed when I failed to visit her at the hospital: I had no car and public transportation were practically unavailable.
Rose once paid me an evening surprise visit at my lab in the basement of the engineering department. We were alone and kissed tenderly, at every corner of the room and in the corridors. I had completely forgotten about this event and what we did, but for her reminiscences about us. I certainly did not tell her that I had forgotten about these tender moments that she absolutely cherished.
Once, while making love, I slapped her behind one time too many. She looked at me in bewilderment. “Why are you doing that?” she said.
What could I say? That I watched a movie about behind slapping or a friend told me that women liked being slapped on their behind? I did not even apologize.
I am not hot in biology or anatomy, though I should have been an expert as a Human Factors graduate. I know about G-points, but not on which side or how many. From a few of my experiences, it seems they are located on the left side of the vagina: The translation direction pointed that way.With Rose, the G-points may be distributed in a circumference.
Once her vagina grabs me, I am captured and made prisoner: no egress, no ingress or any kind of “gress”: She rotates slowly, steadily in a constant velocity.
One day, I was depressed on account of my uncertain future and difficulty with my PhD experiments and writing up this boring thesis, and Rose got worried. She said to me: “You are not enjoying our love-making. Is it me?” I lied and said: “It is because you don’t give me much freedom in my movement. I need to feel in control, now and then.” Rose let me do my way this one nigh, just to please me as usual.
There was a period Rose was angry with me, more like depressed.She then called me to make up. Fifteen minutes before her arrival, a male colleague and friend of mine came to visit. He stayed longer than usual and I told him that I am expecting someone. He was about to leave as Rose showed up.
Rose was furious and got even nasty and said: “What! You need a friend to mediate?”
I had this nervous laugh that I did not mean at all, a laugh that could be interpreted as a mockery, for this ridiculous chain of circumstances. Rose ran out crying and did not stop. I could not reach her again. She vanished.
A girl friend of Rose told me that she resigned from her job and moved to another State with her kids. Rose told me later that she could not suffer being that close to me and keep on living. No man would do a move that stupid! Would he?
After I graduated in May of 1991 with a PhD degree in Industrial Engineering, I mailed to her a long letter to Nashville, Tennessee. Women have this knack of seeing in a letter much more than what it is. Rose immediately flew back to me.
As soon as she entered my apartment, she unzipped my pants and gave me a blow job; her first with me. She is not the type to swallow sperms and went to the bathroom to spit it. She said: “Gee, it kept growing and growing in my mouth.I did not know yours could have it that huge.“Then, I promised her to join her in Nashville soon.
A couple of acquaintances gave me a lift on their way to Kentucky.The guy was to stay at his folks for the summer and his girl friend was to pick me up on her return trip. The same night Rose took me out on a romantic tour.
A girl friend of hers accompanied us. Rose wanted her friend as a witness to what she thought would be a declaration of love. I had no intention of declaring anything. It might have crossed my mind to marry her for the purpose of obtaining a “Green Card”, but even a temporary commitment is a huge tribute to pay.
I slept on the sofa that night and the following night. The third night she moved me into her bed for the duration of the visit. I tried applying for a position in that period of acute recession during Bush Senior Presidency.
I even experimented with selling books for a multilevel scheme company.
Rose reluctantly let me use her brand new Japanese car. I don’t drive other people cars, but I was dead broke. The company allocated me a neighborhood to sell the “book of the week” that was to be promoted…
The deal is that you don’t miss a house or a business office in the area and you tour the streets clockwise to close the loop. You leave the customers the book of the week for three days for their perusal You come back the next week to retrieve the book or sell it.
We had to be at the warehouse at six in the morning, followed by a military style pep talk and then we are trained to memorize definite phrases to eliminate hesitations and how to close deals.
At six in the evening we had to learn the accounting procedures for our business and stay way after eight or even nine. Supposedly, a few of our role models who were poor in math learned to add and subtract, to harangue, and to get rich. I lost money in the final analysis because a few books could not be accounted for.
Rose’s ex-husband was to drop by for a few days and I decided to execute my plan to attend a conference in San Francisco and to stay there applying for jobs afterwards.
The graduate woman student picked me up on her way back to Oklahoma in her tiny beige VW. I vividly remember we didn’t say a word during the entire trip. She didn’t ask questions and I was very worried on what I should be doing next. It would have been polite to inquire how was her stay and let her start a conversation. I am obviously not good at communicating or socializing.
A friend lent me $100 for the Greyhound bus fare. The trip to San Fran lasted almost 3 days and I spent my money on junk food.
This is a period I’m still not ready to face, much less to write about. Suffice to admit that I roomed with my adviser in the hotel, and that he woke me up to tell me that my snoring was loud.
After the convention was over, I was on the verge of joining the file of the homeless. I managed to be hired in a full-service retirement hotel, for room and board in exchange of 4 hours work a day. I accepted all the overtime I could get in all the various departments, until I was offered the job of assistant to the manager two weeks later.
Rose visited me and I reserved a room for her in the hotel. I managed to make love to her a couple of times only. She sarcastically complained to the manager: “Adonis kept showing me San Francisco; as if I cared.”
Rose moved to Palo Alto with her ex-husband, supposedly in separate rooms, so that she could be closer to her kids who were now studying in California.
We kept meeting in San Francisco, going to parks, holding hands, but not talking much. We did not attempt any king of love-making but we made up for a few furtive kisses.
I was dating another girl but I did not tell Rose. That is not the reason for not making love: I am basically faithful to my old flames. The truth is that she did not ask me explicitly, and I had resigned my position as assistant to the manager: I had lost a few of the perks and advantages that come with a title.
Rose remarried her ex-husband as of her last letter to me before I moved to Washington DC.
Adonis Diaries 