Adonis Diaries

Linda was dressed up in Black: Introspection (Addendum #3)

Note: The following addenda have been written several years earlier. Nothing are better than relationships with women to refresh your memory for locations, emotions and details. T

he resilient nature of women and their compassion, when in love, cannot but add clues to your emotional levels and the trajectory of improvement to understanding life’s complex fabrics.

Decked in Black (Nov. 2002)

I never knew how I met her.  All that I recall is that she used to drive to Norman to see a Kuwaiti student that I knew as acquaintance.

Why she selected me out of so many eligible guys? It beats me.

She was tall, beautiful, svelte and blond.  We started kissing a lot, in the back and front seat of her car.

Always in her car; I had none.  Long, hot and deep kisses they were.  She never allowed my right hand to wander for long, all over her luscious body.

One day, she called me up and I agreed to spend the night at her place on Saturday.

I had never tried to take her phone number; maybe because she was dating some else or because I could not afford dating, or maybe I had a sixth sense that told me that I am not ready for women’s troubles.

Actually, I don’t recall that we ever spoke before, sort of any kind of conversation, we just kissed.

I requested that she parks at least a block away from my place. I insisted more than twice on that delicate matter: I was heading an Arab student organization, mostly from Lebanon, Jordan and Palestine. I could not afford any back stabbing on romantic grounds.

She came on time and parked right in front of my apartment.  I felt dead furious.

After a short drive, I confronted her with my displeasure. I could not shake off my anger which was a sign of an impending fiasco.

She was decked in black from head to toe; black hat, black dress, black stocking and black shoes.

She was extremely proud of her dress and especially pleased with her black stocking and asked for my opinion.

Her timing was wrong. I jumped at the opportunity to tell her the truth. “I don’t like black stockings.” I said. A tempestuous silence fell between us. I immediately wished that I could have swallowed my tongue. My quick limbic nervous system decided that I earned myself a long life grudge from this lady.

I braced myself for an unending night, tumultuous in its stillness. She parked in front of a brand new apartment complex. As soon as I entered I felt utterly sick and stepped out. I pretended to see the scenery that could not exist. The smell of new furniture, in an air-conditioned environ that is never vented to let in fresh air, was overpowering to my olfactory senses. The apartment was new and empty.

I opened the refrigerator and it was empty, nada, nothing. As we say in Lebanon, “the fridge was whistling”.

A dead body in the place could not have frightened me as much as this empty fridge.

I was wondering if this apartment was really hers, or worst, that she just rented it and I was the first to honor the place.

Talk was out of the question in my condition and I opted for some action. I attempted to lift her and discovered that she was stone heavy. I could not shift her much less lift her and I felt totally stupid and weak.

She shouted, looking me straight in the eyes, saying: “If you are thinking what I am thinking you want, then you are an idiot.” So we sat on the new sofa. My spirit was already completely destroyed because of new furniture odor.

She tried to read a few verses from a Bible, the down South Bible, of course, and the only book in this place. I was adamant not to be drawn into this nonsense of religious conversation.  So, we decided to go dancing for a change.

I knew by now that nothing was going to work tonight. The spirit of partying was lacking and she could not dance.

The dancing place was not of the intimate kind. We returned home promptly.

She suggested that I sleep on the couch; I refused bluntly. We ended sleeping together on her queen sized bed.  I mean the shorter sized bed.

I don’t recall sleeping that night because of that rarefied air and of peculiar odor. I woke up early and started making a move on her. She was dead tired to stop me; until my hands got closer to her “secret”. She would say: “Adonis, please give me thirty minutes more of sleep and I’ll drive you back.”

During that half an hour I kept undressing her slowly and diligently. I realized how huge, heavy and white her thighs are. No wonder that so much weight was hidden under her long dress.

Six years later, on my second trip to the USA, I was told that she married a truck driver. The Kuwaiti student had committed suicide.

If anyone has a current version “Of Human Bondage”, other than the book of Somerset Maugham, then please forward the title.