[12th April 2014]
The play is good, I guess. It is a modernized version, with vampires and tons of sexually explicit scenes, which is not at all what I am expecting. I’ve only ever read the play, and it’s one of my favorites of Shakespeare’s plays, along with “The Tempest”. I like them because they’re light and fun. But this performance isn’t as much fun as it is kinda dark… done the Scandinavian way, I guess. And because it is such an odd performance, we feel rather awkward talking about it when it ends, considering all the sex and blood.
But anyway, after the play we grab a bite to eat at this Thai place and then we make our way home. Our walk takes us through this delightful little alley park, with trees heavy in pink bloom. We stop walking to admire it, and stand there beside each other for a long while. I gotta say, spring is amazing here!
You can’t imagine what my heart is doing! It sounds mushy and all, but it is beating all the way to my ears and I feel like it is about to overflow. Romantic Jane Austen style images are playing in my head and I just cannot contain myself in the face of all that, so after a while I hook my arm to my “gentleman’s” arm and lean on it. Touching him feels electric, and I feel the jolt of shivers passing through him before his body goes completely still.
Sometime later, I don’t know how long— 5 seconds or a couple of minutes? I’m not able to tell the difference— he looks down to face me, and asks if I’m cold. As if! My body is burning, and at this point I’m already secretly imagining doing very inappropriate things to him. I barely manage to shake my head, ‘cause my throat is just so dry. We start walking again, strolling really.
THEN! OMG, then he slowly lowers his arm, letting my arm unhook itself from his, while his fingertips graze my skin until he lightly reaches for my hand and HOLDS IT!!! I die! I want to look up at him and say something, but I can’t for fear of cutting the moment short. Instead I keep my head ahead on the road and lift it to the sky über-slowly to see a gibbous moon rising above the trees. I have a full on girl-boner! In my mind’s eye I’m picturing Ove leaning down to kiss my neck until I moan his name whereupon he goes on to ravish my lips. I imagine him kissing me so hard he bruises them while his hands reach for my ass to holster me up and back us up against one of the trees for an ardent make out session.
Suddenly, I realise that we are looking at each other. Everything is so close to being perfectly romantic, but I just know that nothing is going to happen. Despite everything I’m scared, and am not going to let anything happen. Which is why I clear my throat and say:
“What are we doing?”
“No idea,” Ove replies. I can see his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he speaks.
“We’re crazy,” I say.
I smile, just barely managing to give him a friendly shoulder push, and then continue walking. Still holding hands, by the way! Then I feel like I really need to talk to make things go back to normal again:
“Thanks for taking me, it was a really good play,” I can hear myself sounding super awkward, so I continue, “It’s a shame Sofia couldn’t make it. You would have been a guaranteed success… A night like this can make anyone amorous.”
His reply comes delayed, deadpan in voice and expression: “Are you amorous?”
I pause, my mind crowded and my heart trying to escape my chest. Then, it occurs to me that Ove might not really know what “amorous” really means. His English is passable, but often we have these weird conversations— usually when he wants to say something particularly witty or funny or when he gets tired of blundering in English— where he will answer me in Swedish and continue the conversation like that. Me in English and him in Swedish, I mean. So eventually I answer with trepidation:
“Well, kind of… but I think mostly just lovesick and nostalgic for past romantic times.” I am a big fat liar. And a scaredy-cat. Because I am definitely amorous… in the dirty dirty sense of the word. For him. Right now! How can I not be?
The atmosphere is absolutely romantic… sometimes I joke that I have a romantic fetish, and I can’t think of a better moment than this to illustrate my point. Experiencing the alley park with Ove is such a powerful aphrodisiac to me, that I am thoroughly wet down “there”. I’m so wet I feel the slipperiness of my privates every step I take. And every breath I take is begging the universe for a miracle, where the rest of the world just fucks off, leaving only the two of us and that park. I would then feel free to feel up his abs and pull down his jeans to see his erection exposed. He’d, of course, be kissing down my throat, my breasts and down to my folds. I’d be so hot that by the time he reached at my navel that I’d collapse, weak in the knees. He’d then lay me down on the ground, reach under my skirt to pull my underwear to the side and thrust inside me. I swear, if this fantasy were real, I probably would come immediately upon him entering me… And then come again at the feeling of his ejaculation. God, I’m such a pathetic slut!
I can’t take my eyes off him, it’s like I’m trying to read his mind or something. He nods and I ask: “Aren’t you?”
He doesn’t even try to answer, but I swear I see his eyes nod! So I continue, still trying to kill the awkward, letting go of his hand:
“I thought you bought these tickets and planned the play thing, just so you could get this sort of mood going?” As the words tumble out of my mouth I’m aware of what an asshole I am being. Maybe it’s my subconscious that’s making talk like that on purpose, because I’m still kicking myself for accepting to take Sofia’s place. Some part of me is spoiling everything by making me think of my boyfriend. I should have been here- doing all of this- with him. Instead I’m the dirty whore and cancelled on him. I feel so guilty, despite knowing that I would not be having this same experience if somehow I had been here with X instead of Ove.
I just can’t stop blabbering, to my great embarrassment: “Fuck! It’s a poon-tastic night! It’s still early, you should text Nemi and the others and find out where they’re at… try to score yourself some booty, so the night isn’t completely wasted.”
Ove looks at me sarcastically and then says: “Those are cherry blossoms, GG, get your mind out of the gutter. Leave it to you to turn something pretty into crudeness.”
That I have my mind in the gutter is a running inside joke between us [it’s funny because it’s true?]. Ove thinks I swear too much. The first time he heard me lose it, when I fucked up my dinner one day, he became clearly upset. He’d never heard a girl swear like that before. But he’s gotten over my potty mouth and now he just complains as a way to banter.
“Well, fuck!” I say again, “I’ve uncovered the lecherous plans you had for Sofia… Deny it as much as you want, but you wanted to do it to her up and down and sideways.”
Ove responds glibly: “That’s you talking not me, ‘cause you and your guy are in a stale relationship. So silence, horny one!”
I huff theatrically. He kind of knows about the dilemma in my relationship, ‘cause I told him about it some time ago, while trading stories of rocky relationships. So I joke:
“How dare you?”
“Just come here,” he commands and hugs my shoulders dragging me homewards. His touch is comforting, and different from when he held my hand earlier on. Everything starts to go back to normal, now it feels that we’re just friends again and I’m able to successfully repress all the feeling that were talking over.