This entry was supposed to give you the blow by blow of my pre-arranged Lewinsky special yesterday, but it will not quite be that. You see, the affair did not quite come off as planned - mostly because it did not come off at all.
Not five minutes after Raj called to say he had boarded a maxi (which is a lot like a taxi in function, but more like a specialised delivery van in appearance – specialised in delivering people, I suppose) and was on his way to my house, that my 33-year-old male cousin came over to my house to use my computer. Of course, I had to call Raj, who was less than 15 minutes away, to tell him I had unexpected guests.
So much for that idea.
Raj later said that he was already uncomfortable with the idea of us, very close, yet very PLATONIC friends, engaging in Lewinksy activities, and he took this unanticipated interruption as a sign. To cut a 32 word sentence into a 10 word pre-hyphen sentence – he would prefer not to plan such an activity again.
Bullocks.
Ah. I suppose this is all for the better. The better being Nar, I suppose, Nar who is speaking to me in a slightly unfamiliar tongue these days. It is not simply that he is being more open with his sexual aspirations with me:
Nar: “I’ll be fantasising.”
Me: “What?”
Nar: “I’ll be fantasising.”
Me: “…About what?”
Nar: “Having sex with you.”
He said it as if someone had walked up to him and inquired as to his gender.
There are also the seemingly un-sexual comments:
Nar: “I’m always thinking about you.”
That one startled me.
Nar: “You know that I don’t tell anyone these things, right?”
That one startled me, too – but only because I realised that I should have been paying attention to what he was saying.
I kid! I kid!
I was paying attention to what he was saying. What I was not paying attention to was committing those words to memory. If he only asked me what he had been talking about that night, I would have started looking at my wrist and commenting on the transient nature of time…
… And of course, as soon as I finish typed those last words, Nar calls…
Timely enough, I suppose – I have to be getting out of here.
HAPPY ONE YEAR NO-FUCK ANNIVERSARY TO ME.