Women, Ah, Women (part of a fictionalized autobiography)
I am not a kiss-and-tell type. No, I am not. I am not into denial. Since women have featured predominantly in my life, starting with my strong-willed, caring, intelligent, moralistic mother, I cannot help mentioning them in a book allegedly about my life. That’s my rationale. I write about them, not to brag about myself or to deride them, but to get to the source of my sufferings and wonderment. I have written about them in my short stories. I will try not to repeat myself here.
Because of my mother, I respect and adore women. I never think of them of less than capable than men and I am not intimidated by strong women. The stronger a woman, the more I am attracted to her, with one caveat: she has got to be moralistic as well, just like mother.
You have read or probably heard that I have been blessed with the affections of 3 and 23 women. The number could have gone easily up in the 30s if I have not been more selective and demanding after I turned 50. There is something about me that attracts women to me like bees to honey. Of all the 3 and 23 women, definitely 2 and maybe 3 that really loved me. One was singularly exceptional. She has featured in my short stories. And she deserves to be mentioned here again.
I met her when I turned 50, on my birthday to be exact. A mutual friend introduced us. I was lonely and so was she. I think she was more lonely than I was. We were cool toward to each other at first. I was thinking of getting out of town and heading back to where I had been. And there were vast disparities between us in terms of income and education. But then a slow fire between us started burning. Once it started, it got hotter with each passing week. Then to my delight she proved to be exceptional in many areas.
Money was one of them. She was poor and lived on a low monthly fixed income. Yet she steadfastly refused to take any money from me. That was the first for me. All other women enjoyed my treating them. Some even schemed to swindle me out of money. Not her. She just didn’t like me spending money on her. She kept saying, “Roberto, you work so fucking hard for your money. Long hours for only a few lousy dollars a day. That really breaks my heart. I wish I had a lot of money so you wouldn’t have to work. And then seeing you skimp and save your money and don’t spend on yourself breaks my heart further. Just don’t spend your hard-earned money on any bitches. If I get wind of that, I’ll kill you.”
Sex was an area she excelled in. She was hot, very hot, suffice to say. She taught me the art of giving and receiving carnal pleasures.
And then she was too much for me to bear. She was bossy and domineering and uncompromising. In the end, we had to part ways. She cried her heart out. Three months later, she died in her sleep, I was told. Saying goodbye was her decision, not mine. So I didn’t feel guilty. I was just sad and numb when the news reached me.
After Heather passed away, I stayed away from women and vowed not to fall in love again. I did that for a few years until Fate intervened and Alice appeared in my life. Our attraction to each other was mutual and instantaneous. I told her about my 3 and 23 women. She told me she didn’t want to be number 24. She wanted to be number 4. Alice also told me several stories about herself that blew my mind if they were true. To this day, I believe her and want them to be true. Anyway, Alice was also singularly different from all the other women I had met. Her body was the absolute best for a woman in her late 50s. She kept it in a phenomenally good shape. Her exquisite body was that of a woman in her early 30s. Her voice was seductive. Her manners were aristocratic. Her conduct in bed was passionate and refined. She was proud of herself in more ways than one. She was haughty, even supercilious, and yet she loved me. For that I was honored and pleased. I experienced feelings and sensations I had never had before.
I was in high heaven and paradise whenever I was in her company. And I told her so. I wrote to her love poems almost nonstop during the early months of our relationship.
Alas, like Heather, she was demanding, bossy, and uncompromising. And then she became an enigma to me. She was strange. She went into denial. Yet I strangely continued loving her. I didn’t know why. Perhaps she had several qualities that really inspired me. There is a theme song called “Lovers” in the movie House of Flying Daggers, composed by Shigeru Umeyabashi that absolutely puts me in a trance whenever I listen to it. So I put it in a loop and uses as a lullaby when I am in bed. The music captures my feelings for Alice. The cello just throbs and moans the soothing melody that I feel absolutely at peace, evoking how I felt when I was with her.
Wissai
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