BDSM & Alternative Lifestyle Personals
 | Blogs > Mollena > The Perverted Negress. > My (sex) life story 3.5 - London Calling |
My (sex) life story 3.5 - London Calling
4/26/2005 1:46 pm Last Read: |
Early 2001...a year that began with such hope and promise. It did not end the same way. After so many years, it was finally going to happen. What can I say? I thought things might be awkward...adjusting to seeing James would probably take some time...I had best and worst case scenarios in my head all neatly spread out and categorized. I had not taken into account the possibility of...ease. It was easy. Face to face with him for the first time in seven years, and it was easy. Warm. Sweet. It felt like coming home. Grey sky, rainy day. We blocked traffic for about 37 minutes outside baggage claim just kissing and seeing one another over and over. The trip to his flat felt forever. Sitting on the Tube, we hold hands. There were long silences. They were full. Being able to sit silently with someone is a rare and special pleasure for me, the performer, the One Always "On". We listened to one another's silences happily. We laughed. His home a small boarding house studio room. It too felt like home. Remarkable, comfortable, the whole afternoon and evening spent in bed, even the rough sweetness of his touch was a homecoming. Even the back of his hand across my face as I gasped in surprise felt like love. London at night, with the slick streets and traffic coming the wrong way. Everything so expensive! Everyone smoking everywhere! I had to smoke in self-defense. The days rolled together. We slept as we wished, woke when we felt like it. My being on vacation didn't preempt James's own life from taking some unexpected turns...the starving artist routine wears on the nerves after a bit. This I know intimately. His issues I tried to parse out as well as I could, to give him feedback. Encouraged him to focus on his art, not to look so closely at the day-to-day grind. Touched I was to have him tell me a couple days later that, while talking to his Mum, he told her that having me there had probably saved him from doing some foolish things, and had also inspired him to move on some career stuff. Rather than running in circles trying to make ends meet, he went out and booked additional gigs in and around London. I felt so honored to be able to be a part of his life, his day to day living. A friend of mine was in London concurrent with my trip. She took me to Tea at the Ritz (thanks girl!) and we sat in sumptuous comfort consuming earth shatteringly good decadently arousing deserts and sandwiches. We committed to making this a part of out lifestyles. We deserve it. Fantastic dinners at wonderful restaurants, simple lunches at the Windmill Fish and Chip shop a short nip up Kennington Road. We walk across the Thames in the rain. Through SoHo, through the neighborhoods. At night I can hardly sleep. James snored something terrible. I think I must be insane to lay half-awake in the dark smiling and listening to snoring. I discover that rolling him onto his side helps him breathe. He says he had never slept so well as with me holding him. How dare he tell me that.... Playing groupie, we get to the gig for his concert early for sound check. I meet the members of his band; they are so delightful, and sweet. They whisper to me how glad they are to have me there; Jim is incredibly well behaved, they tell me. I laugh. The show, at the Hundred club on Oxford street. Smoke and pints of beer, my friend was there with me, thank the goddess. He is incredible, still. I watch the audience shake their heads in disbelief as he pulls crystalline and sizzling music from his guitar. A few people are sort of swaying to the music, I try to be calm but can't, and so I danced. That pleased him, I could tell, his smile from on stage inspiring me to even looser hipped twisting and such. Thank goddess my mom taught me to do the "Mashed Potatoes" and "Watusi" as a kid: perfect for the 50's era R&B he performs. A break in the sets, he is off stage and with me again. People in the crowd admiringly glance at us. He is with me, though. Totally with me, and I am three feet off of the ground. He admires my moves, as do the lads in the band. He had never seen me dance, and since I had never seen him perform his own music live either; it felt like a wonderful exchange. The second set is even hotter. I dance with some adorable British kids. I have not danced so hard in years. They go off stage and the audience stomps and claps for encore. He comes out, alone. As he takes the stage, I hear someone directly behind me shout "Mollena!" I whip around: a man I do not know has called me, and I stare at him. From across the dance floor, another cluster of tipsy Irishmen call "Mollena! Mollena!" I am puzzled...my name called across the smoky club again and again....I turn back to the stage and realize they were not calling me....they were requesting a song. My song. I wish I had words to share with you the feeling I had at that moment. The shock, the pride, the slight self-consciousness, the breathlessness, dizzy and lightheaded. Him and his guitar and they are singing my song to me. The people in the front realize, somehow, who I am, and a cluster of them smiles at me. Molly points and tells everyone around that I am the one about whom he sings. I am in a sort of shock. I am told later, anyway. Later James tells me it is the song they get requested the most. I can't speak on it. It is...not to be described. We remain in the club after the gig, taking pictures, killing pints. His saxophonist Damian hugs me on the way out, slyly whispering the opening lyrics from the song to me but reversing the words a bit...reminding me again how pleased he was to meet me, and how happy I have made Jim. They all thank me. Again. I am so touched I can hardly speak. We talk all night. We listen to blackbirds composing in the wee hours of morning. I tell him secrets I have never told anyone ever. He tells me of his. The sun brightening the rainclouds finally brings us to sleep. A friend of Jim's is doing another gig at the Hundred club a couple days later, and so we go back, since he wants Jim to hop up for a couple of songs. Smaller crowd, it is a weeknight, and the Underground is paralyzed due to a labor strike. I decide to wear my little blonde wig, for fun, and because James thinks it looks "Naughty." Getting a Sherbet (cab) takes forever in the rain, with the strike....we finally get to the club, comped in, of course....swing dancers take the floor. Jim steps up for a few numbers and electrifies me once more. I danced for him again. He winks and smiles and hams it up a bit, and we laugh. Mid song, during a sax solo, he asks for a smoke and I light his cigarette from the floor as he leans down from the stage. A wink and a smile and he is back singing. His drummer is at the gig too, a bit maudlin and missing his girlfriend, and he advises James he is "simply mad!" to let me leave. I agree. Of course, there are emotional bumps. A call from his girlfriend in Sweden turns my blood cold and green. Silly, that! Me, of all people, to be jealous! Life is strange. But, for this week, he is mine. And I am his, and he is so present and so with me, it matters little. Though she has another partner at home, he does not feel he wants to talk about my visit....the "Don't ask don't tell" policy in effect. Being a secret is not my favorite position. I feel myself withdrawing a little, wary and weary of hurt. James holds me, and the warmth and love in his eyes thaws out my heart again as it always does. Can you love more than one person, truly love them? Yeah, probably. But it does not make life a smooth sail. The leave taking, this time, is far less painful. The main reason, I am not about to let another seven years pass. Not hardly. Seven months is seven too long. The irony of the day I leave is that same morning he is being flown to NY, then San Diego, by his record company. They are pairing him for vocals with a band called the Paladins. They want to start promoting him here in the US. Today, he is in southern California, singing in a studio someplace. My rehearsal schedule keeps me here. His recording schedule keeps him busy. What happens now? I don't know. My clairvoyance evaporates when I try to see him. Too close to my heart. That happens with me sometimes....I can see for others, things that might be coming, I can see friends and lovers weave their threads in and out of my life, but I can't see where Jim goes. Maybe it is because it is a small blip on my life, and not readable. Maybe it is because his thread it too closely wound around mine to make it visible. Time will tell. And, for the first time since we have met, I feel that time is indeed our friend.  Mollena
|
||
 4/26/2005 2:47 pm |
As a note for those who might be actually trying to untangle the chronology: I've skipped a head a bit from meeting the Pizza Guy, as this trip happened about 5-6 months after we started sleeping together. But since I am not giving anything away, and I was starting to lemon peel on the edges emotionally, I wanted to revisit a happier memory... thanks for your indulgence... Mollena
| ||
4/26/2005 3:06 pm |
Mo, you have such a way with words. I swear when I begin to read, I feel a "hush" settle around me. (Keep looking into that book idea, girl) For newcomers and not so newcomers. Arm yourself with knowledge
| ||
4/26/2005 5:16 pm |
Thank you foulmama...I am happy that it keeps you reading, sionce I tend to ramble on. {=} Although those page breaks are so strange...ah, well...what are ya gonna do... Mollena
|
 |
 |
 |
| Become a member to comment on this blog | ||
 |
