After several months of emailing and intermittent talks on Google Chat, I finally agreed to meet him face to face. We went out for drinks. Drinks turned into lunch. Lunch turned into dinner. Dinner turned in habitual rendezvous, during which we laughed and talked and enjoyed each others company. I was big on bar games, so he taught me Darts 101 and I learned the game actually had a complicated system of rules and point scoring, and the objective was not solely to hit the bullseye. That was a big disappointment for me.
After consuming tonight’s main course, we decided to take out our dessert. He motioned to the waiter, so he understood our intention. A few minutes later, we received two bundles of sweetness to take with us. We left the restaurant and drove out to Harbour Side Marina. Harbour Side was one of the few floating docks on the Eastern harbour: wooden platforms supported by floating barrels. As we walked across the wooden planks, they started to rock out of sequence to the waves, causing a splashing underneath that had a hollow echoing sound. The night was otherwise very silent and very still. Khalil had never been on a floating dock; he was startled at first, having expected a dock to be a sturdy structure, in the conventional sense.
We walked the entire 50-meter stretch, racing like snails with no motivation to win. When we reached the end of the dock, I crouched down and slid my body forward so I was lying face down on my stomach with my head draping over the edge. Khalil took his cue from me and sat down at my side.
Staring into the midnight sea, there was not much that was visible below the surface. But I could imagine all the action happening in a world too far away to fully comprehend but close enough to reach out and touch. Apparently at night, many sea predators, like their land counterparts, come out to hunt. I stretched my hand out and made patterns in the water with my fingers, wondering if I was baiting any predators potentially lurking below.
Khalil now had his hand stretched out, making patterns on my back with his fingers. He was creating intricate designs with strokes of varying weights, lengths and angles. The strokes were stimulating my senses, heightening my awareness. My body was slowly falling into a trance; as if each point in the design was a step towards deciphering a secret code and unlocking a hidden treasure. After many moments of indulgence, I rolled over on my back and looked him straight in the eye. He was alert, as if standing at attention, waiting for my next move. I sat up and crawled across his body, reaching for the dessert, and then recoiled with treat in hand.
We had one serving of tiramisu to share between us. The menu at the restaurant had said: “Tiramisu: the most heavenly Italian dessert. A delightful combination of sponge cake combined with sweet whipped cream, coffee liqueur, cinnamon, cocoa powder, and other succulent treats.”
I stood up. On cue, Khalil steadied himself to do the same, but I motioned that he should stay. I stepped over him with one leg, straddling him. His face was in a comfortable position, with a full frontal view of the object of his desire. I slid down his body and mounted myself on his lap. Our eyes were now locked in position for a face off. I could see the dread and desire in his stare. I told him to close his eyes, and he obediently complied. I told him to open his mouth, and he hesitantly obeyed. I fed him our package of Italian heaven.