Costa Rica :: Part 19

This story is being told as a series. Here’s a link to Part 1

Part 19

Eddie and I stayed in the hot tub talking after everyone else left; the last one to leave reminding me — as if I could forget after last night though they could not have known — that everything would turn off at 10PM. Keeping the time in mind, in a little while we headed back to my room to rinse off and change. I was second to have a turn to change in the bathroom, and when I emerged Eddie had turned on the outside lights again, and turned down the inside lights. He had made himself comfortable on my bed, waiting for me. He invited me to sit, and I did, crossways from him, giving him space and distance. We sat there and talked, the days adventures recapped at length. I genuinely enjoyed his company. And just when I began to think, again, that he was not interested in me “that way” he took my hand. He held it for the span of a heartbeat and then leaned to kiss me.

Again, his mouth was insistent, invasive, almost harsh. He pulled me closer to him, his hands groping to touch me in ways that seemed to be meant to be erotic but I could not have described as particularly pleasurable. I wondered, vaguely, what he was doing, or if he’d ever touched a girl before. I kept his hands in relative check, aware that I didn’t really know him very well, not ready for this to be happening and not tempted by any action he took to be moved past that point.

It surprised me; he’d only kissed me for the first time the day before, had gone so slowly back home — but here it was as if he felt that a different standard applied. I suppose there are people who treat a vacation as a vacation from themselves, an excuse to leave their belief systems behind. I am not, after all, such a person.

He wanted to touch me, wanted me to touch him. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” I breathed after a while, drawing away from him, “I’m not ready for this.” I don’t want to. This is not right. In the dark of the room the light, shining in from the back window, was behind him and I couldn’t see his face. I wondered if he could see how large my eyes were in the dark, wondered if he could see the apprehension in them. He put one of his hands behind my neck, kneading it as if to try to release my obvious tension, and perhaps to release my inhibitions as well.

He kept up this motion as he shifted his weight closer to me, pinning me beneath him for a moment. It probably wasn’t meant as a threat — in another setting, his closeness might have been tempting — but it made me suddenly aware of the potential danger. I had said that we should stop, but I knew in that moment that I couldn’t make him; if I had needed to fight him off, I was outmatched. I was torn — I liked him; he wasn’t hurting me; he wasn’t forcing me to do anything; I didn’t want to make a big deal of it — but I had meant what I said: this was all too much too soon for me. I just needed to know that he would respond accordingly.

At first there was no acknowledgement. I was still pinned under him. His hands still moved over me in that odd way of his. He pressed me closer. Then at last he whispered, “Do you really want me to stop?” Checking to see if what I’d said was for real or simply a coy false protest? He kissed me hard again as he asked, so that I couldn’t answer at first. Then his lips trailed down my neck. “Yes,” I assured him when I was free to speak, pushing him ever so slightly away. Not harshly, certainly not enough to move him (not that I could have), but enough that there was no doubt of my intent. “Yes. We have to stop. I’m sorry, but I’m not ready for this.” I said it kindly, but clearly. There may have been embarrassment and apology in my voice, but there was no question that I meant what I said. I don’t even know you. I thought it; did I say it aloud?

For long slow moments he still didn’t move away, still pressed me down, still kneaded at me.

When he did not release me, I would not describe what I felt as fear exactly. He hadn’t done anything to me, perhaps would not do anything to me… but the next events no longer seemed to be in my hands. I was still pinned beneath him. Please, Eddie, understand that I mean this, I thought. A self-protective numbness enveloped me, shielded me from feeling actively afraid. Please God, don’t let him be that guy. He kissed my neck again, as I stared numbly toward the window and the light, feeling totally detached from myself.

It felt like eternity, but it could not have been more than a minute or two. Then without any argument, he complied, shifted his weight, unpinned me. He held my hand tightly as he spooned himself warmly around me for a moment.

Then he got up, as if nothing had happened. Well, nothing had. He had done nothing wrong, other than wanting more than I did yet. He hadn’t done anything to press the issue. Any dangerous intention had been strictly in my head.

It was a bit after 9:45. He leaned over me to take the phone and called the front desk. He asked them if it was possible to have them call a taxi now to come for him later. No, the taxis here wouldn’t do that. That left the 10PM deadline firm. To my relief.

He suggested that I could come down into town with him and catch a cab back up later; his hotel didn’t shut down as mine did. I declined, pleading an early morning departure. He gathered his belongings to go. I walked him to the lobby. He went in and asked for the taxi. While he made the arrangements I sat waiting on a bench outside, feeling inexplicably small and lost. Before he got back, I made myself shake off the sensation, to not give away any of the vulnerability I felt. Stop it. The little-girl-lost thing is not attractive. Be strong. Be confident. You are not a victim, so don’t act like one. When he returned, we sat there in the entryway together while we waited for the cab to arrive. We seemed to have very little to say. There was some brief exchange about going off to explore for a few more days; something said lightly in passing about tonight’s exploration being one-sided. I didn’t know if that was simple teasing, or some vestige of anger or disappointment peeking through. His taxi arrived. He started to get in, then almost as an afterthought, gave me a peck on the cheek. He wished me a safe trip. I did the same. No mention was made of calling me again when we got home.

I will never see him again, I thought as he drove away. I wasn’t entirely sure I minded.

Copyright © 2010

Advertisements

~ by lorakceel on May 16, 2010.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: