The Moment Awaited

Tonight is going to be the night. Yes, something tells me that tonight is going to be the night when it is going to happen. There’s something in the air. A kind of tension, maybe, I can’t exactly put my finger on it. Maybe it’s the deepest hardwired instinct that every human has. Or maybe I’m just thinking too much about it and it is simply my own desire and anticipation of what is to come. As if every fibre in my body feels the impending moment. I know it is going to happen one of these days. People plan vacations after their marriages mostly for that only, right. It’s a given that we’re going to give ourselves to each other, the so-called consummation of the marriage. But the way he has denied it so far has made me both nervous and excited to the point of losing my mind. Who knew denial could be such a strong aphrodisiac. Who knew being sure could evoke such uneasiness. Though it's a very exciting uneasiness nonetheless.

Ours was the typical arranged marriage. Months of looking at possible matches on those shitty matrimonial sites which look more like e-commerce websites than a place where you might find a potential life partner. And then there were the usual house visits. Of course the elders didn’t quite understand the concept of online dating and matrimony. And truth be told, I didn’t find it very intuitive either. And then came along this guy. One of my friends from college told me about him, some family connections or something. And then her mother told me about him. And then without any acquiescence on my part and completely without my knowledge, her mother had told about him to my mother. And then one fine evening with about six hours of notice to me, there he was, in the drawing room of our house.

He seemed shy at first, which of course, was expected. But there was something about him which I couldn’t quite understand. There was something different about him. I noticed his eyes darting at the numerous pictures hung on the walls. I could tell that he was noticing the landscapes more than the pictures with people in them. He didn’t talk much but when he did, it seemed like he knew from the very bottom of his mind that he was right. If I were in college still, I would have found him rather uninteresting. Not very physically built, a somewhat wonky moustache, the beard covering half his cheeks on either side, the cheekbones covered with what can aptly be called kindergarten cheeks. In a single word, basic.

But then out of the blue they all left, leaving us to talk to each other. In private, on the premise of getting to know each other. As if getting to know each other was a task easily accomplished in less than forty minutes. Yet, it was exactly in those forty or so minutes, that my thoughts took a very different turn. Maybe it was his slow, calculated choice of words when he spoke. Or it could also have been him suddenly asking, “can we go out to the garden? This seems a little too formal, don’t you think?” Or maybe it was just the curious silence he so casually displayed when I was talking. Yes, it was very easy to talk to him. A little too easy maybe.

One hundred thirty eight days later, we were engaged. And one hundred seventy nine days after that, we were husband and wife. Too fast, maybe. But I knew I had fallen in love with him way before he slipped the engagement ring onto my finger. In the time between the engagement and our wedding day, we went on several dates. All of which either ended in a dinner at some restaurant, or a take out which we carelessly enjoyed in the car.

One time, during one of these car rides, he asked me about what I expected in the first couple months of our married life together. Of course I had no answer, because I had no idea what he was talking about. I said so.

“Well, this might sound a little awkward, but I don’t want things to change between us from what they are right now.” He said, looking straight at the road in front of him, keeping the steering wheel still.

“I don’t understand.” I said again, not even rephrasing what I had said earlier.

“Even though we’re to be married in less than three months from now, I am not really able to see you as my wife.” As soon as he said this, my throat dried as if I had tried swallowing a handful of sand. As if understanding immediately what that sounded like, he stopped the car at the side of the road and turned to me. I felt more than I saw his fingers slide into mine as he looked at me and said. “I didn’t mean it like that, I am sorry. What I was trying to say is this. This thing that we have going on, where we’re going out like an unofficial college couple, newly in love, but carefree as they can be. I want this to continue even after we’re married. I don’t want there to be any awkwardness between us when it comes to… you know. I don’t want you to feel like you are being pulled into anything.”

That was more than four months ago. We have now been married for just over a month. And though it sounds absolutely impossible, we have not yet done it. I know I am not his first, and he knows he isn’t my first, but I didn’t understand his real thought behind the desire to wait, or as it now felt, his desire to delay it as much as possible. We’ve been sharing the bed, and more than a few times, I’ve woken up to him spooning me. But that’s about it when it comes to our physical relations. And yet, somehow, it has awakened the intense anticipation in me as if I am a virgin in a clandestine affair without permission. As if we’re waiting to share our very first time with each other — soon, very soon, but unsure of exactly when — and it is of utmost importance that we’re alone for miles and miles and hours and hours.

But like I said before, standing here, under the shower of hot water in the bathroom of this five star hotel room that we’re staying for our honeymoon, I have a strange feeling that tonight is going to be the night. I do not know how I know this. I don’t even know whether I can be sure of it. But I do know one thing. I simply can't wait any longer. Oh, maybe that is it! This resolute feeling within me — that if he doesn’t initiate it now, I will — is what is giving me this strange anticipation. Either way, I would soon know.

It was half past five in the evening. The view from the river bank was stunning. The sun was about to set, and we were sitting there watching it. He had his head on my shoulder, and I asked him if he knew that wishing on the setting sun was a bad omen. He lifted his head and looked at me as if it was the most ridiculous thing he had heard in all his life.

“What?” I said, laughing at his expression while cracking open another one of the peanuts that we were munching on.

“We are on our honeymoon, and you are preaching superstitions?”

“It’s true.”

“How?” he shook his head, without missing a beat.

“Because if you wish on the setting sun, that wish goes with it to the underworld, where the sun god has no power. And so, the wish simply dies, never able to materialise in our lives.” I knew it was ridiculous, but it was something, and it was funny. And I put in the required hand gestures to make the idea stronger than it sounded in my head.

He raised an eyebrow, like he always does when he is thinking about something. Ten seconds later, a smile spread to his lips. “I think wishing on the setting sun is the perfect thing you can do.”

“How?” It was my turn to ask for ridiculous reasoning, and shake my head.

“Because when he, the sun god, goes to sleep, he is taking our wishes with him. And then as he prepares for another day in his workshop beyond the horizon, he has enough time to work on these memos from us too. And when he comes back the next day, he would bring it back with him, completed and materialised. The underworld is not where he loses his powers, the underworld is where he revives his strength.”

Any person with even half of an active brain cell would kill themselves if they heard this, and if any flat-earther heard this, they would take him as their true god. But it was ridiculous just the way I liked it. And we both laughed. Well, hollered and rolled on the moist grass would be a more accurate description of what happened in the next couple minutes after his reasoning speech.

That was four hours ago. Since then, we had walked through the markets holding hands, we had shared a little peck on the lips in a dark alleyway. That was thrilling and scary at the same time. We had found a little cottage-like restaurant where we had amazing fried rice with fried shrimp for dinner. And then we came back to our room, where I had the sudden urge to take a bath. I didn’t know why, it just came over me all of a sudden. And while I stood under the shower of the hot water, drenching my carefully straightened hair that had just grown down to the small of my back, and gently scrubbing my feet and washing off the little make up I had worn, this thought had struck me.

Tonight is going to be the night. Yes, something tells me that tonight is going to be the night when it is going to happen. There’s something in the air. A kind of tension, maybe, I can’t exactly put my hand on it. Maybe it’s the deepest hardwired instinct that every human has. Or maybe I’m just thinking too much about it and it is simply my own desire and anticipation of what is to come.

Then I come out of the bathroom, and for a moment, I feel like I was in the wrong room. But he was there, standing at the threshold to the balcony, looking inside the room at me, at the room, at his own handiwork. While I was inside taking the bath, he had somehow transformed the room completely, and quietly. There were gold fairy lights above the curtain rail, on both the small bedside tables, and they were spread a little on the floor around the bed. There were three little candles on each of those tables, and a few more scattered around the floor. The room smelled of lavender mixed with cinnamon. Lavender being my favourite and cinnamon being his. And the mix of those two scents, yes, that was the sign. And though I didn’t need a sign that was so subtle and so meaningful, and so…

The sound of the piano seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time all of a sudden. River flows in you, by Yiruma. I stood there, dumbfounded, in the night gown I had put on just before coming out of the shower, the slightly wet white towel still in my hand. I didn’t even want to think about what the next few songs would be. River flows in you. Of all the songs that he could have chosen as an instigator, he chose the one which was simply perfect. I wanted to say something. I didn’t want to say anything. I wanted him to stop looking at me and walk into the room and wrap me in his arms. I wanted him to just stand there until I could figure out how someone could be so magical.

“It is under the bed.” He said, stepping into the room.

“Huh!” My eyes followed him, my eyebrows registered the comment and raised themselves.

“The speaker.” He closed the distance between us in no more than six steps. The next thing I knew, the towel was gone, replaced by his fingers. His other hand on my waist. So close, he was so close. My breath caught in my throat, I felt him sway me to the gentle flow of the piano notes. So close. The air between us had all but left, squeezed out from between the two bodies that wanted nothing more than contact, as much of it as possible.

“I knew it.” I mumbled. Why did I have to say it! Sometimes, I wonder if it truly is my own bad habit or a hardwired female instinct that forces me to put myself in the right. He didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he seemed glad that I knew and I expected it. As if he had thought of all this preparation as a seduction which had turned miraculously into an invitation. An invitation, which I had happily accepted. “Was all of this necessary?” I added.

I felt his arms tighten around me. Oh my! “You mean the candles? No. They weren’t important.”

“I meant the waiting.” I spoke into his neck as if it had an ear growing out of it.

“It was worth it though, wasn’t it?” He pulled away a couple of centimetres.

“It was.” I said, “It definitely was.”

The wait, it was all about the waiting. Waiting till the right time. And waiting some more to make the moment stretch. Stretch until its breaking point and then stretch it some more. He wanted it, I could feel it. I wanted it, and I am sure he could feel it as well.

Waiting. As he gently sat me down on the bed and followed. Waiting. As he oh so carefully pulled the night gown over my head and applied the nimble movement on the t-shirt he was wearing as well. Waiting. His arms went around me to my back once more, pulling me to him. And waiting more. As his lips brushed against mine, not quite touching. Teasing.

He’s going to tease me more?! Is it a question? Is it a surprise? Can I handle either? A whimper escapes my lips as his fingers go into and through my still moist hair. I should have dried it before. I should have. He falls back on the bed, pulling me on top of him. I am powerless, and I am all powerful at the same time. I use that power to take what is rightfully mine. The kiss. The one kiss that was so long overdue. He gives in without restraint, our breaths mingling the way they should at last. Just like the sombre wisps of lavender and cinnamon candle smells mingling with each other all around us.

He takes me. Slow. Agonisingly so. Our lovemaking is quiet, and yet I can’t let go of the feeling that I want to scream at the top of my lungs. So many polarising emotions, so many conflicting thoughts. With a little pang I wonder if it would have been better if I had saved myself for him. I wonder what it would have been like to have him as my first. But I quickly put that thought aside. Be in the moment woman. Be in this moment. I remind myself. I want to close my eyes and just feel him in me, reaching places I didn’t even know were part of me, and I want to stare deep into his eyes without blinking at the same time.

It could have lasted ten minutes, it could have been a whole day. I don’t know, I don’t care. All I care about is that I lost track of time as my body spasmed once, the climax that was denied for so long was finally granted to me, flowing through me, like a river flows in you. I heard his groans in my ear as he came along for the ride with me. I was under him, but his arms were around me nonetheless, levitating the small of my back a couple inches above the bed, and his face was in the crook of my neck.

It was difficult to form coherent thoughts right after, but a distinct thought took hold of my mind. Yes it was amazing. Yes, it felt divine. But is this what gets him excited, the waiting? The anticipation? Is it going to be like this going forward too? Him denying me the release until he thinks he is ready for more himself?

The questions surfaced, and they drowned soon after as he captured my lips once more. Be in the moment woman. Be in this moment. This is the only moment that counts.