Urban Mermaidz

I think it’s when the American is traveling through Machu Picchu that Sharky B has had it with the cheesy film and scoops me up in one sweep of his arms. My head is buried in his neck. He is hugging me. His body heat is warming me. His energy centers are lining up with mine. His legs intertwine mine. Words to describe stop at this point. The letters are jumbled. The feelings are oxymoronic. Relief mixes with sexual tension; affection mixes with the desire to bite. The little girl in me feels safe again. The woman in me wants to meet this man halfway…maybe even go full-speed…100%. Cuz it doesn’t work when you only go halfway. It’s all or nothing.

We kiss. It is sweet. It is erotic. I touch his hair. It is thick. I hold his hand. I play with his fingers. He plays with mine. It is sweet. It is erotic. I flip over and he spoons me. He squeezes me tight. It is sweet. It is erotic.

He plays an opera. I can’t remember the name. I’ve heard it before. It adds a dynamic to our tangoing energy I’ve never experienced before. We are dancing in bed. With our clothes on. I roll on top of him. He rolls on top of me. He pretzels my leg with his. He runs his hand over my belly, and under my sweater but he doesn’t go further. Still a gentleman. I’m still a lady.

He pulls my hair. I pull his. I bite his neck. He scratches my back. I moan. I purr. I have transformed.

“Like a little kitten,” he says with that voice that puts me in a trance.

How long can this go on? We are adults. Adults eventually move on to adult things. I can’t be a child for too much longer.

We will get naked, even though I said we shouldn’t. We break the rules. Why? Because…well, I’ve been breaking them for too long. I can’t go backwards. I want to go forward. But I promised myself. I promised that this time I would go slow. A lady who goes out on dates and talks before kissing. Learns about more than one man so she can choose the best.

I am fooling myself. I am a lion and I can’t be tamed. I don’t want to be tamed. Maybe this means I will pay bigger and harder consequences later in life. I will be 40…my looks, my body fading…my self-esteem crushed and thrown into a gutter…because I wasn’t patient enough to allow the right man to come into my life…kneel down on one knee, and ask me to travel with him for the rest of our lives…before giving my naked self to him.

“A man is motivated by sex. You gotta hold out on him until you get what you need and want in life,” says my mother and all the married American women.

I don’t want to travel with an ape. I want to travel with an extraterrestrial. And if sex is my only bargaining tool, then I am an ape too.

“It is on your feet, not off them, that you will attract the right danna,” says the older geisha to the younger one.

I tell myself that I used my mind and soul - not my body - to bring this man into my life. He is here. I am here. I want to get to know him better. And this tango in his bed is achieving that goal.

My sweater comes off. His sweater comes off. His pants. His shirt. He is soft underneath. Like a baby. My pants are still on. I didn’t wear underwear.

“Can I borrow a pair of yours?” It is ridiculous, but at least it’s something to keep me covered. And it just seems fun to wear his boxers.

It is easy for him to crawl his fingers underneath. I try to maintain my whole “lady” thing, but I’m already half naked in his bed on our second date.

“What a slut!”

“A prostitute that doesn’t even charge!”

“No,” I say, to the judgmental aunts, cousins, sister, teachers, after school TV programs…

I am just a human having a human experience. If I were with a man that wasn’t treating me right, then yes, I am a slut. If I were with a man that can’t speak my language or connect with me mentally,  then yes, I am a slut. If I were with a man who was trying to be something he is not, then yes, I am a slut.

But this man is worthy. I have chosen to spend my time with this man. This is how a lady lives her life. She makes conscious, deliberate choices. And I chose this man to direct me. Because he is sincere. He says what he means. He is not trying to bullshit. He is not just “putting the moves on me” so he can get a quickie and then be on his merry way. I could doubt his motives. I could mistrust him and think in my mind that he just wants to use me and leave me. Maybe that is the truth…I don’t know what is in his mind. But it’s not my job to know what is in his mind. I only have to know what is good for me.

So when he held me close, in an embrace that felt like we’d been together for a thousand years, and said, “I want to be inside of you,” I had to say no.

“I can’t. If we do that, then I’ll fall in love with you. I don’t know how to separate sex and love.”

“Really?” he said. He sounded more surprised than disappointed. I already knew why. In Europe and every other country in the world, sex is “no big deal.” In the U.S., we have a Puritanical view of sex. And if you are a Puerto Rican girl, who grew up with a strict Christian grandmother, who forbade my mother to wear make-up or anything fashionable (although, my mom broke all those rules. Go mom!)…well, this cultural DNA is inside you. It is deep. It takes a lot, a lot, a lot of yoga to free yourself from this ideology…although, even the yoga sutras teach that sex is a sacred, spiritual act between two human beings.

And, given that definition, I could definitely have sex with Sharky B…because I already feel a spiritual connection with him. And all would be fine.

My problem is the “lenchak dynamic” that ensues post-coital ecstasy. That feeling that you can’t live without the person…that your entire world revolves around this person to the point that you forget who YOU are and all HIS needs take priority over yours. Then you start to expect things from him. You get impatient. And then you become half a person instead of the full, whole, dynamic human being that you are meant to be.

I don’t want a man to be my sole source of happiness. This is not healthy. I would like to EVENTUALLY have a man fit into the FORMULA: Family + work + spiritual life + travel + making art + love = my happiness.

But to define myself according to him…it just doesn’t work well for me, and it has never worked well for any of the men I have been with. No man likes a needy, wimpering little girl by his side. He wants a woman. Full grown. Content in herself and not constantly in need of his attention to make her feel like she is worth something.

There will be no intercourse this night.

So we sleep. He holds me tight. Our energy feels peaceful in this moment. I feel like I am supposed to be here. He snores. I turn him over. He stops snoring.

He traces the curves of my body with his fingers. I know he loves my body. I love my body. It is nice to share with a worthy man.

In the morning we roll around naked. He puts his fingers inside. Uh oh. He is inside me. But just his fingers…if it were his dick…then what? Why do I make a difference about these two different body parts? I’m just not ready. That’s all.

We take a shower. He licks me. He gets down into the tub and I am above him, goddess like. I look down at him. He is worshipping me. I have never been worshipped this way. He loves women. I don’t blame him. We are so multidimensional. I feel beautiful.

I want to please him. But he moves my hand away when I try. Maybe I’m not doing it right. Maybe he doesn’t like that. Maybe he isn’t ready, like I am not ready for penetration. Maybe nothing.

We get dressed. He ties a green bracelet around my wrist. If it means anything, it means I am his.

Our responsibilities await. I have to go to the bank. He has a meeting.

I walk into the living room. Sharky B’s roommate is there. His little dog, “Prince” comes out, and I fall in love. His little legs send me into a fit.

We walk to the elevator.

I touch Sharky B’s orange scarf.

“Do you want to get some breakfast?” he asks.

“Do you have time? You’ll be late for your meeting.”

“Of course I have time for you. I…nevermind. I don’t want to say it.”

“It’s OK. Don’t. Words can’t capture it anyway.”

We eat stale bagels and drink bad coffee, but my whole sense of being feels balanced. I feel normal. My eyes are wide. I feel like I can see more clearly.

“I feel so good,” I tell him. He looks pleased that I am. He tells me about a friend who got an investor for his broadcasting company. I am shocked. But I always knew despite the news on NPR, the money is still circulating…just not out in the open. He asks his friend on the phone if he needs any writers. This is so sweet of him. To think of me.

I point out Canyon Ranch across the street. “Oh! It’s right here. I was just talking to a friend yesterday about the spa.”

“Yeah. We can go there some time.”

He is talking in future tense. My belly feels full with honey. I will see him again. Though I have no expectations with this man, it still makes me feel good that he would like to see me again.

We drive over the Causeway, through Miami Shores. He shows me homes he would like to buy. Every other one is for sale. He will soon have his pick. I have no doubt he will get exactly what he wants.

We drive up Biscayne, past Greenwich Studios. It is not for sale, but I have a destiny there. I have no doubt I will get exactly what I want.

On the radio, Diane Reem promotes a Valentine’s Day series about love, romance and heartbreak.

“Heartbreak,” Sharky B repeats, almost stealing the word from my mind. “It doesn’t feel good to have your heart broken.”

It is almost like a warning to me. But maybe it’s not. I read into things wrong quite often. He has had his heart broken. He has surely broken hearts himself. I have had my heart broken more than I care to count. And I have surely broken hearts myself.

Sharky B pulls up to my condo and I lay more loving kisses on his face and lips.

“If you get bored later, gimme a call. I’m not doing anything tonight,” he says.

“Um…not tonight. I have plans,” I say, though I would really rather have another adventure with him.

I get out of the car, he backs up…I open the gate and look back to wave and smile at him. I think about the power of patience, and I realize I am supposed to have other plans tonight so that I have time to process the precious moments of these past two nights…and then build on them the next time I see him.

Baby steps. Turtle steps. Organic, slow-cooked, not fast food…

no touch-and-go…
more like touch and touch again…

touch a different angle…
then flip it upside down and touch it over there…

the multidimensional love affair.