When there are no expectations, the unexpected can be sublime.

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When there are no expectations, the unexpected can be sublime.
cute pick up lines for your boyfriend
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An uncle was remodeling his house and everyone had come to help out. In the last month, they had worked on the downstairs area. The dirty walls, which was pocked with odd pencil markings, crayon and marker drawings from the grandchildren who use to live there, were now white and pristine. The ceiling was re-painted and at the edges, where the it formed right angles with the walls, was new trimming that was sculpted to look like a row of overlapping roses. The kitchen was also redone. There was a granite counter-top. Stainless-steel sinks to replace the stained ceramic ones. A new vent hood, microwave, oven. Fresh linoleum gave the room that “new home” smell that I always liked. But this wasn’t my home and I saw no reason why I should be here.

In the bedroom upstairs, they were tearing down the wallpaper and chipping away the layer of paint underneath it. The oldest son and his family (with the grandchildren) had moved out and it was time to start over again.

Only about two more weeks of work, it would be done soon. Cousins and family friends stopped by to help whenever they could. Today the cousins from the house on the other-side of the backyard came over. They had been working on David’s room all day. David was the second son. Now that it was late in the day, the work had stopped. Now everyone was sitting around a big dining room table with beers, lettuce, mints, rice noodles and charbroiled pork with egg rolls all around.

The French love their gatherings. I guess it’s also an Asian thing. When you combine both, the atmosphere is further heightened. Everything is jovial when it shouldn’t be. People who should be tired are suddenly full of energy. I can’t operate like this, I wanted to go outside for a walk. It was a long day and I spent most of it in a bad mood. I’m a slave to my moods.

I missed her but I didn’t want to miss her. I hated her but craved for her. When I saw her in the city earlier, things hadn’t gone so well. She had wanted to shop for something at Place d’Itaile and I thought I’d come along. I wasn’t doing much that day besides reading. So I took the Metro to meet her there.

She picked up a few shirts for work from Zara and Mango. Since it was one of the few days out of the month we could spend together, we had dinner together at one of her favorite bistros down the street. And like the fools we are, we ended up fighting again – trust issues, her ex-boyfriend, the female friends around me, work, school. It was nothing new. We threw our ultimatums at each other and then shut up for a few minutes. I asked for a gin and tonic and then the bill. I walked her to the station afterward.

She hugged me at the RER station. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t mention it. I’m okay,” I smiled.
“I’ll see you next time hm? Maybe next Saturday?”
“Sure. Just text me.”
“Don’t get upset so easily. You push me away every time. Each time, the distance is further.”
“I know. I’m sorry too. I just…forget it. I’m too sensitive. Looks like it’s here.”
I squeezed her hand and she gave me a kiss on the cheek. I shifted to kiss her lips but she already dropped her arms and was turning towards the train. I waved at her. She smiled and waved back. When the train had left, I went back up to the platform and went home.

Now I was in the suburbs again. This was not my house. Why did I spend the last hour moving all the bedroom furniture downstairs. When I was moving my things from Noisy Champs to Aubervilliers, who came out to help me? No one. If my aunt had’t open her mouth to say “Oh, Stephen will come to help, he has nothing to do on weekends anyway”, I wouldn’t’ be here. But, keeping up appearances is important. I know I’m being selfish but so is everyone. The difference is, they don’t want to admit that they are.

“You’re done eating already?” one of the aunties said.
“Yeah. I’m full already thanks.” I didn’t want to tell them I already had dinner. If I did, I knew for certain my aunt would let out some passive aggressive remark about my money spending.
“You eat so little! No wonder you’re so much skinnier than last time.”
“I hope to keep it that way,” I said, “Honestly though, I’m full. Just look at my plate.”
“Okay. Come back for dessert okay!?” she said.
“I’m down to kill myself anytime,” I said. It was a joke but the double meaning was too clever for everyone there I guess so no one laughed except my aunt.

I took my plate and my Heineken with me to the kitchen. I finished the Heineken and rinsed my plate. My hands felt salty. That’s what happens when you eat bánh h?i with your bare hands. I smelled my hand. No matter how much soap I used, it’d smell like fish sauce for at least the next two hours.

“I’m too full,” I said, “I’m going out for a walk. I’ll be back soon.”
“Sure,” my aunt said. Everyone went back to their conversation. As soon as you leave the table, you no longer exist. I like it this way. That’s why I like to leave the table early.

It had been years since I came to Noisy le Grand. It use to be my neighborhood, before my parents moved to America. Some days, I wished I had gone with them. I was sixteen then, had a cute girlfriend, and was popular at school, so of course, I didn’t want to go anywhere else. Now, I wonder if it was a huge mistake. Before I moved out to Aubervilliers, I was living with my aunt.

Not much time to think about it now. No point either.

I walked down the street to where the florist use to be. It was an empty field now and across the street, a new apartment complex was being thrown up. I kept on going. My old neighborhood wasn’t too far away.

They had planted trees down the entire block, all the way to the bottom of the hill. I was almost unable to recognize the street. I walked half way down the block to where my parent’s home use to be and looked over the cast iron fence. There was a dark Peugeot on the driveway. The fountain where my father kept koi fish was filled in and replaced with a bed of flowers. Ivies climbed up the side pillars that framed the front door. The decorative stones that lined the walkway were gone too. Even the gray driveway had been repaved with some beige textured rock. Everything looked rather plain and tidy. It looked like my parent’s current home in America.

I backed away from the fence and continued down the street. I wanted to make it to the bottom of the hill, where my ex girlfriend from high school to live. We broke up when I went to college. Maybe she’d still be there or at least her family. I could say hi to them. The idea of seeing her face made me feel warm. Actually, great.

I remembered the first time we made out. We were in her bedroom while her parents had gone to the Carrefour. I had came over to study. I was kissing her and began to move my hand underneath her t-shirt when we felt the vibration of the garage door opening. She bolted up from bed. She knocked my head back and I tasted something earthy and nutty, like dirt around my lip. “Fuck!” she said and put her finger into her mouth. When she took it out, it was a dark red. She had cut her bottom lip on my top teeth.

I grabbed tissue from her nightstand and started dabbing it. It was just a small cut. She was so nervous she started crying, I sat there and stroked her hair. When her parents came upstairs and asked if we’d like some coffee, we told them she had ran into the door and busted her lip. It was no big deal.

I was a few houses away when I began to feel tired. The warmth that was swelling underneath my jacket was gone. I looked at the lighted window that faced the street and felt old. I crossed the street to have a better view of the house, then went back to the uncle’s. Maybe they’d need some more help. I’d have some dessert, another Heineken, go back home and give my girlfriend a call.

                                       The ‘G’ Line
 
     My train was not on time, but that was not as unusual.  And it was a good thing too, cause I had to pee so badly. I had just reached the top landing of the subway station where the bathrooms are, when I noticed the ‘Out of order’ sing on the ladies room.  “Damn” I said to myself. I could not wait another 30 minutes until I got home in Brooklyn either.  I sat on the bench directly across from the mens room patiently waiting for a chance to run in and use it after grabbing the ‘Out of order’ sign from the ladies’ room,  After about 10 minutes of waiting for the white guy that had went in right before I reached the top landing.  When he finally emerged looking more relieved then anything else.  “It’s about time I said to him”  as I brushed past him pushing the door opened.  “Where do you think your going”  I heard him say to me as he hit my hand away from the door.

“That’s the womans’ room right over there sweetie”  he said pointing to the other rest room next door.
“Thank you but this one is working”  I said.
“But you don’t understand . . . This bathroom is not for your kind” he said.

     He was pretty handsome for a white guy.  He had on some specks with brown trim around them, about 5’10 (my 

height exactly) so we met eye to eye.  Usually I would have been trying to flirt but mother nature was calling non-stop, and I had to answer soon.  Taking offence to his little slick comment.   Taking it as a racial comment more then anything else.
“Look, that has nothing to do with it.   What does that have to do with anything?”
I said to him.
“I don’t know what your problem is it’s not like your using it still”  I said to him making a good point.
Just then I felt a masculine touch on my shoulder that scared me for a minute, as I turned to look up at the fine man I bit my tongue.
“Excuse me” was all I heard before he went in the restroom.
“I told you so” the white guy said.  As he turned to pick up his briefcase to leave for his train. 
      Damn, now I still gotta wait I thought to myself.  I sat and waited to see the black guy come out to my surprise he didn’t come out next two very feminine  guys come out next smiling and giggling.  I couldn’t help it anymore.  I walked in slowly smelling what smelled like many sweaty bodies, after a hard day of work.
 
“I’m sorry, the ladies room is out of order and I couldn’t hold it any longer”  I announced as I entered the bathroom.
“No problem ” I heard from one of the stalls.  It was the black guy I had seen before outside. He had a pleasant tone unlike the guy who was in there before.    
     I hurried up and used the toilet and was about to flush when I noticed something strange other then the fact that the restroom was extremely clean and smelled of disinfectant spray.  But the other stall was quiet too.  Just as I was going to break the silence and leave the bathroom stall I was again startled by giggles of some feminine men.  “Long time no see”  I heard a stange voice say, “I know, your looking good as usual”. 
That was the guys voice I heard earlier. Then I heard it slobs of spit like somebody was kissing.  Then I heard a zipper come down followed by another.  “Hell no”,  I thought to myself. 
        Then I heard a wrapper unravel and I saw the condom wrapper fall to the ground, along with my jaw.  I was in shock.  I heard moans of excitement coming from the next stall.  I excited the bathroom as quickly as I came in, sitting on the same bench that I sat on when I first sat down,  About five minutes or so
later,  I saw the same guy I saw before with the pecks and chiseled body, lighting a cigarette as he headed towards the street signs.  Now this went on for about the next three hours or so.  The few men that noticed me sitting there either smiled or hid their faces when they came out of the bathroom, or kept their heads down.  Now there were all types, cute, not cute, flamboyant and openly ‘out of the closet’.  Then there were the thugs, guys in the three piece suits and the average guys.  Talking about a “secret society”.  Who would have ever thought of it.  I had to find out if for myself EXACTLY what was going on.      
       Braking out of my trance like state,  I headed to my next arriving train that pulled into the station at the same time I came down the stairs.  I went directly to sleep not even removing a stitch of clothing or eating some of the left over Chinese food from the day before.  The next day I skipped both work and school telling myself it was all just a bad dream. After showering and not putting on my face.  I dressed wearing my hair pinned up in a bun and under a new york mets baseball cap with a huge jersey and sneakers.  

       After I tapped down my breasts with duck tape.   ( I seen it on a movie
before ). I headed right for the subway, taking a newspaper from a stand and pretending to read it standing up.  I witnessed the same behavior lasting anywhere from as little as a minute from to sometimes hours.  Finally I 
worked up enough nerve to go inside.
“Watch it”  a guys voice said to me as I entered the now dimly lit bathroom.
“Sorry”  I said in my normal tone of voice.
“What:”?  He said to me. 
        Hearing the shock and trying not to fully blow my cover.  I wanted to find out more about what I had seen.  So I quickly gave myself an even higher pitched voice then usual.  Not knowing what to say and feeling adventurous I asked him  “You wanna hit it from the back”? 
        From what I could see he was fine tall dark, handsome, dreads down to his shoulders, and so what if he was homosexual, bisexual, or even try sexual.  I had always wanted to try anal sex but my boyfriends in the past had said that would make them feel funny, or gay, or that  it was too tight, and that’s an out hole. This was my chance to experiment. He started to take my hand and lead me into our stall but stopped to look at me. “Your hands are very soft for a man”.  He said to me “Thankkks”.  I stuttered and said to him. “Don’t be nervous”  he said to me.  “Is this your first time doing something like this”?   he asked me.
 
“Yeee, yeee, yyeess”  I said again stuttering
“Don’t worry I’ll be gentle” he whispered in my ear.  “I’m Damon.”
“I’m Chris”  I stated well I wasn’t lying my name is Chris….  Christina that is.

         Then he reached his hand on the side of the toilet boil and retrieved a sample size bottle of Ky.  warming gel and condom glued together.  We kissed passionately as we began to remove our clothes.  We kept our shirts on as we removed our bottoms I turned to anxiously await the bulging penis I saw before turning around and bending over.   

          He slid on the condom and squirted the Ky. gel on and around my ass.  “That’s so, so, so, so, so, so, warm”  I said after feeling the liquid touch my skin.  “Ha, I know it feels warm, that’s why they call it warming gel.”  Damon said to me.  The next thing I knew I felt his penis penetrate my ass. Then seconds later I heard a loud screech “Aaaaaahhhhhh”  I wondered where it could have came from then I realized it was coming from me.  Trying to cover my wimpy feminine cries I grabbed the toilet dispenser.  Then it was a wrap besides the bleeding I started to smile it felt kinda good.  As he was about to cum he grabbed my Mets cap bun and all and pulled back.  Thankfully he didn’t completely remove the cap off of my head.  “So, can I call you sometime Chris?” Damon says.  “Yes, you can”.  Obviously not thinking straightly for a moment.
   “Good what’s the number”?  He said to me. Sensing my hesitation  “Well I guess this is it until next time”.  He said.  He started to pull up his pants and proceed to the door.  He turned and said  “Does this mean that I am Bisexual”?  “I still like to feel a feminine touch…. and warmth.”  “You know?”
Smiling I said ” I’m not sure Damon.”   “You are what you feel that you are in your heart”.  “I can’t be the judge of that only you can do that.”
“I hear that”  he said. Just like that he was gone. 
      Well that was over five years ago.  I never seen Damon since but every now and again I throw on some baggy clothes and take a ride on the “G” line, because you never know what you’ll get when you enter the mens bathroom. It’s the best adrenaline rush to sometimes take a chance into  another world into the secret lives of men that are on the down low.

Born and raised in Queens New York Mi Mi is a witty, creative, talented and charming writer who is not afraid to go where no other author has yet to travel. Mi Mi realized her passion for writing when her son was a very young age. She often credits him with helping her to recongize her own strengths and “voice” in the form of a pen and paper as a writer.  Her detail, style and dedication to her readers stands out from the rest and will be recognized off the back. I hope you enjoy her work. There’s one thing she always she always says and that’s “either you’ll love her or hate her but one things for sure she’s just Mi Mi”.

Article from articlesbase.com

Originally posted 2011-03-21 03:10:06.

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