Dating : Erasing the Ephemeral

Later that same night, I asked Rafael to send me a dick pic, but he evaded the request.

You already have enough vids of me,

he said.

He was right. We always filmed our encounters.

I would often go back to them and rewatch them for a few days afterward. As I watched, I heard his empty promises, his moans. I could hear him chanting my name in ecstasy. I watched the expression on his face as he stared back at the camera, flirting and grinning.

He was a stunning demon.

For a moment, it felt good to watch. It was hard to believe that those moments were real. They were so ephemeral, so delicate.

But that pleasant feeling quickly melted into suffering when I realized that I had no idea when I would ever see him again.

My fate rested in his hands. Raphael had total control. Knowing this, I always went back to the videos later and erased them.

In fact, I was ritualistic about everything that related to him in any way.

I constantly deleted and then re-entered his number. This action was, of course, irrational because I knew his number as well as I knew my own. Deleting it wasn’t going to change anything. The truth was, I couldn’t muster enough courage to block him.

Whenever I concluded that he wasn’t coming back, I needed him gone for good. When I found his clothes — his socks, his shirts, his boxers — I wanted to wrap myself in them. Instead, I threw them away because I couldn’t live with the smell of them. It was too gut-wrenching.

To me, Rafael smelled like birth. He felt like a part of my chemistry — how I imagine a mother would feel with her baby.

He was beguiling in every possible way.

I wanted to taste his saliva, his sweat. He smelled like musk cologne and incense naturally. His breath smelled like cigarettes and alcohol, but that only turned me on more

Like Adam and Eve, Rafael was the epitome of a man and I was the epitome of a woman. He was strong and husky and when he hugged me I felt warm. When he lay beside me I never wanted him to leave.