L'Océan d'Amour
Kori Ricketts

The spinning blades above me serve as a feeble distraction to the inevitable events. This monotonous game is one that I have yet to get used to but in time I’m sure I will. I remember the warm days on the soft Florida coastline with the soothing waves playing a melody of solace, and she and I engaged in the splendor of first loves and seventh heaven. Days that now are only a memory, as the sting of matrimony severs my life and binds me to “what should be.”

The door creeks and the lazy hinges jeer me; reminding me of my matrimonial duties and the oath I took only days before. He walks toward me slowly, as bare as when life begins. I embrace my thighs, disgusted by my own nudity. Closer; now he and his manhood have become one, ready for their conquest of penetration. I close my eyes and silently ask God why I have been subject to such torture, but as my mother constantly reminds me, God hates me, and so I remain unanswered.

He kisses my cheek; nothing. His freshly pedicured hands feel calloused against my skin as he drags them down my face and palms my clattering jaw. I’m afraid. Not of his genitalia, not of his y chromosome, but of the fact that the one thing I promised her, I was about to give away. The most honorable of gifts, which to a man who has had so many before he could never appreciate, or even fathom the passion in its giving.

“Its o.k. Sandy, I’ll be gentle; promise.” He says, winking at me. He slides himself under the sinful sheets where I lay and glides his pedophilic hand down my thigh and attempts to enter me. But there remains a drought. There is no reason for any lubrication that would make me enjoy this endeavor. His large hands and crackled lips on my neck serve as no form of erotica. He pecks my neck…once…twice…nothing.

She used to kiss me like that. Her soft lips perched on my nape tantalizing my mind to my farthest extremity. I felt her in my pinky toe nail, in the follicles of my hair, in my heart. His dry and husky groan reminds me that she is no longer with me, so I remain as the Sahara does; deserted.

I remember what love was. When she hugged me, kissed me, even spoke my name. The bliss felt was indescribable by even a twenty syllable word. She was love; my love. Yet I lay here in matrimonial agony only left with fading memories of her and my new institutional love jabbing at me. I tried to explain my plight to her. Tried to assure her that this union was not based on love, but morale; an arrangement that neither included my feelings or apprehensions, but more for the security of a surname based on false pride and so called prestige amongst people who I don’t even know. I reminded her that this was for financial security; for a mother that had depleted her own funds. She heard it all, but accepted none. And though the chills of Lady Liberty have come and gone thrice, I can’t help but yearn for those long summer nights spent with her, composing lyrics to go with the melody of the warm Atlantic crashing at our feet.

He pushes himself through my natural barrier and uses the utmost force; Lying bastard. Apparently my instant withdrawal was in no way a sign for him to retract from his current method, but I assume in asshole language it was a signal for “bring it in full force!” So he does. And I scream, bawl, shriek. Any word that encompasses excruciating pain and anguish is what I feel. My thighs begin to shake. I feel warm liquid ooze down my thigh and slide between my buttocks. Feels like I’m urinating. But at eighteen I’ve learned to control my bowels. I attempt to push him off, but like any old locomotion, he keeps pumping, determined to reach his destination. As with any old engine, there are always complications and the so called “love-train” falls short and…halts. As he is no different, focusing solely on his climactic experience, acting almost as if I don’t exist.

He slides out of me and rolls over with a big sigh as if he has won a marathon, congratulating himself for a job well done. He attempts to kiss me, and I let him. My eyes get glassy. A tear rolls down my cheek. It lands on his lips. He glides his tongue up my face and tastes my pain.

He releases me; climbs from the bed and walks to the bathroom. I too walk from the bed, filled with excrements of my innocence and of the only love I physically posses. I smell her. I want her. I need her. I walk to the large bay windows that frame the Hudson like a living portrait. I touch the glass. Stroke the window pane. I think of her. Remembering the passion evoked from her touch, the ecstasy in her lips…the love. I stare at the still Hudson hoping that she is in our spot, thinking of me. Remembering me as I remember her. Loving me as I love her. He emerges from the back of the room. Slowly I hear his heavy footsteps get closer. He hugs me. His hard chest touching the back of my head, his monumental arms embracing me with his groin dangling against my back, and he whispers “I love you”. The ocean of emotions cascades down my face and I reply in the same. I think of her and the life I have chosen. His lips touch my cheeks and form a kiss, as I realize that she is forever lost to me, as I am to her.

Copyright © 2008. Used with author's permission.

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