The promiscuous virgin

It was a quite September night. The moon hung in the air, apparently dozing away the quite hours of the night to notice the masses of clouds that had come calling. The calm and peace of the atmosphere was to be violently shaken and disturbed by the errant rains. The weather was rapidly turning hostile as a girl walked on an empty street with quite but quick steps. Everywhere she looked around her there was a serene silence that reverberated in the air. It started raining- gently at first and then gradually the clouds opened up and poured their hearts out. Rain lashed violently at her as she walked on an empty street, her silhouette barely visible in a night enveloped by darkness. The gale was wreaking havoc around her. But this mayhem was nothing when compared to the turbulence she was facing within. She walked on undeterred, as if possessed. She had reached her destination and her wait had begun. It was a bar which stayed open late into the night. She had been there several times before; the fact that she knew most of the people working in the bar bore testimony to that. She sat at her regular table and ordered a drink. While she sipped her drink her eyes were on the lookout. Her desire had grown into an insatiable urge which was guiding her. There were a few men who were looking back at her but she spurned them with a casual frown. Just then the door opened and a man entered. There was something about him that pulled her in his direction. He was exuding a strange confidence which could have been a consequence of his purposeful demeanor. He had green searching eyes. As he walked in, oblivious to her stare, she kept her eyes fixed on him lest he turned out to be a figment of her imagination. She sat still, not moving a muscle, not making a sound. She had found what she was looking for. It would be him today. And then she wasted no time in the pursuit of her carnal desires. She had been doing this for years now and it was almost like a familiar routine albeit the fact that her companion changed according to her whims and fancies. In fact she had forgotten how many years it had been. Neither did she remember how many men she’d been with nor did she remember their names or faces. They had just been a blurred hue in the night that had disappeared in the morning. It didn’t matter to her. What mattered to her was her own pleasure. Her own satisfaction. Nymphomania had created a scavenger out of her. Yet she didn’t care. She’d been addicted and she couldn’t get out. She hadn’t even tried. She had risen and walked over to the guy’s table. As she reached his table, he looked up. She introduced herself and told him exactly what she wanted from him. The next few moments passed as if the whole conversation had been practiced a hundred times. Soon they were at her place. The man had been exceptionally quite during the ride back to her place. They had driven back in his car and throughout the way he hadn’t spoken a thing apart from asking directions. In fact, he’d seldom looked at her. The silence lingered even when they reached her place. He just stood there looking into her eyes but still not speaking. She felt like he was passing judgment at her. She found it strange that a man was judging her. No man, after knowing about her addiction, had ever been judgmental. They didn’t waste their time judging her because they all wanted the same thing, the very same that she offered to every man and the very same that no man ever had the inclination to deny. And this man had been no different. He too had reacted with surprise at hearing about her addiction and he too had accepted her offer almost spontaneously. She wondered why he seemed so hesitant and troubled now. But she didn’t care for what he was thinking. Her impatience was growing like a crescendo inside her. She decided enough was enough and went closer, close enough for their breaths to collide. And in the next moment she was in his arms. Then she lost track- of everything. All she felt was a haze that overwhelmed her- much like walking down a brightly lit tunnel blinded by the light or drowning in a massive body of water. She lost control. This had never happened to her. All the men she’d been with over the years had been her slaves but today something had changed. She was being enslaved today, not by her addiction but a man and she didn’t want to resist. She had submitted herself completely like a man would on his deathbed. A feeling inside her was growing so dominatingly overpowering that she couldn’t feel the man’s body against her, as if the feeling inside her was insulating her body. This had never happened to her ever before. All she felt was the touch of his lips on her forehead. And then she knew it, the feeling inside her that she couldn’t understand was for this man. It wasn’t insulating her body from him; it was the man who was making her feel secure by his presence. He completed her. She’d been like the portrait of a woman enclosed in a glass frame hanging in a museum; everyone could see the portrait but no one could reach past the protective glass frame and touch it. And then she said it. Those three words that she’d never uttered to anyone, those words which she had always felt were a blatant lie. She’d blurted it out before she could stop herself. He stopped. He backed away like he’d come across something infected. He eyed her, not with repulsion or shock, but with utter disbelief. His face was a contorted mask of contempt.
“You are lying. You don’t even know me.”, he retorted furiously.
And before she could gather herself he had walked out. She lay there on her bed staring at the blank ceiling. His face was still visible, like an afterthought. She got up and ran after him. But before she reached the door she heard his car backing out and speeding away. Never to be seen again. She searched everywhere, asked every bar worker she could find but to no avail. He’d disappeared with such ease that sometimes she felt that he hadn’t existed at all. But he did exist and she knew it. What hurt her most was not the fact that he’d walked away abandoning her but the look of utter disbelief on his face when she’d confessed her love for him. She could bear a man who didn’t love her back but what shattered her was a man who didn’t trust her love for him. All these years she’d declined the existence of love and propagated, more to herself than anyone else, that lust was the only emotion that a body could feel. Now that she’d felt love it had chosen to walk away from her. It left her like a shell lying on a beach which is empty yet has the voice of the ocean raging inside it. She was left with just a memory. A memory that remained with her till she lived; a memory which become a part of her existence; a memory which changed her forever.