Validation

The moment of reckoning had finally arrived. After decades of inward strife, years of evading responsibility to herself, of deceiving herself and lying to herself, the moment of reckoning had finally arrived. She had prepared herself for this moment without knowing it for quite long now. How long is open to debate, depending on when you think her time ran out.

And she felt alive. She felt her blood in her body; she felt its heat warm her mouth and hands. She stood outside his door and made one last effort to ignore the guilt and knock. It worked. And she felt alive. She knew it was wrong, she knew it would hurt her husband, but boy…did she feel alive.

When he opened the door and let her in she was careful not to look for anything in his eyes. Today, she just wanted to feel alive again. Not to unite, to bond or fuse with another soul, but only to exist in her own life. To occupy everything, fill all the holes, all the gaps with life-giving pleasure. She was using him. Using his hunger and need to fill her own voids. But knowing that that was what she was doing somehow took away the escapist feeling and replaced it with a selfish joy.

For her, it was often the evil that she denied, whose existence she fought that finally gained ground over her. It was not that she lived in self doubt, only that she knew all of life was inherently aimless. It was impossible to learn how to live life because it changed so often, both life and the person who was trying to live it. Where then came the possibility of finding soul-mates, better halves and a comfort package of redemption laced heavily with validation? The poor soul had no idea she started from the bottom, she thought she was ahead of the game for realizing that people hurt and lie, all of them, even her. But this hunger, or habit, for trying to read between the lines did not help lend tether in stormy times. Instead it came like a heavy, pregnant fog which would not lift. She was doubly burdened, by the oversight of others and her own hyper-consciousness. Her own hunger for truth did not help in any way her propensity to make mistakes, to recognize the wrong truth or to expect any less from herself. All in all, it was a curious combination. On the one hand it could be argued as being beneficial: she was overly sensitive, intuitive and could not be surprised by the disappointments people feel and the impact it has on them. But on the other hand it could be argued as being that albatross of lead that hangs like dark smoke on the roof of a burning house. It promised never to set her free, to remind her of the magnum of struggle involved with being at “peace”; the mountainous hike between meeting the demands of life and meeting the needs of her own soul. And the most insurmountable of all was her helplessness at her faults and mistakes. She was plagued by her imperfections as a hasty child was with his precocious insufficiencies. Her mistakes chased her long after they were over because her struggle was not with her faults, but with the fact that they existed in the first place. Knowing what she knew and seeing what she saw, did she not at least deserve excuse from weaknesses and faults? Or, from the relentless psychological drama of genetics and the environment of one’s upbringing? And yet, there she stood, thinking her way through her inadequate and unprepared existence.

Wasn’t life the same everywhere, since the evolution of mankind had not life grown merely in terms of stimuli? It was not just true at the basic biological level but even across history people had eaten, fought, loved, cried, lived and died. The several different cultures, religions, beliefs and fears did not alter our basic destiny. And that was another thing: destiny. It was the biggest red herring she had ever come across in life, even greater than religion. Everyone was destined to do the exact same thing, the beginning and end was the same, the journey barely differed. Only the means were different. She never gave much importance to money, she realized its oxygen-like requirement in the practical world but she knew it had nothing to do with why anyone was really here.

And so she fought. She fought every evil, every vice, every selfish urge to restore happiness in herself at the cost of robbing it from others. She did right by all who nurtured her and were a part of her life. And yet the void was there. She first became conscious of that void as soon she turned adolescent. Of that she was sure, as much by personal experience as by careful observation, that sexual awakening marked the age of realization in a human being. It was when she first felt her sexual being awaken that she first saw the void. It was not that something was lacking, it just wasn’t there. It never occurred to her that it never existed in the first place, that nothing was missing because nothing was supposed to be there. She just felt that something was wrong. That something had to made right. It was unclear whether it was resilience or self-doubt that defined her best. Her struggle with herself made her outlast misfortune but had her succumb to self-mutilation every time.

And yet, today she felt alive. She indulged in pleasuring herself, in the tantalizing suspense that might lead to satisfaction. She smiled confidently to conceal her throbbing anxiety as she entered his room, his cologne and the alcohol in her system easing it ever so slightly.

“I am here for me.” she said. “I am not here for anything more. But I want you to be with me. Do you want me to be here, with you?”

“I think you are making a big mistake.” he said. “you are so vulnerable right now, it’s almost like you’re a basket case. This might give you the validation you hanker after but it will just confuse you. You know you cannot relate to anyone without expecting something in return.”

“and what is it you think I expect of you right now?”

“you expect everything of me…you expect me to put myself on the line so you can get what you want. And then what? You will be back…what’s the point? It wont be over for you…not like this. You are hurting right now…don’t do something to hurt yourself more.”

“I am here for me.” she said. “I am not here to hear what you think. I want you tonight, I want to use you. I don’t care if it’s a mistake, just tell me if you want me to be here, with you. If not I’ll leave and watch some porn in my room. Its no biggie alright, just don’t stand there psycho-analyzing me to feel good about yourself.”

“goddamit, you haven’t changed at all. Still the pig-headed explorer of your own life!”

“I have changed…I want you to make love to me now, which I didn’t back then.”



But before he could register her smiling he pulled her close by grabbing her hair and sweeping her back. Somehow his fingers did not need to look for an opening before she felt his hot hands on her waist, rolling besides her stomach. Maybe her own skin was hotter than she realized but every pore seemed to light up like a carnival at his touch. He was bringing her to life, and she felt alive.

Their bodies danced in auto mode. He kissed her tongue with his own and she suckled his lips gently, yet with purpose. His hands squeezed her flesh, on her breasts, her thighs, her stomach and her back. They seemed to be everywhere at once, and she had to catch her breath several times. She dug her hands deep down to his bones, on his shoulders and neck, even his face. Every time he felt her rough raw hunger his senses burst with eagerness and he wanted to have her more, harder and with more pain. As they scratched and clawed their love making turned into a score settling. Their passion was not really linked to their desire for each other, but for their desire to have all for themselves.

At first she took him by pinning him down on the bed. But then he took his own by rolling her down and pushing her till he could enter her. Like animals they fucked. Savagely beating back all that was beaten in them by their lives. Two separate beings, raping pleasure out of each other. She came over and over again. Every orgasm was like one small piece that had broken off and weathered away during her life. It filled her with a deep contentment. And when he came in her, his tongue still deep in her throat, he could feel his penis melt into her womb. Their pink flesh fusing, it was the perfect culmination to the promising seduction of the forbidden.

Before she left she looked into his eyes and said “don’t ever let this mean anything more than it was.”

She was still smiling when she started about her day as usual. It was the next morning, and her heart would not stop throbbing. Over the years, that stolen night and those broken rules gave her fuel for many a despairing time. It was not so much the sexual salvation that she met with him that night, but her selfish act of going against her moral scripture, for nothing but her own momentary pleasure that gave her hope to live through the future. Her husband would find out eventually of course. And many years would pass before the crater was filled and pressed down to seem normal, but it would never be normal again.

“I’m still alive.” she said.