Threshold of Forgiveness

Sometimes I wonder if everything has already been decided for me. No, I know what you are thinking--fate is sealed. I believe it. But there are moments in your life where you feel like you have changed the course of your fate and have won something. Anything.

My life felt as if it were concrete, somebody else sealed my experiences, my expectations, and my ambitions. Oh! My ambitions never exceeded my concrete destiny of taking care of someone.

Ever since I could remember situations as a child, I remember helping or taking care of people. It could be the drunk, angry dad I remember, my hyper-active teenage friends, or my own siblings who were destined to take after the legacies of our drunk, angry dad. So without my knowledge, or consent, I was navigating my life by looking after people. I don't even know when it became a conscious choice.

I feel comfortable around people who can express their feelings, especially anger. No matter how dramatic they be. If they can express it, I feel safe around them. I am used to people breaking things, throwing things (not at me), and shouting and screaming. I feel glad and at peace when I see them letting go of their emotions with such ease. With that being said, the opposite sort of person terrifies me. They are the ones who hold in their anger and bottle up those emotions that could cause catastrophe and ruin lives if left unattended. That sort of person I happened to meet as a form of my boyfriend.

Whenever he would be angry, I would stay a little away from his personal bubble and coax him into uttering whatever was bothering him. Often times, he would see me flinch at the venomous words that he would spew and stop mid sentence. My heart would feel numb, the brain would stop processing, and I could only stare blankly at his retreating figure.

I know you must be thinking of him as a good-for-nothing, rage-filled man of the earth. But I should mention that he loves me very much. His affection for my presence in his life is priceless. The very reason he always stops himself is to hide the side of him that might scare me. He once said, if I were to unleash his anger, I might never be able to forgive him for what he would do (to me). On normal days, he took care of me, attending to my emotional and financial needs, saying what was his, was mine too. But his anger... I was to stay clear of it.

Impulsively stubborn as I was, I could not let that side of him slide. What if someone more able than I started taking care of his anger. What would that make of me? I had to think of something. I had to do something.

Sadly, or should I say, as fate had it, The thought came after it had taken the course of its action.

...

It was the night of a hot autumn, with no hint of a gentle breeze anywhere in the vicinity, on the 25th of August, to be precise. I usually wear my glasses, but that day, the sweaty face had me take off my glasses and wash my face multiple times, just to get oily within half an hour or so. I had discarded my usual modest top and bottom, roaming in my bedroom only in my boy shorts and camisole. My hair was bunched up in my large claw clip, and stray pieces of hair were held away from my face by small clips. The heat didn't even let me read in peace, so I was feeling restless and remained in the house, drinking water.

The key hole rattled and gave a jump scare considering the pin-drop silence that the autumn night had brought. Even though he wasn't used to seeing me in such scant clothing, I thought it would be alright to be in my underwear and explain the circumstance to him. I mean, what could possibly happen?

I was about to reach our bedroom door to greet him, but he was quick, and the door swung open a mere inch from my face. I stumbled back and stood a meter or two away from him. His eyes took me in. There was a glimmer of sharpness in his eyes. And I realized he was angry. I took a couple more steps back and found my discarded cloth at the foot of the bed.

"It was so hot in the house. I was just about to put my clothes on."

He pulled me by my arms and held me by my shoulders. I could not meet his gaze. The last thing I wanted to do was provoke him against his advice.

"Look at me,"

I could not disobey him either.

"It's too hot in here. Isn't it?"

I agreed and stood still before him. A stream of sweat starting somewhere from his hair went down his neck and disappeared somewhere at the neck of his t-shirt. Some beads of sweat dotted his forehead and upper lips. His grip on my shoulder slacked as he raised his palm to hold my cheeks.

"What should I do with you?"

His questions weren't even for me. His husky voice, husky from the heat and strain, lingered closer to my mouth when he pulled me into a kiss. He let his lips sit on mine for a couple of seconds before returning to staring at me.

"Would you be okay?"

Again...This wasn't for me. His eyes were looking at me, but not into me. I was interacting with his anger without interacting. The main question remained: to what length would he go before his actions crossed the threshold of my forgiveness.

His lips again came onto me, and then her tongue went a little deeper. He tilted my head at his convenience, and I had to climb on my toes to keep up with him. Soon, he changed the placement of his hands. One hand now held my jaw, and the other went inside my boy shorts; unrestricted. He cupped me down there as he kissed my mouth, forcing his saliva down into me. I was getting breathless, and my toes started aching. I moaned into his mouth, but he bit my tongue to keep me still.

He let go of my mouth. I relaxed my feet, but he nuzzled his head in the crook of my neck, kissing the tender, sweaty skin down to my collar bone. His fingers vigorously rubbed at my core, to the point where I felt dry and prickly. He would rub my juices all over my pubic hair and clit, and he made sure to scrub that place raw. I wasn't hating it. It was uncomfortable, but his attitude towards me, turned me on over and over again.

"Such a wet little girl, you are," she whispered into my ear, pushing a finger into my semi-wet pussy. A shudder went over me. And I knew his finger wasn't dry anymore.

He wrapped his palm around my neck as he slipped another finger into me. The real torment was making eye contact with him during all the havoc he was causing. I was one of those people whose eyes would water during sex. I would have to keep wiping the corners of my eyes. But the thoughtlessness due to his presence, had me shed a drop or two of tears. From the look on his face, I could see he was enjoying it. I didn't need to think much about the old memory. One look was enough to realize, whatever he would do, he would regret it the next morning, and I would be there for him. My search for a solution was over.

I gathered my courage and tried holding onto his t-shirt for some support. He let me. His fingers, instead of going in and out, started massaging the upper walls of my vagina. I was also one of those people, who felt aroused by the urge to urinate. With my bladder already filled with his stimulation and the glasses of water I had consumed a couple of hours ago, taunted me to orgasm humiliatingly quickly. Came, I did.

As ashamed as I was, my shudders didn't bother him. He pushed me onto the bed and stripped me naked. He stripped off his jeans and boxers before joining me on the bed. His face went down between my legs, and he started sucking my already stimulated clit, as if his life depended on it. I could hold no longer and moaned through the wave of pleasure washing over me. His hands, though, came up and held both of my tits in his grip as if he were afraid, something might happen to them while his attention was somewhere else. He licked me all through and prodded me with his tongue, teasing my hole like a trailer.

He came up and asked me to open my mouth wide and stick out my tongue. Then he did something, he had never done before. He spit into my mouth. It was more than embarrassing. It was humiliation. He then asked me to swallow. Seemingly impressed, he started rubbing himself against me, coating himself with my juices. This was new for me as well. No, not the rubbing against me, but having sex with me without a condom. I was about to feel him raw for the first time. He would feel me raw, wrapped around him for the first time. I could forgive him for that. Right?

Then he pushed his entire length inside me. He was so deep in me that I could feel him hitting some spot inside me, which was new too. Was that my cervix? He folded me into a butterfly. My knees bent and spread apart, and my thighs pressed against my waist. He put all his weight on me as he moved back and forth inside me. The position and his intrusion hurt me a lot. I would be more than sore tomorrow. He kept pressing onto my thighs and thrusting inside me, occasionally slowing the pace and listening to the wet sounds our bodies made. He leaned in and took my left nipple inside his mouth, biting the whole thing with his teeth and teasing the tip of my nipple with his tongue. The new sensation baffled me and I squealed when I felt tickled.

He let go of my nipples and started wrapping both of his palms around my neck. He fucked my body while chocking me. I could not swallow as his grip restricted the flow. My ear started to pop, and I felt lightheaded. Was he going to fuck me till I fainted? Was he crossing the threshold of my forgiveness?

A few moments before I thought of giving up, he let go of my neck, and I took big gulps of air. I had taken three hurried breaths or so before he started kissing my mouth. I relied on my nose and calmed myself as much as possible. I sucked on his tongue and intertwined my fingers in his hair. As he began to reach his climax, he started desperately kissing my neck and chest before collapsing inside me.

....

The next morning, he made me a cup of coffee and apologized profusely, numerous times, and in the evening, he brought me a bouquet of flowers on his way back from work.