For as long as I can remember I hated some things. Among them was having my hair caressed, being praised for my positive actions, especially going to the beach. I hated the sand, that it would get into the folds of my shorts and invade my private parts, I hated how sweaty I got, not to mention how salty I got.
However, I was crazy when I met her. Her name is Hillary and she will be the protagonist of my story. Hillary was an energetic, crazy, unfeminine girl, in the sense that she is not delicate. She acts like just another boy. We had been neighbors for years, but we started interacting as a matter of running into each other every day at the bus stop.
I will summarize the story. Hillary and I started dating after 5 years of gesture greetings. There was nothing romantic about our beginning, it was just something like, "You should ask me out one of these days!
“You should ask me out one of these days," she said, sitting down next to me. “To get to know each other," there was a smile on her face that justified her whole argument.
“All right, let's go out," I answered so I wouldn't make a fool of myself.
“Where will you take me?" it was a demand, not a question as such. “Will you take me on one of your photography adventures?" She grabbed my hand and I felt her warmth, "I want to see those beautiful places.”
As a photographer, I would go to different parts of the city or nature to take pictures. I always went alone, I liked the solitude. However, her demand did not offend me but rather lifted my heart.
“This weekend I'll go to a river. Do you want to go?” I indicated somewhat self-consciously.
Finally, I gave details of the time, the place we would meet to go to the destination. I will not tell what happened on that trip, because it was a tour of friends. There were no kisses, no friction with romantic tendencies. Not even glances of love. I just took pictures of the place and her, while she played in the creek.
The magic emerged in the pictures I took, looking at those pictures made me invite her to visit my home. And so, without so many protocols, she began to go to watch movies or series in the evenings. As I told you before, there were no furtive caresses, no hugs for warmth. The only thing that existed inside me was whether I should do it. Every afternoon became an ordeal waiting for some sign that she wanted my hands on her skin.
“Are you going to my house today?" I asked one morning on the bus.
But she was distant and cold.
“I don't think so, what would your parents think," she threw the bait and I took it unintentionally.
“Well... they might think we're boyfriend and girlfriend," I blurted out the first thing I thought of.
Their eyes reflected that she wanted more.
And we went out to see how far we could go. A discreet outing to the movies. Where I got my desired kiss.
“What are we at last?" I said as I took my lips off hers.
We were both stunned, but her answer was certain:
“We are sweethearts!”
As I had been saying, I hate it when my mother strokes my hair, when they both praise my virtues. However, when Hillary did it, everything was fine, she could do whatever she wanted with my hair, she could whisper my prowess in my ear without bothering me. She was not romantic, but her actions showed that what she lacked in words she overflowed in gestures.
I am embarked. On a floating tin can in the Indian Ocean. Away from her and her passionate, rough kisses that left my lower lip sore for days. I miss her too much.
I miss when she would take me to the beach and make me take pictures of the waves. I miss those nights when we would run away to the beach and rip kisses to the rhythm of the lapping tide. The most wonderful thing is that the beach became our accomplice. I stopped detesting the sand and the salt, now it all reminds me of my beloved.
She is waiting for me at the port to escape to the beach again.
I look forward to the salty taste of her lips, the tenacious bites she left on my neck, the sand tucked between my shirts as a trace that she had run her hands over my skin. Only she could change my mind.
I love you, Hillary.
Cover and Banner made in Canva, Cover image of Canva; Separators made in Photoshop