A Day in the Life of a Kept Lesbo

by Rock Shiraz

Some things are just beyond our imagination and control. But some things are.

My six-year anniversary with Jan, love of my life, was one of them. And because of our rather weird and wonderful circumstances, I did what I could to make the moment perfect. I was determined that the six years we had spent together wouldn't be tossed into the garbage bin. Even if we're out of each other's lives, I would be up there in her amazing tales; I wouldn't be relegated to a mere footnote.

You see, I am a kept lesbo. Well, it wasn't always that way. I was the legitimate partner until eight months ago, when Jan and I parted ways, or so it seems, and I went from the mainstream to the sidelines.

We've had some good years, Jan and I. But the last year was tough for both of us. She broke off with me earlier this year. It wasn't easy, I guess, for both of us, because we continued seeing each other anyway, to the utter disgust of the few friends who knew about us and thought that I would be better off without her. I was in no position to want and demand anything from her anymore, but just the same she tried to see me on the sly whenever she could. A third party came between us, as always is the case in the lesbo world. Somebody was paying attention to her while she complained that I became complacent and neglected her.

Each rendezvous after the split was so precious for me as a result. There were so many of them. At that time, she admitted she made the wrong move but didn't want another breakup so soon. Of course, it was clear that I still loved her, and that was why I insisted on seeing her; but I never bothered to ask her why there was little resistance on her part.

My first significant tryst with her was at an out-of-town trip in the highlands one weekend last February. Tryst in the truest sense of the word was not how it happened, because there were other people with us. But just the same, it was the first time that we were together for a few days after the breakup. And the funny thing was, we were acting like honeymooners.

On our last night in that chilly place, we strolled in the city park. It was such a cold, damp night, but we both felt warm and secure in each other's company. We sat on a bench and she laid her head on my shoulder. We laughed, reminisced, talked about the good times and then the not-so-good times, we talked about our failed relationship. I remember Jan saying that I was so slow about our relationship, and I said that that was because she was moving too fast.

She was. Early on in the relationship, she wanted right away for us to move in together, something that I was reluctant to commit to; of course, I relented after a lot of arguments and tears. She wanted me to bond with her folks, which wasn't easy for me because I was so used to just being by myself. The truth was that I was terrified. And so it was that I threw a get-together with her family on our first Christmas together.

Back to the park, there are two things I can say about us, I told Jan: Thank you and Sorry. And she broke down, her tears just fell, and it seemed like an eternity. Finally she spoke and said that she still felt sad and so alone despite her new relationship.

I could not get the words out of my mouth. I just held her tight, not wanting to let go. Jan said we were both feeling the pain and the loss of a relationship that, once upon a distant time, did not look like it would end. She said we were like two ghosts refusing to believe that our relationship was dead.

I guess that's why we still keep on seeing each other. I thought I was accepting the fact that I was the other lesbo. But I couldn't stand it and went abroad for a few months to decide what I would do with the rest of my life, with or without Jan.

At that time, I felt I had no choice but to leave. It was, then, the only option I saw that would keep me from losing my sanity. I told Jan about my plan two weeks before I left. Her reaction was unexpected. I had told her that I was relocating to the south, and she was discouraging me against it; to her, I didn't really have anything to live on there.

Finally, I told her the truth one morning after we made love. I had to hold her because she was crying and sobbing like a child, thrashing her arms as she was trying to hit me, her body shaking all over. She cried that she would lose the only friend, the only person who completely understood her. How ironic. When she calmed down, I told her I had to do it, that it was my only way out under the circumstances, that if I I went on like this, always begging for scraps, that she would eventually hate me and we would both lose whatever respect we had for each other.

I thought leaving would be my answer. But there was hardly a day that I didn't call her. On the days that I missed calling, she would call me just to reprimand me for not touching base, that she missed me. On some days, especially weekends, we would go online and chat for hours. I would nap in the early evening so that I could be up at midnight when it was afternoon in Manila.

And then we started planning how we could reunite. We had it all worked out. We knew it was going to take time, but Jan was just was determined as I was. For a time, it was like something had reignited in both of us. This was just like the beginning, when we both believed that we would grow old as a couple. How was I supposed to know we were both dreaming?

I went back home. And it was back to square one, like I hadn't left and the circumstances were the same. I became the legitimate partner for a short-lived period and now I was back to being the kept lesbo. Jan told me tearfully, on the first day we saw each other, that she decided she couldn't stand a long-distance relationship. She said there were just too many lonely nights and days thinking about our separation. There were few friends she could talk to about us, you see, as we were both still in the closet. She said she loved me but it wasn't enough to keep her from resisting the other one, who was just as relentless as I was when Jan broke off with her after deciding it was me she would want to live with. And I couldn't offer much; I couldn't insist on uprooting her from the comforts she got from her workplace.

Ah, but on that special day in July, we agreed not to think about our cares. She was even the one who reminded me that it was our anniversary - our make-believe anniversary.

So that day, I woke up early, my head already spinning from the anticipation. I made a checklist, texted her that all she had to do was to show up. Everything worked like clockwork. I checked in at the suite and shortly after went out to assemble my props: red wine, candles, roses, foam bath, massage oil; and of course food, glorious food! Jan adored my culinary skills, so I bought the freshest crabs, prawns, and clams I could find and whipped up her favorites. I know she expected this much, and I wasn't about to fail her.

Before 7 p.m., Jan alled and said she was coming up in half an hour. I was ready. All my life I'd been ready for this, but all of a sudden my heart raced, my stomach tightened with fear. What if she found the whole thing was a waste of time? I dismissed the thought. Nothing would affect us tonight. I took a quick shower and then came the moment I had been fantasizing about.

She knocked, I dimmed the lights, lit the candles, had rose petals in red, peach, and white strewn all over the room and over the bed. I took out the wine glasses and put on our favorite CD. I opened the door and there was my love, smiling radiantly; there was no doubt she, too, was full of anticipation.

Jan said I topped her surprise birthday party from two years back at a five-star hotel. I took her hand, kissed her, and embraced her. She was still smiling, floored by my concerto, and she kissed me again. I led her to the bedroom and without hesitation, she took off her shirt as I unzipped her jeans and helped her step out of them. My love was even more beautiful than I could remember; she had put on some weight but she was sexy, and her body glowed in the candlelight. I stepped out of my bathrobe and we kissed.

There was nothing quite like it. Our bodies pressed together, I kissed and caressed her all over. and she embraced me and let out those familiar soft moans that I'd been missing and wanting to hear for months. I took my time re-exploring her body. I planted kisses on and touched her, and each time Jan moaned, at first, soft and muted, and moaning louder and hoarser as her pleasure rose. She told me to go down on her and I did. Pure pleasure and she burst out. We laid back, both overwhelmed as we tried to catch our breath. She rolled over on top of me and whispered those words she used to tell me so often after our passionate lovemaking: "You're my first and last orgasm." I wanted to cry.

After what Jan said was an equally orgasmic dinner, we sat on the couch in the darkened living room, listened to the heart-tugging blues of Nina Simone, Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Sting and Billie Holiday, the night's favorites. She stood up and led my hand as we slow-danced, leaning on each other, locked in our embrace. She rested her head on my shoulder and we just danced, not saying a word, just holding each other and feeling that things had not changed between us despite our separate lives.

The irony of our situation must had led Jan to cry softly again, as she was wont to do whenever her emotions overwhelmed her. And although so many things had come between us, this moment was real. We both knew that the silence between us spoke volumes: of how we ended up like this, what had happened and not happened, the choices we made and the lives we could have had led but didn't plunge into, how we could at times second-guess each other's thoughts. She knew that we were so comfortable with each other, and yet so afraid to take her chances with me again.

I pulled back away from her to look into her eyes, now glistening with tears, I sought her lips and she kissed back, sweetly, gently, and then more aggressively, a sense of yearning and urgency to it. We lay down on the couch and again, Billie and Nina and the rain pelting on the glass windows nodding in silent approval on two people expressing their love for each other.

Somebody told me that sex does clouds the mind, erases all logic. But I don't think so. Isn't sex a consequence of love? "We may never, never meet again on that rocky road to love," sang Billie ever so eloquently, "but I will always, always, keep the memory of...no they can't take that away from me..."

And some cliches will always be true. There will always be one person in your life who will go crazy for you and one who will be nuts, way-in-over-their head for the person they are not likely to give up on even if they are no longer together.

That night, Jan and I were brought back to the time when all we needed was just to love each other. And for a day, we were both saved.

I will be leaving again soon, off somewhere to lick my wounds, but I know no matter how farfetched it seems now, with so many things coming between us, in another time perhaps, after we're both done circling our respective worlds, we will end up in the one place where we were six years ago, truly in love and believing in forever.

Call that downright pathetic, but I guess that's how a kept lesbo thinks to feel right - that all that she has are moments of stolen love. That at the end of the day, I will go back to my empty room and try to stifle my sobs. That while it's a struggle, I know I will have to go on breathing and try to live well.

I tried to do that when I was gone for a while, and I was proven right somehow. She still loves me, but I lost Jan all over again even before I came back. But then, a kept lesbo is always grateful. So I will go on, going through the motions of living.

Who knows what Jan will do next? Maybe I will finally let go, but right now I can't; I will, when I find a way. And then again, maybe I will finally accept being a kept lesbo.

Some things are just beyond our control, beyond our imagination.