I met him for the first time when our parents, who were college mates, went out one evening. I disliked him at the very first sight because he was quiet and introvert — he reminded me of my failed relationship with my ex with whom I had broken up lately (and got into another no sooner).
But Mr. A (I'd like to call him that) was not like this. I began to like the guy whom I had detested an hour ago. He was undoubtedly handsome, like his father, but liked to keep things to himself. I'm an outgoing person myself, so I kept on wondering how the rest of the evening would be spent. But Mr. A began to open up to me once we reached the park. Our parents had let us be on our own, so he and I went for a walk.
A forced small-talk conversation ended up into an intimate chat and story-telling after a couple of hours. I couldn't shut him up.
He mostly kept on asking me about my personal life, and I hid the fact that I was dating casually and had dumped my ex. I told him I was in a normal relationship with a guy quite similar to him. He, in turn, kept on rattling about his own love-life. I honestly wasn't interested but he wouldn't stop. He spilt even the most intimate detail about him making out with his girlfriend. And I secretly felt jealous, looking at his face. Also, I knew that this libido-ed hyper-romance wouldn't last even a year. I've had my own share of relationships — from teenage and high-school romance to serious relationships, blind dates, no-strings-attached, and now an FWB. So I was quite experienced.
I don't know why I was so drawn to him that night, maybe due to the fact that he was already taken.
He was extremely loyal to his stupid little girlfriend. He was telling me about the baby names they had decided. The evening ended, along with my hopes. But the most bizarre fact was that Mr. A was 18 years old, and I was 21. He was in school, and I, in college. He sister-zoned me even before I could realise.
We met again at my mom's birthday party. And that night, if not changed my life, made me do something I can never justify to anyone.
The party ended quite late, and some of the guests were to stay back. Mr. A's family was one of them. There was definitely a shortage of space, but we managed somehow. Our bed was large for three people, so my dad, Mr. A and I were to spend the night together. Although I had imagined all the possibilities way earlier in my mind, I knew a 'saint' like Mr. A wouldn't dare to touch me. So we talked for a while and then tried to sleep. I slept between him and my dad, who began to snore away in no time.
I was half-awake when I felt our palms touching. I pretended to be asleep and didn't move my hand away, because it felt good.
Soon, I felt that he had deliberately put it there. And the next moment, he came closer to me. He touched my hand and then grasped it tightly. I only asked him once what he was doing. He replied weakly, "I don't know, I don't know." And then, he pulled me closer to him, held me, caressed me; for once did we both remember that we had our own lovers back at home, and the next moment, our lips were savouring each other up most haplessly. I had tried to stop him, saying "I'm your sister...don't do this."
But he knew I liked it, I wanted it, and so we let go of all barriers and made out.
We made out most carefully, without making the slightest of noise or causing many movements to wake dad up. But we made out passionately. Mr. A had a well-built body that he never exposed to anyone, he always wore full-sleeved shirts to hide his muscles away. But that night, the shirt came off on my face. A few other things came off too before Mr. A could cup them and cover them with his face. I clutched his hair tightly as he went down and down. This was the most extraordinary and incestuous love I could ever imagine of making. We wanted every bit and second of it. We kissed and kissed again. Our topless bodies clung onto one another for a pause.
It took us daybreak to realise what we had done. The first ray of light fell on our bare skin glued to each other, and it was then, that we felt distanced. He was back to being my 'brother' again, I guess. I took him out to the balcony where he broke down into profuse tears. He was definitely guilty but I wasn't. And that's where it hurt. I wanted him again, but all he did was cry about what to tell his girlfriend. I realized that it was just the testosterone last night, so I decided to help him. Like a big sister, I consoled him, cheered him up, assured him that it was just a mistake and our hormones had gotten the better of us; even I had a boyfriend, so we'd better forget it.
He seemed to soothe, and we went back to bed and slept through the rest of the while.
But I'd always remember what that little, immature boy had told me in bed while holding me in his huge biceps — "You don't deserve this." I don't know why he had said that, and I had never known.
Months after that night, his parents came over again and he didn't. His mother took me aside for a while and told me that she knew about it. I realized that he was just a kid who had broken down before his parents and spilt the beans. But he had told them it was 'just kissing' to save us either from being shamed. Auntie apologized to me on his behalf, and I had to act strong and behave like a senior and said that it was okay, it was just a mistake. She gave me his number and requested me to call him up in front of her. I did, and we exchanged a few awkward words and hung up. Later, Mr. A sent a long message telling me, how he had confessed to his girlfriend about that night and she had forgiven him; how they were going strong. And how he didn't have anything to do with me ever again.
I didn't reply to the message, as it broke my heart. He had put it in a way like I had forced him to sleep with me, he made me the villain.
After that, we never spoke or saw each other again.
Months later, I met his mum once at our house. She told me that her son was coping up with a breakup with his little girlfriend whom he had loved so much. I was indeed happy as karma had punished him for what he did to me. But, later, I felt sorry because he was just a kid.
More than a year has passed, and a few days ago, I ran into the notification 'Mr. A sent you a friend request' on Facebook. After some second and third thoughts, I added him.
A few minutes later, I messaged him because I wanted to. "Hope you're doing well," it said. "All the best for your semesters."
He replied, "Yes, thank you. All the best to you too."
And that was it.