The Table that I Came on

The Table that I Came on

"I would rather not go
Back to the old house
There's too many
Bad memories"
- The Smiths

It’s strange how the simplest of things can affect you in a weird way. I feel somewhat traumatized by something that happened a few days ago that should be relatively minor.

On Tuesday I had job interview across the road from the a friend’s house. I called him after the interview – since I was in the neighborhood – and asked it he wanted to go for lunch. Since he was working from home that day, he agreed.

“Come on over to the house” he said.

Since I was only across the road it took me about thirty seconds to get to his place. There’s something creepy and stalkerish about arriving at someone’s house faster than they can hang up the phone. So I stood at his door and waited. I applied some lipstick and waited some more. After standing at his door for what seemed like an eternity (Actual time: two minutes) I rang the doorbell. I realized that was the first time I’d been to his house since last year we ended our relationship – or whatever you call it. It never really had the legs of a full-fledged relationship.

He opened the door to let me in and I just wanted to turn around and walk out. It felt too creepy. It felt wrong. I was now in another woman’s domain. I could sense it. And even though she wasn’t there everything in the air, in the walls, in the atmosphere oozed her. She wasn’t there physically, but her presence was everywhere.

My friend and I greeted each other in the vestibule of his house. The last time I stood in that very spot was after a horrible date we had. The sad details aren’t important, but I do remember standing in that spot feeling full of hope because moments before he said, “I really want to work things out with you Anjelika.”

I averted my eyes to the kitchen. I focused immediately on the kitchen table; the table we fucked on. He looks at that table and just sees a glass top. I look at the table and think about the night he lifted me up onto the table, pushed up my skirt, pulled down panties and ate me out. I came so hard. His tongue was amazing. How many dinners has he had on that table since then?

Everything in that house reminded me of ‘us.’

The stairs up to his lounge: He used to finger me as I walked up the stairs.

The sofa I sat on in the lounge: New from Muji last year we broke it in hours after its arrival.

The lounge chair he sat in: I remember giving him head in that chair and snowballing afterwards. There’s something electric about swapping cum from my mouth to his.

His whole house was peppered in bittersweet memories and I suddenly felt confronted with feelings I didn’t want to deal with. Not then, not at that moment. We only spent a few minutes in the house before leaving. After we exited he immediately made a phone call. For the next twenty minutes while walking to the restaurant waiting for him to end the call, all I could think about was being in that house. I wasn’t ready for the onslaught of feelings.

Even though we were walking together I felt very alone dealing with those feelings. It put me in a rather melancholy mood for the rest of the day. But what can you do?

I persevere.

And move on.