Thursday, April 10, 2008

Recipe for a Heartbreak

3 cups sugar, melted into clear syrup.

“Raise your legs ‘cause I want to see you.”

“What?”

My cheeks were flushed, and I was breathing in short gasps. I still had my shirt on, but I was naked from waist down. I kept pressing my legs together as I lay on the bed but my lover pulled them up to his shoulders.

“No!”

“Come on, I want to see you.”

His fingers traveled incessantly. Down my stomach, lower and lower as he kissed my cock.

“Oh god.”

Suddenly he grabs my legs and spreads them as wide as he could. He licks my inner thigh slowly, making tiny circles. I place my hand on his head and try to get him to stop.

Oh god.

But I didn’t make a sound.


1 box flat dough, kept moist.

To him I was as rare as a Mediterranean desert dish few people ever tasted. I thought it was a wrong match, from the start. He was twenty four years my senior and while I was still struggling with what predicaments young adults have, he was already accomplished.

He liked fine wine and luxury. Dinner was always a blur of gourmet food, fine china and table napkins to match. My idea of good food was simply a cup of rice to go with any viand. I retch at the taste of wine- too sickly sweet for me.

“More Baklava for you?”

“No.”

“You barely touched your pasta.”

“I’m a little full.”

“Alright.”

There was only the sound of the stereo crooning a lovesong. I pushed my food around in my plate, and noticed the hair on his forehead was already receding.


1 pound walnuts, finely chopped


“What’s its name?” There was a twinkle in his mischievous eyes.

“Who?”

“Your penis.”

I laughed. “It doesn’t have a name, it’s just part of me.”

His fingers held my cock while he examined it.

“You have a mole.”

“What?”

“You have a mole on Junior.”

I giggled. His other hand kept rubbing my side and I was tickled by it.

“What does it mean then?”

“It probably means you are a maniac.”

He kneeled in front of me, naked. I ran my fingers through his brown skin, and held his face. He had the tiniest bow lips which parted slightly when he made a sound. His eyes were dreamy.

I moved my face close to his and licked the borders of his mouth. He sighed. Then he wrapped his arms around me and held me as we kissed.

“Alright, I’ll name it then.”



Slather unsalted butter on the flat dough and make five layers.

The car made its way through the traffic. We were seated at the backseat going over the details of my trip.

“What time will you be arriving?”

“Maybe 9am.”

“Are there people picking you up?”

“Yes.”
I shrugged off the questions, becoming more annoyed by the second. I detested being treated like an eight year old. The luggage made a thumping sound in the back compartment of the car.

“Alright then.” He said, adjusting his seatbelt.

We had a strange relationship. He provided every possible material need for me, yet somehow other than gratitude I felt nothing more for him. I rarely show a touch of affection. No kiss, no pat on the shoulder, nothing more than a friendly smile.

As I stepped out of the car, I turn to him. “Thanks again, for everything. I needed this trip to unwind.”

The glare of the sun reflected on the glass of the car window and it was hard to see his face as he sat in the dark interior of the car. Had I stayed a second longer, I would have seen the pained expression on his face as a cloud momentarily blocked the bright sun.


Add layers of chopped nuts & syrup.

“The heat here is unbearable.”

“Is that a compliment?” He laughed.

I stroked his chest.

“More of a complaint. Sweat has been dripping off me since yesterday at the airport.”

He put his arm around me and teasingly licked the lobe of my right ear. “I’ll make your stay worthwhile.”

The sheets were moist and the sun had set on our second day together. Jon was, in every way the perfect man: a young, cherubic face that could turn heads with a body for sin, but best of all, he was as young and impulsive as I was. But there was, of course a catch. Jon was already committed in a five-year relationship.

I took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly, letting the smoke linger for a while in the humid air. .

“I didn’t know you smoked.” He said, taking the cigarette from my fingers.

“I don’t.”

“Are you upset you’d be leaving tomorrow?”

I swallowed.

“Yeah.”

He kissed me again. I tasted the cigarette on his lips, slightly bitter, but the kiss was sweet.

“Fuck me again.”


Set the oven at 300° C and bake for 90 minutes.

The landscape whizzed past as the bus made it way through the rural landscape. My phone buzzed repeatedly.

Him: “Where are you now?”

Me: “Still on the road.”

Him: “Were your hosts good to you?”

I felt a frisson of guilt slowly working its way up my stomach.

Me: “Yes.”

Him: “I should thank them for taking care of you well.”

Me: (no reply)

Him: “Still there?”

Me: (no reply)

The bus seemed to spin. I took a breath and gathered myself, and decided to come clean.
Me: “I slept with Jon.”

Him: (no reply)

Me: “Are you there?”

Him: “You went there with the full intent of going to bed with him, didn’t you?”

Me: “No! It just happened…I-”

I could feel his anger mounting, and with good reason. It was getting difficult for me to breathe.

Me: “I’m sorry.”

Him: (no reply)

“Jon, I need to talk to you now.”

“You told?”

“Yes.”

“So sorry, buddy.”

I felt tears well up again.

“I did see our photos when we went around town. You looked hot!”

“Jon.”

“This’ll blow over in a few days, I promise.”

I held the photographs in my hand. Jon and me in his favorite coffee shop, one of us having dinner at that vegan restaurant I loved, and that photo of us kissing.

The kiss. I could still feel those lips and those arms around me.

“Hey, I need to go. The old ball and chain needs me.”

“Right.” I said.

I saw the colors bleed as my tears wet the photo of us kissing.


Let cool a few minutes and serve.

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