Home

Friday night, dinner was at our favourite steakhouse. It was a perfect way to start the evening; at this cozy, immpecable restaurant. The white pristine walls were lined with black and white pictures of The United States circa 1965. The tables were spaced enough for privacy and deep discussions or intimate conversations. The table-side tossed caesar salad was one of the best I had every tasted. It was also a visual experience; where you could taste the caesar dressing before the romaine lettuces were tossed in and have more black pepper, lime juice or mustard. Anything you fancy. Our caesar salad maker tonight was a chick with ’stop-sign’ red streaks on her hair and a cool tongue stud. She was spunky and she made a mean caesar salad. It’s no surprise why I love this place so much. It was also a place where I took much delight in the table ornaments. The salt and pepper dispensers were automated grinders; grinding small squares of sea salt and round mixed peppers into tiny specks of taste enhancers. The sight of these grinders along with the low, monotonous buzz they emitted when the button is pushed never fail to make me grin. They were phallic looking metallic objects at the dining table and they are a source of amusement for me; they were the closest thing I can have to a vibrator during dinner.

  I had a glass of Chardonney while waiting for the freshly baked bread platter to be served. It was great. Crisp and cool, a perfect remedy to the humidiity outside. Over our delicious table-side tossed Caesar salad; with extra bacon for me. Daddy Long-legs and I began our discussion on whether we should order a side of steak fries; those thickly cut length of potatoes, deep fried till golden brown.

  “They do sound real good.” DLL said, waiting for my vote.

  “I bet they are tasty but we’ve got quite a bit to eat.” I said, trying to weight my preference for the night. Fries or baked potato?

  “I think we could do without the extra carbs.” I said, after a 5 second moment of silence.

  “I second that!” DLL smiled as the waitress got the table ready for the feast ahead.
  It was between the spilt fresh ciabatta roll that I noticed DLL was sipping his capirinhea and smiling that smile of his. He let his smile linger as he watched as I sipped my Chardonnay. Before I could ask the reason for the gleam in his eyes, he pulled out a key ring.

  “This is your set of keys to the apartment.’ He said, placing the keyring in my palms.

  Now, that was something I hadn’t expected. This was something new. I wanted to know if this was only a temporal arrangement; only for the duration of my stay.

  “I’ll place them on the entrance table when I leave.” I replied, as casually as I could. Not giving away any hint that I was wondering if this was something permanent.

  “No, they’re yours to keep.” He said, matter-of-factly, and still wearing that grin.

  “Cool.” I winked as I placed the key ring in my pocket.

  Dinner, as usual, was great. And so was the sex after.

It started out with a kiss in the lift. DLL’s hands trailing down my hips as his tongue touched mine. I slide my hands under his t-shirt, feeling his fuzzy stomach and his rock hard nipples. He started to unbutton my shirt when I jumped on him; my legs wrapped around his waist. Our lips never parting once. The door to the apartment opened after an intial struggle . DLL lifted me over his shoulders as he kicked the bedroom door close. I watched him undress me as I removed his belt buckle. His hard on begging to be freed. He stroked me as I took his manhood into my mouth, my tongue over his shaft and his pulsing head. I climbed on top of him as he slid a finger up. 3 seconds and some lubricant later, he was in and I was riding him. His arms wrapped around my body, his lips over my neck and mine tracing the inner lobes of his ear. He pulled out of me as he reached over to give me head, my mouth already working him to a climax. He moaned my name as he shot his load. His hands squeezing my legs tight. His body shuddered as he shot, his moans increasing with each shot. I came a minute after he did and DLL swallowed every drop. He smiled as he reached up to kiss me, his body pretzel-ed over mine as he drifted off to sleep.

  I slid out of bed and made my way to the kitchen, the taste of him still on my lips. With my glass of cranberry juice, I stood on the balcony and watched as lights went off one by one in the nearby apartment blocks. I had got what I wanted. Daddy Long-legs had given me the keys to his place. And they were mine to keep for as long as the spark between us lasted.

  So what was the greater source of gratification? The fact that he had invited me into his space, to share what was his and have the merger of our bubbles, and whatever we hold in them. That he had gone through the thought process and decided that he wanted me into this world anytime I wanted to be in there. No need for permission asked, no waiting around for him to be done with work? Or was it the knowledge that I had finally gotten what I had stuck on for. That all my efforts and energy spent trying to make him see the need for both verbal and non-verbal expression had finally paid off. That I hadn’t ended up with nothing; that he was finally walking his talk. And this was my light at the end of the tunnel; the build up of my importance in his life?

  I slid the silver key into my key holder, next to Ethan’s keys and after Adam’s.

  To Ethan, giving me the keys to his home was a symbol of his desire for the future; for a future together. It had taken me two and a half months to realise that I didn’t see a future with Ethan. I couldn’t be on that specific type of journey that he wanted to embark with me. I knew it would have been me leading the way because he would have stepped aside and gave me the ropes and the pants to be the one driving, all while constantly giving chunks of himself. I didn’t feel as much as he felt for me; despite how hard I tried. But love was not a dish I could order as and when I wanted to. It was not as simple as ordering a burger at Carl’s Jr, no matter how much Ethan tried to show me otherwise.

  Next to Ethan’s key was the key to Adam’s pad. An apartment where thick glass panes served as windows and where the beach was a 5 minutes walk away. Where vodka was always in supply and where we didn’t share the same bathroom. There was never a need to establish something more than what we both knew existed between us. There was no need for any solidification of the relationship. I was simply there and Adam simply wanted me there. It had never dawned upon me then that we both knew from the start that it wasn’t going to go any deeper or further than where we were standing. I was on one side of the field and Adam, on the other. He was at a place in his life where he wanted companionship and company and just someone to watch rugby and have a glass of red wine with. I was at the point in my life where I wanted adventures and bright lights and people. We couldn’t have gone very far if we had tried to fit what we had into a sandbox. Adam was always open and sensitive to every emotion of mine, he had always wanted me to smile and to chuck my worries aside.

  “You have nothing to worry about.” He always said reassuringly.

  And he made sure that I didn’t have any reason to fret whenever I was with him. It was that simple with Adam. I knew he would always be there for me and his key was a symbol of that. And I will always be grateful for that.

Looking at the set of keys before me, I thought about the concept of home. The idea that you’ll be safe, warm and protected under that roof. The very place that you long to go back to after every hard day. The space that you can spend hours and hours in without feeling the need for anything more. Thinking back on the times I have packed up my belongings and shared a living space with various individuals, the lessons learned and the difference in myself as a result of those lessons.

  There was the highly regarded domesticated side of me. I find myself doing the laundry, cleaning the floors and the groceries. Things that I did not plan in my daily planner when I was still living with my mother. It’s the shift in perspective that came with the realisation that things get dusty and unwashed clothing will pile up and white bathroom walls will get stained. That would explain why sometimes without even knowing why myself; I realise I’m on all fours, scrubbing the floor and doing the arduous task of ironing. When I got very tired of ironing, I adopted the new fashion rule; that so long as I could carry it off, crumpled shirts were my new look. That being said, the days in the week I woke up to find the cleaning lady in the kitchen polishing the stove and starching the pile of clothes were the days I knew I never wanted to be like Martha Stewart.

  Living together with a male individual and his ego, there were times where I really needed my space and there was no bedroom at which I could retreat to and lock the doors. I was sharing my space and most times, in an apartment meant for a bachelor. I would find myself without any spare spot for solitude. The only way to survive was to adapt. The mall, the gym, Starbucks, the pool, the supermarket were places I found myself in when I needed to get away from the clashing of two egos for a brief period of time. Thinking back, it was ironic that the places at which I enjoyed being alone in were the very places that were brimming with people and their chatter and their timetable of activities. I learned that solace and peace come from within and it can be found no matter where I am.

  Then there were the attempts to de-clutter and mould my co-inhabitant to fit and complement me and my way of life. Since being in the arrangement where you share the same bed everyday would cause the surfacing of rough edges, it is only human to want to smooth out rough edges so they become livable qualities. I don’t mean try to change the person I’m living with but more try to improve those particular traits that were sources of frown and mild annoyances. So as to ensure a more pleasant living area.

  Standing in the balcony overlooking the river and the many accompanying houses surrounding it, I realised that it doesn’t really matter where I am or whom I’m with. My mobility is something that I wouldn’t trade anything for and home is anywhere that I can be comfortable in my own skin, speak without fear of judgement and indulge in nothingness. That home is any place where I feel I belong and the sense of rooted-ness is internal.

  The cool breeze sent a chill down my legs, it was time to go back to the warm sleeping body in the bed room. I smiled as I looked at the set of keys for the last time that night.

  I was now, officially, my 18 year old definition of a latch-key kid.