Amy

One time, Amy invited me over to her place for a little R&R. Her door opened as I was about to knock. She wore an oversized sweater with sweat pants. Her feet however, were exposed, exquisite, beautiful with pedicured toes – red nail polish, silky, yummy. I always found Amy to be quite beautiful. She specifically told me to call her Amy, because that’s what her closest friends and family calls her, and it was an honour.

Upon entering her home, I proceeded to manoeuvre myself around her mess of shoes, heels, and books. Then I came upon the entrance to her bedroom. My facial expression was blank, as I stood there, staring at what looked to be a 9 inch monster dildo – veiny and glorious. Amy was still yapping away at something, trying to push her mess aside, in case either of us trip over it when we would later come through this way again.

As her yapping got closer, she suddenly stopped, and asked, “What are you staring at?” I didn’t move. Just kept staring. Then I felt her presence next to my face. This time, with a screech, she yells out, “Leeman!” and shoos me into her living room.

For most of the evening, she sat across from me, with her feet up on the chair. She kept playing with her toes as we chatted.

Now, as most people that know me, would know – I normally have a blank expression, most of those same people also has the liberty of seeing a very subtle grin or smirk, if I am especially amused at something. So while Amy fidgeted with herself, I sat there with a blank expression with a super subtle smirk on my face. Which about an hour in, she finally broke her yapping, “What of it?!”

At this point, my subtle smirk transitioned into a full blown grin. I responded slyly, “You call horndog men, ‘pigs’, but there you are, fucking yourself with a dildo the size of a forearm.”

Her face blushed hard, and she exclaimed, “The difference being – I don’t go around catcalling women and making them feel uncomfortable!” Her piercing stare saw right into my heart, and she continued, “Fortunately, you’re not like most men, but you’re still a pig!” She said so with a giggle.

I tilted my head back with a sigh, and suddenly pounced before her, dropping to my knees, and placed both of my hands over her feet, rubbing the crevices between her toes. While staring at her feet, I stated, “You like sex. I like sex. Neither of us are pigs. If I am a pig, then so are you. Oink oink.” She gave out a bellowing cry of giggles, when I looked up at her. She stopped laughing and was staring down at me reverently with a wicked little grin on her face – so kissable. I started blushing and then squeezed her toes a bit more, before sliding away. Though I have to confess, for a split moment, I considered taking her toes in my mouth and worship them generously.

One evening, I was seated at her computer desk, trying to fix a software issue, while she sat cross-legged between my legs, just… staring up at me. She was dolled up – black thigh-length skirt, white blouse half unbuttoned, playful makeup – looking like a scene from a film I didn’t know I was in. As she peeled off her stockings, she raised her ankle toward my face and asked me what I thought of tattoos. I told her a small pink butterfly on her ankle would be fitting. She smiled and said she’d get one – if I went with her.

My heart fluttered, and I felt those stupid butterflies in my gut, but I stayed stoic – too guarded, too conservative with my emotions back then. I gave her a blank stare and turned back to her computer.

Later that night, she emerged from a quick shower, hair tied messily, damp, face still adorned with most of her makeup. And just like that, she said, almost too casually, “I would like it a lot if you came with me to get that tattoo done, Leeman.”

Hearing her say my name like that, her voice so soft and feminine, I nearly lost it. I was falling for her, completely, quietly.

There was a night she came over in a skirt and stockings. As she jumped onto my bed, teary-eyed from the stress of work, she apologized for her smelly feet. I ended up taking her stockings off and bathing them in a tub of Epsom salts and baby shampoo – left over from when Brandon was still a toddler. I spent a lot of time on her feet and toes, massaged her calves and ankles. I even thought of kissing her, but back then, foremost, she was my friend and she trusted me in confidence. Not that we couldn’t be fuck buddies, or even lovers, but at that time, I was transitioning into being a freelancer from my Loud Production days, and while I was bold and daring, I honestly felt I was still too immature and not quite ready for Amy. Plus, she already had her career established – or at least, being established since I was 21 when we reconnected, and she was about 26-27.

Of course, that was a super contradiction. When I was 21-22, I was involved with a 57 year old woman – 35 years my senior. So what really stopped me with Amy? Perhaps it was because that 57 year old woman boldly told me she wanted me. Where as, Amy was just there. Considering that Amy was also going through a bad relationship – or bad break up at the time, I didn’t want to be the friend that tried to take advantage of her. I wanted to be the friend who was there for her.

Sometimes, I wonder if part of the reason we lost touch wasn’t just life pulling us in different directions, but my own insecurities. I was falling for her, undeniably. But back then, I held so much of myself in. I let blank stares speak for feelings I didn’t know how to express. Maybe she felt it too. But I fear that might’ve been the very reason she pulled away. I think some of our misunderstandings near the end of our friendship were a result of that. At least, they likely were for me.

To be clear, I never thought she was into me or anything, despite some instances where that could be interpreted that way. Amy was a bubbly upbeat woman around close friends. So of course, she also had a very feminine submissive side, on top of being an independently strong one. So while I might be making excuses for myself, at the end of the day, she was the way she was, because that’s who she was – and not because she was attracted to me. I’m sure of it.

Regardless, it was like one of those stupidly frustrating romantic tragedies in Asian dramas, where one person believes the other is too good for them, and does something to sabotage the relationship so the other can go off unburdened, into a future full of success.

Mind you, this wasn’t the only time I felt that way. Just that with Amy, I didn’t go after her. With all of the girls after her, I did.

Alas, we lost touch sometime in 2006-2007. Her career changed her. Like most stressed-out people, she was someone who embraced her emotions in front of me, while putting up a front for others. However, what she was doing with others, slowly crept into our relationship. She started preaching about her self-love persona to me – superficially and briefly speaking about her weaknesses, while primarily promoting the ‘new-her’. Near the end of our friendship, her most common greeting was, “Hey, let’s catch up. I want to talk to you about my website.” After a few more of that, I stopped reconnecting. In the past, her most common greetings were, “Hey Leeman! I missed you!” and “[long hugs]” – I was never into hugs, but I accepted hugs from her. This wasn’t wrong of her, and she didn’t become a snob or anything like that, but she became less real over time. If this was how she needed to move on from a painful past (toxic ex boyfriend), then that was what she needed to do, and I just so happened to be collateral damage.

A handful of years ago, I happened upon her Instagram account in my feed. Since then, about once or twice a year, I would visit her Instagram page and just go through a few of her posts, then give them a like. I know she sees me, but her super limited interactions with me has been shallow at best.

So when I revisit those memories of Amy back from 2001-2005, and then see how far she has gone – yet we have become strangers, it does make me a bit sad. We went from seeing each other one to three times a week, to barely once a month over the phone, or when I bump into her in person, it was always the same line about catching up and updating her website.

Just so you know, the strongest people out there often put on a facade of happiness and steadiness, when in their own privacy, they are dealing with monsters of their mind. So whenever I see the pictures and videos Amy posts on her IG page, I don’t look at them at face value. I wonder if Amy is doing alright, and hope – really hope, that she is truly doing a lot better, being with the right man, living a life that she is truly proud of.

Of course, I still think of her massive black veiny dildo from time to time, and wonder if she still has it. Hmm… Come to think of it, maybe that’s representative of the monsters she has to deal with – a means to pound it into submission. Though I wonder… Hers, or theirs?