The Lies You Told

The Lies You Told

You listen to the sounds of the evening: the crickets chirping, the frogs croaking, the birds’ evensong. You drown your feelings in the peace you get only from nature. Peace is all that matters, you think within yourself. Not your feelings. Feelings, after all, are for suckers, fools and players. You return your attention to the beauty of your surroundings…

But once again, she creeps into your thoughts. Those unwelcome, yet desperately breath-taking flashes of her face, her voice, her smile, the way she moaned as you licked her sex, the several ways she made you feel complete and you know for certain that you’ve lost a gem.

But it is a price you’re willing to pay. You will not be made a fool of. Not again.

You sit in the park, alone on the bench, gazing at the stars as you struggle not to remember that this was where you first met her. Kayla. With her amazingly wild and carefree ways, she reminded you of the young gazelle you saw on the TV during one of your forays through the NatGeo Wild channel. You remember how you struggled not to stare at her hair – all that pink and purple and green and blue interspersed freely with her natural black locks. You tried – heaven knows you did – not to stare, but stare you did. And boy, did she look amazing! You wanted to reach out and run your hands through her hair, all over her body, rip off her clothes and take her right there in the park without any inhibitions.

But you chose to ignore your instincts that begged you to go talk to her. You sat there staring at her till she looked up from her cell phone which she’d been engrossed in, as if she’d felt the heat of your gaze, and her eyes caught yours and zeroed in on you. You quickly looked away, but the damage had been done. Hoping she didn’t think you were a weirdo who stared at people in parks for no apparent reason, you returned your eyes to the book you had in your hands.

Then the unthinkable happened. She got up from her seat, eyes still on you – you could tell because you could feel them, like twin lasers on your skin – and made her way to the bench where you sat and sat next to you.


“Hi,” she said, as she took the earphones she had on – from which you could hear Kanye West’s Fade playing. Appallingly loudly! – off her ears and turned to you with a smile. “I’m Kayla. What’s your name?”

You didn’t want to indulge her – well, that wasn’t exactly true. You didn’t want to indulge yourself with her because you already knew she was one taste you could very well get used to. But before you could stop yourself, you croaked, “Danielle.” Catching yourself, you cleared your throat and said again, clearly this time, “My name is Danielle.”

Still with that piercingly bright smile on her face, she took your hand in hers and said, “Nice to meet you, Dani. Hope you don’t mind my calling you that?”

You shook your head, knowing full well that if you’d been light-skinned, you’d have been practically red by then, so embarrassed and turned-on you were.

Apparently oblivious to the effect she had on you, she held firmly onto your hand as you discreetly tried to tug it away from her grasp. “I noticed you staring holes through me from here. See something you like?” she said with a teasing lilt in her voice as she stroked your palm unabashedly.

You were almost ready to drop dead from embarrassment. You averted your eyes from her compelling gaze and turned your face downwards, towards your book. You hoped she would take the hint and leave you alone. Yet, some traitorous part of you hoped she wouldn’t leave, that she would continue to stroke your palm, that she would coax you to open up, to speak, that she would do things to you – things that hadn’t been done to you since forever – and make you let go, that she would take your face in her palm, and stroke your face with those enticingly soft palms of hers while she kissed you.

And she did. Or at least, that was what you thought she wanted to do when she reached for your face and pulled it up till your eyes were gazing into hers again.

You didn’t think again. Somehow, her touch seemed to override your sense. You just blurted out, “Yes. I saw yo…”

Then your brain caught up with you and you clamped your mouth shut. At the woebegone look on your face, she burst into loud laughter – a tinkling, sweet-sounding and richly enticing laugh. A laugh that was very much like her. Embarrassed, you pulled your hand away from hers and returned your heated face to your book.

After her bout of mirth had ended, she said, “You’re cute. And you’re totally doable.”

Shocked, you turned sharply to stare at her. She had a smile on, a smile that was different from the previous one she’d had on. A smile that spoke of the many things she could do to you, of the many things you couldn’t wait for her to do to you; a smile that scared you almost as much as it turned you on. Then she husked, “Want to come to my place?”

Once again, without thinking, you nodded and allowed her to pull you to your feet. And thus, it began.


You sigh, realizing how far you’d drifted in your thoughts. You recollect yourself and get up from the park bench, slowly making your way towards your home. You wonder: has she eaten tonight? Then you recall that it no longer is any business of yours. You breathe in the fresh scents of the night around you, the grass under your feet, the food from the Chinese restaurant close by, the exhaust smoke from passing vehicles.

And it strikes you again: what have you done? Saved yourself or ripped out another heart?

You shake off the blues from your deep thoughts and walk on swiftly home. Entering your comfy apartment, you settle on a sofa and turn on your TV. The music channel is playing a song that doesn’t interest you. So you walk into your kitchen and take a banana. Munching on it, you return to your living room and take the TV remote to change the channel. Just then, Khalid’s Young, Dumb and Broke comes on.

And you remember again.


You were at the stove, cooking dinner when she walked in smelling, as usual, like a wild field of jasmines. She came up to you without a word and, as usual, without thinking, you fell into her warm embrace. Diving deep into her lips like there was an exotic potion without which you’d die in them, you lost yourself to the pleasure you felt. Her hands roamed your body, stripping you of your clothes.

“Wait…” she gasped. And you pushed away from her long enough to turn off the stove, before surrendering to her. You had no idea when and how you got into your bedroom, but you felt the softness of the mattress as you tumbled into bed with her. Her mouth on your nipple, sucking eagerly as one hand rubbed the bud between your legs and the other kneaded your other breast, reminded you of the words “Sensory overload” and you moaned and squirmed under her effectively exquisite torture. Before long, her head was buried between your thighs, licking, kissing and goading out more responses from you than you had ever given before. You grabbed her head and pulled her up to your lips. Kissing her deeply, you felt her shift away from you and then, the sexy crooning of Khalid’s Young, Dumb and Broke came on. With the song on repeat, her lips on yours, her hands on your breasts, she rubbed her clit against yours till you both exploded with the fiery heat of your combined passions.

That was when you knew you’d lost your heart to her.


Sex with her was always amazing, you think, but that was all you both had. You repeat this to yourself as a mantra, a new habit you’d formed since you told her you couldn’t see her anymore. You struggle not to feel the pain you felt as you brazenly told her, “I don’t love you. It was just sex. Awesome sex. But now, that ship has sailed.” You refuse to recall her tenderness, her care, all the things she did just to make you feel happy. You choose to focus on her ulterior motive: getting what lay between your legs. And she did get that. You gave it to her freely for three months, three extraordinary months, during which period you hadn’t counted on falling in deeper than was necessary.

Self-preservation is key, you whisper. You keep whispering it to yourself as you strip off your clothes and get into your bath tub. You soak in the warm water as you try to banish the thoughts of her and all you two did together to the deepest recesses of your mind. Three weeks have passed since that day. That day when with tears in her eyes, she said, “All I’m asking for is a little bit of your heart. Not all of it. All I want is a place for me in your life, Dani.”

You’d steeled yourself against those damned feelings. You’d refused to let her tears have any effect on you. And you’d said the words. You knew when you said them that they were untrue, but you needed to believe them. You couldn’t risk being in love with her or anyone else. You’d been scarred far too many times by love.

Hurrying through your bath, you put on a bathrobe and walk into your bedroom. Then you hear it, the sound from the apartment across from yours. Nicki Minaj’s I lied. It is at this point, upon hearing the accusation in the rap song, that you break down. Sobbing for the first time since she fled your apartment in tears, you realise that those words were true. You lied to keep her from breaking your heart. But instead, you broke your heart and hers for good. And so, you weep. Dropping to the floor, clinging to the bathrobe like it’s your broken heart or your battered pride, you mourn a love you lost because you were too scared to feel.

Written by Mitch

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  1. Mandy
    June 11, 15:16 Reply

    Well, a lesbian story from a gay man? This is nice.
    These commitment issues we have in the LGB community is what makes dating very problematic in our community. And in our case, you’re not even sure if the person is being emotionally unavailable because he’s internally homophobic or what.

  2. Dunder
    June 11, 16:42 Reply

    wow… I feel this. That’s the thing about life, we seek out love and the moment it shows it’s face, we run from it. Just looking back at past opportunities now lost and few bridges burned, was it worth it? To close doors of opportunities just to continue lying to yourself?

  3. Anita
    July 19, 00:00 Reply

    I enjoyed reading this ..looks like something a stud would do ..great read ..can’t believe it was written by a gay man..I want to write for Kd and lord knows , I have a lot of stories and experiences, but sadly no time to it them down ?

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