Today is Thursday and I would like to do my first contribution to the #ThrowbackThursday theme by posting something I wrote in the past, that talks of my past, and looks like the past too.
But first, a few words of introduction.
Back in 2010 I lived in Amsterdam for a year. I was young, beautiful and (care)free and my life looked *completely* different than what it is now. Sometime later I started writing a blog the main character of which was my alter ego: Betty Too. I was having a great time with that blog, but a little over a year ago, when I found myself holding a positive pregnancy test, everything sort of came undone in my head and Betty was one of those casualties.
Anyway. While I was at it, I’ve been offered to contribute a few columns to the Amsterdam-based e-zine The Sentinel. What you are about to read is the first of the pieces I wrote for them. It’s about my last day in Amsterdam and my aforementioned sexy fantasy about going to bed with two men.
The rights to the text are mine, the photos are also all mine. Don’t you fucking steal them! [*smirk*]
BETTY FOR TWO
No matter how slowly months can stream or how long weeks may seem, it always comes to this. The last day. And Betty should be proud to say she’s a specialist in this kind of moments, she has lived through so many of them. Not that it makes it any easier, but at least, she could go through the procedure with her eyes closed, by now. Betty comes home from a beautiful summer afternoon spent on plaids on the Vondelpark grass with food and drinks and all the friends who live here. Their children, their smiles and the promises they would meet again soon, somewhere. Promises, what are they but an attempt to make difficult moments a bit better?, Betty thinks while riding her bike back home. She never keeps her promises, especially not the ones she makes to herself.
She opens the door to her apartment knowing this is the last time. She takes a moment to recall the first time she opened that door, five months ago, when she had just arrived. She recalls what she felt then, the amazing rush of possibilities, of all the things that could happen in this new adventure. Betty takes a deeper breath and walks into the living-room. The adventure has come to its completion and it was time to sum it up. She drops on the couch and pulls out the goodbye joint she bought in her favorite coffeeshop for the occasion, lights it and takes a closer look at the room. Objects. Now it’s time to sort out those. Books, clothes, postcards, smoking paraphernalia, memories, these are the things she can try to fit into her suitcase. The folded chair, the flower-vase, the cups, the half-used flacons of shampoo, she will have to leave behind. They belong here, Betty does not.
The ganja starts tickling her lungs while she stares at the poster of Jules and Vincent and their guns hanging on the wall. She gives them a nostalgic smile, she really thought this time it would happen. You see, for years Betty has been having this fantasy, of going to bed with two boys. And when she arrived in Amsterdam, she thought that if it won’t happen here, in the world-capital of erotic freedom, then she’d have little chance to ever experience it anywhere else. Yeah, dream on Betty. It’s always so bewildering to her, the comparison between what she imagined it would be like and the reality of how things turn out to be.
Betty the Nomad. Betty who lives everywhere, but has no place to call home. Ever since she can remember, she has to coexist with this peculiar feeling of being split in half. Her parents come from two different countries, cultures, she was raised speaking two languages, Betty even has two passports. But all this is nothing compared to the much deeper split she has in her soul: the one between Reality and Imagination. One foot here, the other there. She has done it for so long that sometimes she can’t tell the difference. But then again – why bother? Who said that being real is better than being where no one can see you?
Several things about this fantasy fascinate her. First, the obvious equation that, when it comes to senses, four hands are better than two, and two… mouths are undoubtedly better than one. But also, the idea that two men would desire her so much they’d be happy to get even only half of her. Deeper, what probably excites her the most, is the idea of surrendering to the feeling of being torn apart in pleasure by two separate forces. Exasperate that same split which is the main source of sadness in her life, pushing it so much that it would become pleasure. Funny, Betty thinks, but isn’t it so? We fantasize about the things that hurt us, we say we want to escape what makes us suffer, but we end up wanting to dive into it much deeper and stronger than we would ever want to admit. And the constant craving to actually experience this in reality becomes more of an exorcism to liberate ourselves from our deepest fears than a way to have fun. Betty puts out the joint trying to ignore the subtle feeling of failure that is now creeping under her skin. She starts picking up her things shrugging these thoughts off her hair. Next time, she promises to herself.
* * * * *