The GAP Effect

Traumas.. I keep asking myself, what is a trauma? Is it when I broke my knee on the Girl’s Basketball Championship? Is it when I forgot the test I had for my final statistics exam? Is it the rejection letter I got from Star Academy? Is it the fact that I’m in a relationship with my teacher who is 10 years older than me? Or is it my father’s death?

A lot of people stood by me in every devastating period of my life. They kept reminding me that it is not the end of the world if I couldn’t play basketball ever again, assuring me that I will be a star one day and sing on the biggest stages, and above all, lying to me by saying: If you need anything, please consider us in your father’s place. But deep inside, I didn’t really give a damn about basketball and was doing it so I can travel and skip classes, I wasn’t that convinced of my own voice and that I have that impeccable talent, and weirdly, I was not that affected with my father’s death, thanks to my boyfriend who filled my world and never really gave me the chance to experience the loss of my dad. Till the day came and I had to experience what a trauma is, after learning about the affair between my -3 years long- boyfriend and my -18 years long- mother.

Seven months after being hospitalized and living alone in the attic of the sportswear shop I worked at. A skinhead, tanned guy with a Palestinian accent walks in the shop and asks me if I have basketball jersey collars. And that was the moment I realized how invincible I can be in getting over any trauma.

From the first moment he walked in and I knew it, I knew that this guy wants me. The desire in his eyes was overwhelming, the way he approached me with keeping a fair distance between us, and the way he left his number for me to call him once the collars are available was more than enough reason for me to be positive that he fancied me.

Once it became 10:00 pm, I rushed upstairs, washed up on the sink, changed my socks and my panties, and gave him a call. The call was 40 seconds, which was basically the directions to his place. Once I arrived, the blood was boiling down my veins, I felt like I’m going to overdose from the adrenaline in my body. He opens the door, and takes off his GAP hoodie he was wearing while he was at the shop. Everything inside me started melting as I notice his hairy chest with the Michelangelo muscles sketched beneath those fields of my dreams. He pulls me out of my trance, grabs me from my hips and starts kissing me in a way I never experienced before. His kisses were all over my body not only my lips, it felt weird yet real, tough yet tender and most of all I felt his lust for me all over again. He smelled right. He looked right. He sounded right, although he didn’t say much. And all I was thinking about, is that what god is giving me in return of the trauma I went through with that predator? Is this his way of compensating me? Am I that lucky to have such a man all for myself? All these thoughts were immediately shut down as I just wanted, for once, to flee from the past I lived. He shows me to the bedroom and I follow without even asking for his name. I didn’t really care what his name was, as I was so sure that this guy is going to be forever mine. I was so keen on losing my virginity to this stranger. This perfection of a human being. It all just seemed flawless and I just wanted to gift myself to him. And that was the night. The night I turned from a teenage girl, being protected by her own destroyer, to that maverick, fierce lady fearing to lose nothing anymore.

It’s almost seven years now, and as I imagined and hoped for, this man is still mine, he’s still the one, he’s still my chain-breaker, he’s still my maturity popper, he’s still the Michelangelo painting I lust for, he’s still married, he’s still in another country, and I’m still waiting..

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