Milk in coffee

“I don’t like…you know…doing it.”
Sitting with a friend in a cafe,
A confession came pouring out,
Mixing into the silence like milk into coffee,
Stirring slowly,
Changing the composition,
From light-hearted to something,
Something new and uneasy as she asked,
“What? It’s not fun? Or like you don’t know how?
Have you even…”
Her voice dropped conspirately as her eyes looked at me from above the brim of her glasses,
One eyebrow waggling,
She made an obscene gesture,
And I laughed my head shaking.
She stopped stirring and began staring
“Don’t tell me!”
Full of laughter,
Her voice was like cocoa powder,
Wam and filling as she continued,
“You are one of those aren’t you? The one who thinks they should wait till marriage? Honey, that’s not…”
“How the world works? Why doesn’t it? Should one need to have sex to prove love?”
My voice was the sting of bitter black coffee,
Sharp and fierce,
To her milk-chocolate anger,
As she whisper-screamed,
“Now you are judging me!”
the coffee cups lay forgotten,
And her eyes steeled into me.
“No, you were judging me! And I don’t think it’s wrong what you do. It’s your choice. Before marriage or after, one-night stand or relationship, it’s your choice. But I just… I don’t like doing it ever.”
The words fell into the tense silence,
Like milk into black coffee,
Out of place and confusing.
“Why? Don’t tell me you are doing it wrong!”
“No… it… It just… I don’t feel like doing it.”
Two sugars in the mug,
Followed by three more,
That’s how heavy this confession felt,
And then she whispered,
“Are you sure you like her? The girl you are with?”
I didn’t even need to think,
Of the curve of her lips,
And how they felt against me,
Or the sound of her laughter,
Or how she was beautiful even when livid,
As I answered,
“Of course I do!”
It was easy as taking a cup of my favourite tea,
Loving the girl I am with.
“Then what’s the problem? Are you not attracted to her? Do you need therapy?”
“I went already! It’s nothing… wrong. And no, I am attracted, I love kissing, I just don’t want to go beyond.”
Milk in black coffee,
Her eyes the size of saucers,
Unblinking and confusing,
As she tried to process me…
“Are you for real?”
“Yes?”
“And she’s okay with this?”
“Of course. She says she loves me. Not the deed.”
“You sure? You don’t want to explore and see? There’s a nice club, I could take you out, you see?”
You don’t offer me coffee, darling,
I prefer tea,
I thought,
As I said,
“No, darling, there’s no need.”
And I walked away,
Cup of tea in hand,
Feeling like milk in coffee,
Lighter already,
And that’s the story,
Of how I told my best friend,
About my asexuality.