Chapter Eight – There Is No Moral To This Story
by Christine Wild
Our lips touched and two universes collided. My weary heart and I decided to ignore it. I hoped it was one-sided and that I could pretend nothing had happened. And then he said: “Oh fuck, are you kidding me? This is not happening… This kiss…” He kissed me again and there was no denying it anymore. We did not even know we had been lost, and right there and then, we had been found. His kisses would be the hardest to forget. That first night we had a pathetic attempt at sex, on a friend’s couch. She had introduced us that night, hoping for a successful set-up. She was so right. The passion and fire between us was so strong, even through the unfortunate circumstances of being on Natalie’s* couch. We had to see each other again and it had to be the next day. We did not know we were creating a pattern right there. We saw each other every single day until I had to leave, 3 weeks later, to spend the summer in Europe with my family. Those nineteen days were a whirlwind. I have never been courted, wine and dined that much in my entire life. He made me his. He pursued me and then convinced himself he was ready for something like me.
Those few weeks were the most magically intense, comfortable days I had known in what felt like an eternity. He was kind, sweet, honest, funny… normal. He was everything I could ask for and more. We listened to acoustic covers on my couch discussing our random thoughts, while he stroked my legs. Even simply sitting on the couch together was glorious. I fit right into my little nook, on his chest. He touched my hair, my shoulder and my back, stroking back and forth. He kissed me and my entire body melted into him. His touch was the utmost intoxicating, earth-shattering thing in its simplicity. We talked, laughed and smoked; we needed nothing.
The stories in this book, I remember because I could never have imagined them. Call it a lack of imagination if you will, but they took me by such surprise. None of me anticipated any of this to ever happen to me. This particular relationship was so startling I had to take all of my friends as witnesses. They all fell for him. One of my closest friends confessed that if I did not end up with him, I would with someone exactly like him. This was potentially influenced by the fact that she was herself head over heels with her new man. Either that or she was blackout drunk.
He knew it too. We were, at least on a physical level, meant to experience our unity. It was so easy with us. Every move, as clumsy and unattractive as can possibly be, was effortless. Elegant even. Our bodies spoke to each other. We wanted each other, so bad. Neither of us had experienced such passion in light years. We did not even need to touch to feel aroused as can be. There was something there, something inexplicably impenetrable. Well, that might be the wrong word. What we had was true. I think that is the reason why it is so hard to move on sometimes. It was just bad timing.
He had a fascination for my breasts. I did not want him to ever leave my bed. We were not able to get much done when we were together. Lying in bed and intermittently having sex and talking was enough. We drank, we danced, and we ate well together. It was one of those fusional relationships that other, non in-love people despise. We never got fed up of each other. I fell in love, instantly. I fell hard and deep and there was no saving me. It was truly one of those loves from which I expected nothing but to give. I had no remarks. He was good to me. The physical greatness was surely emphasized by the emotional connection we both admitted to sharing.
I have many sex stories. Certainly this book will ascertain this. Sex with him was cheeky, kinky, romantic and intimate at the same time. He could fuck my brains out and make me feel like he was writing me poems. I guess that would be my version of making love? I was never afraid to tell him exactly what I felt and how to remedy. I was never self-conscious being naked and contorted in front of him. Granted, I am usually fairly comfortable being naked; I think clothes get in the way of my curves. Still with him it was different. He could grab and move and experiment with every ounce of fat and flesh of my body, I would be intrigued, aroused even. He liked to have me on my back, my right leg over to the left. He could firmly grab onto my thigh and had a perfect sight of my breast and my tattoo on my rib cage. He would groan; tiny, almost inaudible grunts that only became louder when I did. He never tired of me. His erection was incessant. My girl hard-ons were never more present. When he teased me, balancing on each arm on top of me, with a mere kiss I was wet. I simply needed to lift up my bum and he slid right into me. “It’s so easy with us,” he marveled. No need for a GPS, our parts had their own connection. Once he was inside me, he could bang my head against the headboard, going as deep as physically possible and it would drive me absolutely insane. I do not want to use the hand and glove analogy, but if there ever was a time… He told me repeatedly that I was the best he could remember having, that I was more than incredible and that my body was banging.
So, you say, the sex was good, I get it. What else was so magical about it? Well what it was, it appears, is complete surrender to the other, with no compromise of self. I cannot for sure know how he feels about any of this now, or whether he indeed was being true to himself then. During those nineteen days, we were one, as cliché as it sounds. We were both confused and terrified at this extremely sudden attraction and longing. I was ready for it. “I created a monster,” he kept saying. All of my friends had confirmed to him I did not fall for people often, never mind let them in. With him, I had no issue exclaiming my feelings. It was truly monstrous. He had a harder time saying the words. There was no one better equipped to understand his issue. I never pressured him, never expected anything in return. As I was leaving at the airport, he eventually returned my love declaration all on his own.
Except I was ready for it, and for him I turned out to be “just a distraction.” Ten days later, it dawned on him that his love was actually already and still directed at someone else. Someone else, what a poetic phrase for someone whose head you want to tear off and set on fire. She probably takes it in the ass, says the pit-bull inside of me. How someone can be so fickle still baffles me. I will never understand it. I think I believe he was being truthful. I cannot be sure. He will always be something of the inexplicable. I have moved on since, and experienced new great passions. This one is remarkable in that there is no lesson. I do not understand it and that is all. It was just bad timing.