He made me blueberry corn bread and spread molasses on top. I had never had such a dish, when I arrived, the house was filled with the corn bread pie, yummy, toasty and American.
I had not seen him for a week but somehow it felt longer. I had felt a bit distant and was afraid that I’d be bored and uninterested. I feared that he was uninterested. My fear was unfounded. He missed me, and he adored me and he smiled when he saw me. He wanted to look at me, admire me and he made love to me. Several times. I came violently each time. He loved to go down on me. There I was in my lingerie, he parted my panties just so, so that he could make love to my pussy, with his mouth pressed just so, I was aroused, and I knew my misguided loyalty to my other lover, to my ex, to a man whom I loved but who no longer loved me, was gone.
You see, I couldn't possibly put my life on hold, so that he could come in and out of my life as if he was entitled to my love. He couldn't possibly loved me back the way I loved him. Therefore, I was free to seek my own pleasure.
I was justified in my pursuit of happiness, because he did not really care about me. With that I re-entered my emotional state of presence, and treated my feeling for my ex as a throw away, and welcomed this man, this man who was present and thought that I brightened his day, into my arms. I dropped my guard, and I let him devour me as he often did.
In the middle of the night, I woke up and I thought I should leave, I had not planned to stay, but I was tired, and I did not want to get up to go home. So I went back to his bed, the clock went from 1 am, to 3 am, to 5 am, to 7 am, to 9 am. In his arms I fell so at home, in his arms, I was loved and cared. In his arms, I thought no one else.
I had a dream, in that dream he told me that he did not like me any longer, and he was to let me go. I woke up feeling a sense of panic, and there he was, sleeping like a baby. I watched his profile, his beautiful Roman profile, and I touched his face and I said, "Please don't leave me." He grabbed my hands, and touched my face with the other free hand, eyes still shut, and he pulled me closer. I rested my head on his bare chest, and I said, "Don't leave me" again.
When he made love to me, I climaxed as I had never did. I was initially surprised with his ability to let me come so easily, and then I realized how difficult it was for me to achieve orgasm these days, and he was the only one who managed to break that barrier. He had beautiful, long, shapely penis, which I loved, and when he went down on me, I was surprised by how skillful he was with his tongue. I did not talk much when he fucked me, the first time. When the morning came he was aroused again and I received him like I often did. We formed a rhythm, and he kissed me gently.
I missed sex with my ex, which was more violent and urgent, which required less of a built-up, and I was constantly, instantly aroused. But my ex did not spend much time with me anymore, he occasionally wrote but mostly he just disappeared from my life as if I did not exist, and he did not, had not, and would not ever explain to me why he no longer loved me, even though he still said that he loved me. I could tell, I could tell that the magic was long gone, and I no longer mattered.
I had not seen him for a week but somehow it felt longer. I had felt a bit distant and was afraid that I’d be bored and uninterested. I feared that he was uninterested. My fear was unfounded. He missed me, and he adored me and he smiled when he saw me. He wanted to look at me, admire me and he made love to me. Several times. I came violently each time. He loved to go down on me. There I was in my lingerie, he parted my panties just so, so that he could make love to my pussy, with his mouth pressed just so, I was aroused, and I knew my misguided loyalty to my other lover, to my ex, to a man whom I loved but who no longer loved me, was gone.
You see, I couldn't possibly put my life on hold, so that he could come in and out of my life as if he was entitled to my love. He couldn't possibly loved me back the way I loved him. Therefore, I was free to seek my own pleasure.
I was justified in my pursuit of happiness, because he did not really care about me. With that I re-entered my emotional state of presence, and treated my feeling for my ex as a throw away, and welcomed this man, this man who was present and thought that I brightened his day, into my arms. I dropped my guard, and I let him devour me as he often did.
In the middle of the night, I woke up and I thought I should leave, I had not planned to stay, but I was tired, and I did not want to get up to go home. So I went back to his bed, the clock went from 1 am, to 3 am, to 5 am, to 7 am, to 9 am. In his arms I fell so at home, in his arms, I was loved and cared. In his arms, I thought no one else.
I had a dream, in that dream he told me that he did not like me any longer, and he was to let me go. I woke up feeling a sense of panic, and there he was, sleeping like a baby. I watched his profile, his beautiful Roman profile, and I touched his face and I said, "Please don't leave me." He grabbed my hands, and touched my face with the other free hand, eyes still shut, and he pulled me closer. I rested my head on his bare chest, and I said, "Don't leave me" again.
When he made love to me, I climaxed as I had never did. I was initially surprised with his ability to let me come so easily, and then I realized how difficult it was for me to achieve orgasm these days, and he was the only one who managed to break that barrier. He had beautiful, long, shapely penis, which I loved, and when he went down on me, I was surprised by how skillful he was with his tongue. I did not talk much when he fucked me, the first time. When the morning came he was aroused again and I received him like I often did. We formed a rhythm, and he kissed me gently.
I missed sex with my ex, which was more violent and urgent, which required less of a built-up, and I was constantly, instantly aroused. But my ex did not spend much time with me anymore, he occasionally wrote but mostly he just disappeared from my life as if I did not exist, and he did not, had not, and would not ever explain to me why he no longer loved me, even though he still said that he loved me. I could tell, I could tell that the magic was long gone, and I no longer mattered.
Such were stories I should tell when I move to Europe. My writing room faced the meadow and the river that runs through it, my bedroom faced the rose filled garden and a fruiting apple tree. I would drink Burgundy red or white wine, I’d write about the way he and I met, when my heart was broken and I thought that I’d never have my heart mended, and he never cared about such things, and we would meet on occasion, he would make me dinner and breakfast, and he’d take care of me when I was dead sick, and he’d cradle me in the evenings as if we belonged, he never demanded anything, or wanted anything from me, I left him largely alone and he dated others as I lived in my own world.
He liked to tell stories when I was drifting to sleep and he missed me when I was away.
He loved architecture, history and he made things for the house. He wrote beautifully. And one day I would wake up in my dazed and confused state and realize that life did not need to be so complicated. Love should not be forced upon anyone, and feelings should only be given to those who were worthy.
I would have baguette and cheese for breakfast, strong coffee, a used car, and a bicycle. He’d come to visit on occasion.
We’d correspond on other occasions.
There would never be any undying love declarations. But there would be hope, a hopeful future with flowers and gardens and a river runs through it. Sun, rain, frost, cobble stone down and up the cathedral church.
A train ride to Pisa and Florence. This would be our lives together. This would be a love story worth writing about.
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