Then, there was this love

When I arrived, he was in a wrinkly blue shirt. He was smiling and I asked him if he were working from home. He said no, he came home because it had been sometime sine we saw each other and he arrived to see me. He knew it had been sometime. I had missed him. I knew it had been sometime. He knew that I'd have wanted to see him. I still felt that I had just met him. When I raised my eyes to meet his, I realized that he had been looking at me. So I smiled. As he kissed me I whined that I had no heard from him. He apologized and said he knew it had been a while but then we have been keeping in touch over the emails and messages. I said, "really?" When I was with him, I often forget how it was like to be separated from him. I love him. It was not really something I could tell others at this point. It's the only thing that made sense. I'm obsessed with him. When he's in my life, when I know when I'd see him and be with him again, the world is a beautiful place. When I did not know that, it becomes stormy and dark clouded. I missed him like I missed my limp.

He lifted my dress up and removed my black panties and he was first kneeling down and then he sat on the floor. I continued to sit on my chair and he started to go down on me. In that position I remained and he kept on eating me out, and licking my pussy until I was soft, wet and turned on. It went on for what seems to be hours. His face buried in my wetness. I touched his hair as he licked and sucked and caressed my pussy lips. I wondered if that was something men did to their women. Just recently I was beginning to miss how he used to go down on me, and how the oral sex part was missing. It was as if he had read my mind.

He took me to the back of the house. There he penetrated me. I always knew that I loved sex with him. and I wanted to have more of it. He knew all of my wishes but he did not have time to see me always.

I asked him if he still loved me. He said that he did. That he was mine. He sometimes said things like that, and I remembered he said that before, a number of years ago. I tried to make sense of everything when he was not around. But the world made no sense to me. I needed him to be alive, to breathes, to survive.

He told me that photos I sent to him are porn. He used that word like a compliment. He liked that I was always horny and had a strong sex drive. I knew that he did too. And I knew he slept around. But I somehow doubt that he could truly be himself when he's with others. He needed those others to remind himself why he's in love with me. The one person who genuinely did not care that he was sleeping with others, as long as he's mine and loves me and be by my side.

School children were making noises like birds. We fell asleep in each other's arms. I rarely had anything to say to him. I knew what I knew. And that was I loved him with all my heart. I would never love like this again And I don't know when this would end. 

This was the only relationship I have ever had, that lasted this long and our physical intrigue with each other seemed to grow over time.

Craving and next storm

The other day I was thinking about him, more specifically the absence of him and I was both sad and relieved. For once in my life I no longer wanted to form any other relationships with anyone other than him, I used to think that there was another person like him but I know now, and I've known it for a long while now, that he was the only person I wanted, needed, and desired. It was not something I thought about, it came to such a conclusion naturally.

I think he and I were on the same wave length when the last time we met and he said our relationship was different  because it was a symbiotic one. I had literately said the same word to another friend of mine, an hour ago. As I was departing and saying goodbye to my girlfriend, she asked me why my relationship was different with him than others, and I told her, without knowing exactly why, those exact same word muttered out of my mouth, and when he then described our relationship exactly the same way literately an hour later, I was surprised, and I asked him to say the word again. He said, "Symbiotic".

I send photos of me to him. He then send back his and a short video. I loved the image of him. I loved every part of him, I absolutely love every part of him, especially his sex organ. I wonder if that's what sets us apart than others. We crave each other. And as time went on, this craving continued.

I wondered if he would ever want to strengthen our relationship or if he wanted to keep me at bay. In any event, I know that I want to be with him, and no other people would ever matter. So now I just do my own thing, and I will wait for the next storm to hit.

A Symbiotic Relationship

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Never before

When it's all over, he was changing sheets. He informed me that he had a guest over the next evening. I straightened the sheets with him. Pulling the old sheets out and putting on the new. We chitchatted in the calmness after a heated love-making session. "In France, the pillows are all in square shape. I like the feel of your pillowcases. They have small patterns in the fabrics. They reminded me of mine." I told him. The windows had been open. He left them open to air out the apartment. To let the smell of fresh sex to escape. The comforter's cover felt like the ones I had bought in my French house. That 1800 farm house was mostly decorated with white furnishings. I chose a monochromatic color scheme because the house was largely white or gray. French white with window covers painted in gray. White burgundy stone slap floor on some section of the house and dark wooden floor on others. My favorite bedroom was the third one: it overlooked at the canal and the lavender meadow. It was not a large bedroom, with tilted ceiling, but I liked it nonetheless. I imagine he would too. If he ever wanted to come with me.

Earlier.  He told me that he thought I'd break up with him. I was surprised by his comment. I asked him why. He said that I was no longer happy with him. That I wanted to move on. To form a relationship where it was more than he could ever give me. In the darkness he did not see me crying. He failed to recognize one important aspect of the equation. I couldn't move on unless he let me go. I couldn't leave him if I knew he wanted me. He said, "But I do want you." He kissed me to assure me. My love for this man, this man approaching middle age, was the only romantic love I had ever felt for another man. He represented everything I ever wanted from someone: kind, gentle, loving, passionate, intense, open, and yet, emotionally distant.

When he was getting ready to leave, I waited at a chair in the living room, sitting and waiting. I couldn't stop staring at him. He's beautiful to me. Breathtakingly beautiful regardless how old he would become.

I feared him leaving me, thus I had planned a future without him to test that scenario out, like an earthquake drill practice. He built sims for living, and it was not unlike that. In my head, during my depressive state, resulted often by his prolonged physical absence from my life, I often created a simulated environment, a mental state where he no longer existed in my world, and in that environment I experienced a life-like heart break, each time the experiment felt more real, and his eventual departure felt more imminent. In that state of being, I couldn't sleep, eat or function. I forgot how to breathe. I cried by my sorrow of losing him forever, and I wondered if there was ever a way to come out of it. I knew, no matter how strong I was, when he eventually no longer desired me, when I actually had to pick up my pieces and move on, I would not be devastated, because I'd have had enough of this drills, these simulations. I would simply cease to exist at a certain level. I would shut down that side of me permanently: passionate, funny, alive, and  in love.  I would resort back to the lifeless machine that did things to keep the engine running efficiently, but without a soul.

I had never felt this way until I met him, the words of "heart break" or "passionately in love" felt like a foreign words only used in cheesy romantic novels or coming of age movies. I laughed at those sentimentality, it was child play. I believed no grown adult could ever felt that way. That was until he came along.

He thought that I'd move on one day, to find someone else to love,  to start a complete new life with. In his imagination, the other person's presence in my world became more solidified, he took shape, he was more real than ever, and he resorted to believe I'd eventually leave him.

I asked him what his desired state was. "I want you to be happy. And I want you to be happy with me." He confessed while holding me. It was difficult for him to admit that, to admit that he wanted me to be happy, but not to be with anyone else, but to be with him.  He doubted that he could make me happy. And in a sense, he had resigned to believe that lead to my eventual departure. I moved my body so that I was ridding on top of him, with my full breasts dangling in front of his face. He sucked on my nipples as I addressed his concern. "It does not take much for me to be happy with you. I just a bit more communication. I want to know that you still care about me. That you still want me. When you stopped responding to me, I thought you no longer wanted me."

Once when I was holidaying in Ubud, Bali, every night I swam in the infinity pool. The garden was filled with plumeria flowers, night blooming jasmine and passion fruit. I often wondered, as I stared into the sky filled with twinkling stars, what he was doing, who he was with, and I wondered if one day we'd stop feel this way about one another. The insecurity we felt for each other, the permanent longing, the sense of completeness when we were with one another, would it all go away? Often I was touched by my own softness in my heart, my desperate yearning for his love, and my sadness for not able to be with him on a more regular basis, that I'd feel so much pain in my chest. Oe moment I was looking into the sky, another my face was covered with tears. I couldn't believe that after that many months and years had passed between us, I still wanted him, loved him, desired him as if I just had met him.

Thirty six months and counting, the butterfly in my stomach never went away. That evening I wrote "Eternal Sunshine of Spotless Mind," a short story about him and me, because I couldn't believe that any relationship could last this long and still feel brand new, yet there I was.

As I once again laid next to him, I told him, "I don't care that I don't know much about you. I don't know where you grew up. What you did when you were young. Did you grow up in corn fields? What was your childhood like? I never asked you any of these things. I don't care that I don't know you at all. I know enough to know that you love me. Do you still love me?" I  asked.

He hugged me tightly, "I love you so much." He had not changed, alas, I had worried for nothing.

Like he feared of me breaking up with him, I feared that he'd abandon me and move on. I couldn't believe that he could love me the way he did when we first met. I couldn't believe that he had not gotten bored of me. I couldn't believe that my love could be returned.

How could I tell him that he ought not to fear? I would never be with another, as long as he desired me.

He looked tired. He looked like he had a long day. He changed his flight to be with me. He wanted to see me, no matter how limited time he had. Time, always stood still when I was with him. Time, or lack thereof, always separated us. Time, was fleeting. Time, the true commodity he had very little of.

As he prepared to leave, he cracked more windows open, the bathroom window that faced the backyards of the other houses and the bay in the distance.

We parted ways. He said that he'd be busy next week, after being gone for two weeks, he needed to be doing some child care duties. I wondered idly if those duties involving going out to eat or having a break in the park, or if he could slot me in, but I did not want an answer I already knew.  "Could I see you?" I asked. "I'm busy. But I'm sure I'll find some time." He said.

I knew better to ask if he really meant it.

A very long road ahead, indeed. I'd been on it for the last many years. I did not know if I could handle that level of absence. How he could be one moment excited to see me and another moment radio silent? I knew what I always knew. I had never loved another like I did him. I did not have a choice in this road. I chose him and the whole him. He was perfect for me, as I was perfect for him.

In a road that filled with uncertainties,  love was the only thing that ever mattered. I was stumped. Finally.

Rewrite the story

He told me that he had read my blogs, about my trip to Harbin and whether I fucked the person I went with. He had been reading my blog, to my surprise, and it made me uneasy. Still, I should write how I feel because I tell him everything anyway.

He just arrived from Boston, he traveled a lot lately and he's been gone and I'd not seen him. I was upset with him because he made a plan with me and then he forgot all about it.

He said that I want to break up with him. I think I am afraid of him leaving me. So in that mode we stuck, each thinking the other would leave us and in that mode we reunited, feeling intense for each other, three years later, passion runs so deep and so original, nothing has ever changed between us.

He said that he's not been in a relationship like this, so passionate, so connected, that my body and my temperament suited him. I have never felt this much in love with a man. He could be penniless and I would not give a shit.

I have never taken him for granted. I feel that I love him more than anyone I've ever met.

But I don't know how to move this story forward. He will never change. No marriage or happily ever after for us.

I don't want to be stuck in a situation where this stalls out andI have no idea how to finish the story.

But I can't do any other relationships. I can't get excited about anyone else.

It turns out, the curse of being in love is that you cannot love another person.

Booty Call

A relationship is defined not necessarily by the extent by which one connect with another but by how lengthy, how in-depth the connection is, even though the act itself seemed like a booty call to ordinary people. She has known him for years. He’d say that they’ve passed the dating stage. He’s married, in his early 30s, extremely call, Swedish, hipster, and a professional. The years they had spent together, it was at first going out, then just staying in, and from time to time, they may find an opportunity to grab a drink but for the most part they focused on one thing and one thing only: fucking. When his wife is away, when her family is away, they’d text each other on a very sporadical basis and they’d find time to meet and fuck. When he bought his new house, she went for an early morning visit and a late evening visit, and when his wife was out of town, he texted her to come over. They did not exchange emails or call each other on other days, yet their connection was real. She found sex with him deeply satisfying. He was always a great lover and he was one of the only ones who knew how to get her to come.

It was not a logical choice of a relationship, but it’s one that works. In those nights and days they spent together doing nothing but fucking, they have perfected many others have failed, the art of pleasuring each other.

Fear

I had never ever talked to him on the phone like this. We had never talked on the phone ever before this. I called him this morning after realizing that my flight would be delayed that I won't be able to see him after all.

He answered right away and he seemed a bit disappointed.

When I landed he was already boarding the plane. Boston bound.

He promised to talk tonight. So he called. I missed his call initially but then I called him back and then he called me back again.

We chatted nearly 40 minutes. We've never spoken like this before. Somehow he sensed my panic. My manic depression was setting in. I did not know that he feared that I was changing. I did not know that that because it felt that he was worried about me changing. Getting divorced and remarried. That's what he worried.

I would never remarry. I would never be with anyone like I have with him. He does not know that of course. His behavior affects me. When he does not see me or respond to my emails, I fear that he no longer wants me. While I understand that when he truly stops wanting me, I can then be set free, I also understand that my biggest fear is that he no longer wants me. The thought of him no longer wanting me makes me cry. I cannot imagine a world without him. I fear he'd leave me, abandon me, he'd never want to be with me any more.

Does it make sense?

I fear that he no longer wants me.

That thought makes me cry.