It’s a kind of emptiness. Not having someone to share with. Yet still I wonder. Is it possible to find someone who you will be able to share with as one entity? Where you will not have to split the experience for their benefit? Where you can let go and give yourself to the experience and having her around will enhance it rather than take away from it? I once believed this to be possible.
It is with these feelings and thoughts that I meet her for the first time.
From the moment our eyes lock we want each other. Had we been primates we would have each other right here and now. But civilization gets in the way. We still play the game with hope in our loins more than in our hearts. We share the same space hoping for a hint of the experience to come. Just a whiff of perfume to get us intoxicated with each other. Or a brush of the fingers to send an electric shock coursing through our bodies. Her thoughts are filled with curiosity and interest. What will it be like to be in his arms? His hand on my breast. His other hand lifting my leg. To see his arms flexing as he holds himself up on top of me. My thoughts are non-existence. My senses are on overdrive. All my eyes see are the curves. The curves of her body, the shape of her legs. The thighs and the inverted V they make where they come together. Her waist and her breasts above it. I picture my hands on her waist hoisting her up to my level. My mouth on her breasts. Her beauty slices through my defences like a samurai sword through silk. It’s almost too painful to look at her. To know that soon I will be helpless in her presence. I will lose myself in her smile, drown in her eyes. She has a most perfect face. Her jaw has been constructed to best accommodate what comes above. I could trace the line of her jaw for days and still be amazed by its perfection. Her lips. I once thought I knew perfect lips. These are not as supple as those and they are darker. It is this inviting darkness of the lips that has me licking mine in anticipation. The lines of her smile lead me to the point of her nose. This nose has been sculptured by a Da Vinci and is by far his finest work. Her eyes are dark but they sparkle. The sparkle is for my benefit. And hers. Her eyes smile throughout the night. I see the fantasies they create in her mind. The imagined pleasure.
When I hug her goodbye I breathe her smell in. She presses tight for a second. It lasts a decade and is gone too soon. I could kiss her right now. Push her against the car. Carry her back upstairs when we both get cold from the nakedness. But again civilisation steps in. We are not Neanderthals though we may forget this in the art of love making.
I will see her again tomorrow but it will not be same. Sanity will have reasserted itself. Reality would have reminded us of our other responsibilities.
We are more careful the second time around as I predicted. We both have a good time with our chaperones. Her thinking that he is a nice guy but she’s not so sure she is willing to give up her comforts for this unknown entity. This man she barely knows. Besides he comes with responsibilities. She doesn’t know if she’s ready for any part of it yet. My once forgotten self-consciousness returns like a dark knight in dull but very real armour. Where last night it was absent today it is whispering doubts in my ear. I wonder if she thinks I’m attractive enough. Maybe if lost some weight. Or if I still had my hair. Or if my cheeks were more average sized. We seem to both mutually agree to have fun and enjoy the day with no awkwardness or expectations or questions. I wonder a few times if I should let my intentions known regardless. I decide against it. We have a great time.
Having a beer later at the bar I sit across from her so that I can get a really good look at her. Drink her features in while sipping on my beer. This may be the last time I see her after all.
I tower over her as I give her a final hug at home. This hug is less open than the first one but it is still filled with wonder, suggestion, a certain desire. I can’t help but imagine myself leaning down to kiss her and her standing on her toes to kiss me back. My hand on her back to help her, my other in her hair, pulling tight enough that has to change her hair the next day. When our lips finally let go I cradle her face in my hands and kiss her again, once, briefly.
I think about these things as I’m driving home. I tell myself it doesn’t have to be the last time I see her. But I have grown too old to lie to myself. I recognise her through the feelings I’m already starting to feel. My carefully cultivated cynicism is no match for my romantic nature. And this is what will make me fall for her as heavily as any of my last four girlfriends. I know if I see her one or two more times I will not be able to help myself. I will fall in love with her and I will dedicate my sleeping and waking hours to making her fall in love with me.
I am not ready for that kind of fall just yet. Not ready for what comes after the fall. Good or bad. There is recovery and taking of stock still to be done.