It Wasn’t the Boone’s

The One. Everyone has one. Some people remember their One fondly, but easily move on. Others remember their One with tremendous sorrow and regret. She remembered her One with such incredible fondness that she found it impossible to move on, with or without regret.  In fact, she still wonders why she ever thought she should…

He consistently let her know he wanted her. He was cutting through her resolve to behave and it surprised her how patient and deliberate he was in his words and actions. He made eye contact a lot more these days, held her gaze, and would give her that knowing PDS just before he would look away. He was driving her crazy. She felt the sexual tension building in her when he stood too close, and it would resonate through her body whenever he spoke. He would smack or grab her ass when no one was looking, but he didn’t try anything more. Until the night neither of them ever forgot.

Whenever they all skipped the club, staying in to drink instead, there was always Dominoes or Spades for entertainment. That night, a few of them sat on the floor playing Spades. Everyone had worked long hours that day and her friends were falling off one by one to their rooms or their homes as it got later. He mentioned he wanted to run to the liquor store for more drink and asked if anyone else wanted to go. She hesitated a moment, assuming one person in particular would try to go with him. Surprisingly, her friend didn’t jump at the chance, but said good night instead. So, as casually as she could, she said, “Yeah, I’ll go.”

If he was pleased by that, he didn’t let her see it. She briefly wondered if she had been wrong, but the large amount of cheap strawberry wine she had consumed let her push that fear to the side and enjoy the ride. And enjoy it she did! He had her laughing with his quick wit and renditions of Bone Thugs n Harmony. As he took the long way to a liquor store that wasn’t the one closest to the apartment, she thought to herself how he really knew how to handle that muscle car. The way he drove that rumbling beast made her hot between the thighs. She wanted him to handle her like he handled that steering wheel. She wanted to feel his hard chest against her soft breasts, and to finally know what his lips tasted like…

“Do you want anything?”

His question took her out of her fantasy. “What do I want?” You. “More Boone’s? Do you need money?”

“Nah.”

As she watched him saunter into the store, she felt a hunger deep inside her. She hadn’t realized her body had been starving, but he awakened her desire in a way that made her feel like her the lyrics of her favorite Prince song at that time: Insatiable. He strutted back out with a couple of bottles in brown paper bags and handed them to her as he got in. She couldn’t tell him how all she wanted in that moment was not go back to that apartment, but to take him back to hers. She wanted him to reach over and pull her body into his, and hoped the sheer strength of her thoughts and will would overcome him and he’d make that first move.

As they drove back, she noticed the laughter from earlier was gone, and the DJ on the radio was making the only conversation in the vehicle. The fear crept back in… Had she been wrong? Did he even want her? In an attempt to not appear as disappointed as she felt, she cracked her bottle and took a swig before realizing what she had done.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“S’all good.”

Her mind wandered as she exited the car. She wondered if she had misread him all this time? Was he not into her? Or was it the situation? She didn’t know what to say to him, so she walked along, holding her Strawberry Hill, and praying she could just go back inside the apartment and crash on the couch, saving herself any further embarrassment.

Everyone had gone to their rooms or left while they were gone. It was silent in the apartment. She thought about putting her drink in the fridge and just going to sleep, but instead she asked if he wanted to play Speed. They sat on the floor as she dealt the cards, both of them sipping from their bottles. She hyper focused on the game, trying to ignore all her earlier insecurity, hastily drawing and discarding, while he appeared to be in no hurry whatsoever, despite indication of the game’s name. Rather than try to keep up with her card laying pace, he reached over and squeezed her thigh with his free hand. She felt her body quake. His touch was everything in that moment. When she wouldn’t look up to meet his eyes, he set his cards down, grabbed a handful of her hair and kissed her. His lips lit her body aflame. She had never known passion like what he aroused in her. She kissed him back, softly at first, but as his tongue went deeper and harder into her mouth, her kisses became more eager and frenzied. She gave herself over to him completely.

Without taking his lips off of hers, he stood and pulled her swiftly to her feet in one smooth movement. Her head spun and her legs quivered. Was it the Boone’s or him? Or a combination of the two? She had hardly stood up, when he suddenly had her pants down and panties below her knees. He was on his knees before her, using his fingers to open her up, and darting his tongue in between her lips below. She could have cum right there, but she pulled back. She wanted to kiss him more. She pulled on his arms, begging him back to his feet. She didn’t notice when he had gotten his pants down, but everything was around his ankles and he pressed his dick against her wet lips. He kissed her hard as he pulled on her hair. In one strong, fluid movement, he lifted her onto the countertop and began to slide the tip in. Suddenly a stack of dirty dishes that had been stacked on the counter crashed into the sink. The noise jarred her and she remembered herself. What in the hell was she doing?! They’d all be out of their rooms any second with that clatter. She pushed him away and quickly pulled up her pants.

“Pull up your pants!” She whispered. He did so, slowly, reluctantly. His eyes told her he was not happy she had stopped. She wasn’t happy about it either, but she could not get caught with him like that. It would be the end of her friendships. All of them. But the way he looked at her, the way her pulse was still racing, the way her body shook and her womanhood ached, she knew they were far from finished. He didn’t just want her, he wanted her completely. And she would let him have all of her next time.

Five Minutes Alone

She just wanted five minutes alone with him. But it seemed that jealousy would never allow that to happen. She was scrutinized, watched constantly, and interjection was often made if she and the One ever enjoyed each other’s company too much.

Ridicule, criticism, and flat out threats were made in front of him and anyone else around, to the point where she was nearly ready to just give up. Something about the way he would hold her gaze, smile knowingly, and keep including her in things, would not allow her to move on just yet.

Shortly after the ride, the distraction became nothing more than a bad memory. Despite the fact that she knew he wasn’t the real thing, he’d behaved like the dog he was and managed to steal a few tears from her. She moved on quickly though, moved out of her friends’ place, and got a cute little studio on the other side of the city.

She visited them often. They were still her friends, and she did love them all. And as luck would have it, he would manage to be there when she was. She saw him less frequently than when she lived with everyone, but the upside was they weren’t watching her as closely; they weren’t attempting to make her look foolish anymore. And she felt that desire, that hunger and thirst, that she believed only he could quench, return. If only she could make it happen…

 
The five minutes turned into nearly an hour one sunny, April day. The girls in the apartment were smoking, a habit she had given up when she moved into her own place a few weeks before. As terrible as it was, it was still a bit tempting so she went outside. She was standing at the top of the stairs, breathing deeply the fresh, spring air, when the door opened and he joined her outside. He nonchalantly posted up on the opposite railing, expressing how much he hated smoking.

“Why do you think I left? Quitting is hard enough without being around other smokers,” she stated, looking him square in the face, daring him to make eye contact.

“It’s a nasty ass habit, and you never should have taken it up in the first place.” He finally made eye contact and said, “Girl, you know better than that.”

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his, and she couldn’t help grinning from ear to ear.

We’re alone. Finally.

He doesn’t admit to this often, but he is an exceptionally handsome man. His eyes are wide, intense, two shades lighter, yet still richer than milk chocolate. His smile can drop panties, she calls it a PDS, and it’s sexy as fuck. The freckles on his face dance across his caramel colored skin, and beckon her to kiss each one. His frame and stature are manly and formidable, she feels completely safe in his presence. She had never been more attracted to anyone in her life, then or since.

He switched sides at the top of the stairs so he could stand next to her while they talked. His elbow kept bumping hers as they leaned on the railing, looking out at nothing in particular, sharing what they wanted out of life, and how they saw their futures. He told her how everything he did, he did to provide for his. He didn’t have to try to be a good man, he already was one.

In a city where you grow up quicker than most, he knew that being a man was much more than being able to make babies. He knew it meant raising them, loving them, and caring for them with whatever means one possessed. He had the determination, the perseverance, and the strength to do all that was necessary and more.

She listened to him more than she actually spoke. He was astonishing. Exceptional. She didn’t know why he was opening up to her, but she cherished that moment to this very day. He let her in. He let her see the real him, not the tough, hardcore exterior, but a part of his heart that was vulnerable and authentic. And he didn’t even try to kiss her before they went back inside.

More of the Same…

Every night it’s the same,
I lie awake unable to close my eyes,
Except to gather my tears and push them down the trails on my face.

Every night it’s the same,
I remember the things you said,
The way you looked at me, the way you touched me, the way you loved me.

Every night it’s the same,
I hope I will awaken to your call;
I will hear your voice again, and you will tell me everything is going to be okay.

Every night it’s the same,
I pray for the strength to let you go,
Gracefully, compassionately, reminding myself: I asked for this.

Every night it’s the same,
I miss you like an addict, trembling,
Longing for one more look, one more word, one more hit of you.

Every night it’s the same,
I die a little bit with every slumber;
There are only so many beats in a heart, and you have them all, you are my heart.

Breathe, Baby Girl

You reminded me to breathe,
Full and deep.
I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath,
But you knew.
And you’d say,
“Baby Girl, I need you to breathe.”

Loving you and being loved by you,
Was breathtaking in every way.

I lie here, gasping for air.
You forgot to remind me;
You don’t need me to breathe anymore.
I’m suffocating,
I’m drowning,
You took my breath away.

Image of Skylar Grey, I Need a Doctor

No More

I can no longer bear the weight of this broken heart;
This obstinate mistress, who insists upon loving you.
Fast or slow, your name was the rhythm she beat,
And there was love and passion and fire unfathomable…
You were the lifeblood she drank.

 

Now you are gone, she is barely able to drum up an existence.
Her pulse is an erratic and desperate murmur.
She churns and burns and soaks my pillow in torrential tears
And infinite torment, until she decides to beat no more…
May that day come swiftly.

A Story to Tell

A glooming peace this morning with it brings;
The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head:
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things:
Some shall be pardon’d, and some punished:
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

~Shakespeare

 

Perhaps…

 

I will go back and tell the story of this love affair. I will flesh it out and share the endless pages written for you, about you, and to you, with this big, wide world. I will write of the pain and the heartache, as well as the times love felt more luminous than moonlight, more golden than the sun, and richer than the earth beneath our feet.

 

Love so big and eternal, it seemed as though it would reach well beyond infinity. I will tell of believing in a soulmate for the first time ever, and having no doubt two people could actually be made for each other. How perfectly two people understood each other, appreciated each other’s differences and sameness, and how the sex was like a hand in a custom-made glove. I will tell this love story in the weeks ahead, but before I do, I will spoil the ending.

 

I will tell you now that there will come a moment when the air is stolen from the lungs, the heart is ripped from the chest, the soul is strangled, mangled, and left to wither, my legs were knocked out from underneath me, and now I am nothing more than a heap of bone and flesh in a puddle of salt water tears and devastation.

 

I will spoil the ending because I don’t want anyone to go into this story with the hope that it will have a happy ending. I don’t want to mislead anyone. It is not a love story, or a romantic comedy, though all those moments happened. It is an epic tragedy. A soul crushing experience, that will either make you laugh or cry at the absurdity of the players who thought they could act out this fantasy and make it last forever.

 

So while you may know how this love story ends, it is just the beginning of the tale…

 

Image by inthelaurels on Deviant Art