I have read some really personal, dark deep secret reminisces. I have never been brave enough to bare my soul here.
I am going to. Today.
Stuff here I have never told anyone. Certainly not my wife!
The conflict between the head and the heart, what a battle. What a wonderful/terrible condition of being human...
We had dating for a while. I was in love.
She sat next to me in the semi-dark room.
Her hair captured what light was left, and faintly glowed a golden aura around her shoulders.
I looked in her eyes, she looked back. A long moment passed.
I took her in my arms. She felt so soft and good. Lightweight, smooth skinned. Warm lips.
Gently lowered on the couch, I did not push hard, she did not resist. She pulled me closer. My weight on her, my mouth on hers. Tongues teasing, tasting, entwining.
My hands on her shoulders, slowly, slowly, SLOWLY, inching down. Resting near, but not on. Testing. Waiting. Again, downward. ON. My God, so firm, I never imagined. Warm, moving with her increased breathing. My hand turns over, I caress with the back of it. Her eyes closed. Enjoying it? Do I dare continue?
I slide my hands gently to her back. I caress her softly, my hands do not rest anywhere.
My hand is inside her sweater. My hand is brushing the back of her bra. My fingers are working while my brain is not. With dexterity I did not know they had, my fingers undo the catches. My brain is screaming ?You should not be going this far! She can?t be a ?nice? girl if she is allowing this! You must stop!?.
My hands do not listen. They are disconnected from rational thought. They know where to go. Gently, slowly, the tips of my fingers are brushing against the tops of her breasts. Why doesn?t she stop me? She knows this is wrong too! Can she really want this as much as I do? She continues to return my kiss, the passion is there! She urges me on!
My hands are now under, and now they are on top. So warm! Soft! But Hard! If it is wrong, why does it feel so perfect, so natural to do this? I don?t want to forget this memory. Ever!
The fabric moves up, up, off. The sweater is not off, but it is not covering her now. So white in the dim light, the roundness, the slightly darker circles within circles. ?You?re so beautiful!? I gasp out, amazed at the such a glorious sight. She gazes at me, her eyes veiled by smoke (or so it looked to me).
She lets me/helps me take off the sweater. I take off my shirt (it?s only right, it?s only fair). I cannot get enough of her skin. I am kissing her on the neck, her shoulders, my face has found its way between those SOFT!, snowy mountains. She is so warm! My hands are caressing, softly squeezing, thumbs softly grazing against those pink buds. She gasps. My kisses go lower, her belly rises and falls. A line of denim showing the next boundary. I must not go there. I cannot! I will not!
I rise up, past those newly discovered peaks. More soft kisses, now I am tasting that sweet skin. ?Do you like it when I do this?? Her answer is a shiver and a gasp. I take that to be a yes.
We press against each other. Skin to skin. She feels so good. I never want this feeling to ever end.
I have to end it. I kiss her gently. ?We have to stop.? She kisses me back. She agrees. We hold each other for a while longer. We don?t want to stop.
We stop.
Awkwardness. Finding our clothes. Jokes about which belongs to who. She has to go home. I don?t want her to.
She has to. She goes home.
The next day, I am Guilt personified.
What did I do? Why did I do that? She must hate me today! God must hate me! He saw it all, didn?t he?!
Will she ever want to speak to me again? Do I dare call her? Will she hang up on me?
I can?t look my parents in the eye again! They will surely know what I have been doing.
I can?t believe we did that!
What if we do it again?
Can we do it again?
I want to do it again!
That was the best feeling of my life! She was so soft, so warm! Those were the most beautiful breasts! I never pictured, never imagined!
I want to see them again!
That night, I buy her a gift. She likes ?Pegasii,? winged horses. I find a musical figurine, the tune is ?Born Free.? I hope she likes this. I hope she still likes me.
She comes over. We embrace, we kiss. I show her the wrapped box. She thrills to the gift (though the tune is a little corny, we both agree).
?Let?s talk?, I say. About last night. ?I think we may have gone Too Far,? I say.
Her reaction is not what I expect. She looks?Disappointed? She has a bemused look on her face. But, she agrees with me. She tells me that it was a new feeling for her too.
And then she says the unbelievable. She would probably have let me go on, if I had not stopped! (And in a thousand relivings of that night in my fantasies, I do not stop! Oh my God!).
We agree to keep things more controlled. And, with the occasional backslide or two, we manage to hold to that promise.
We continue to see each other. I am crazy about her. I think she likes me too.
So, this is what love feels like?
I blew it.
I overdid it, I smothered her. Obsessive behavior is rewarded in romantic comedy movies. In real life, it?s called borderline stalking.
I am not crazy about her, I am obsessed with her. She never gets a break from me.
?Back OFF!? She tells me. On Christmas Eve. Which I don?t celebrate. But she does.
I blew it.
Idiot!
It wouldn?t have worked out anyway.
I blew it!
We didn?t have the same beliefs or outlook on the future.
I blew it!!
She was so soft and warm. I still remember that night!
I threw away my everlasting life for a fleeting feeling of pleasure!
Who cares, it was worth it! No, it wasn?t! She broke up with you! Now you can?t ever make this right.
It was worth it!
I loved her! I still love her!
But she doesn?t love me. When did she stop loving me?
Can?t I make her love me again?
No.
Epilogue:
Six months later, I write to her. Still think about you, miss you. Still love you. Can?t we try again.
A week later, friend of mine breaks the news to me. ?She?s getting married.?
Stop, Please, Wait a minute, Mr. Postman??..
Years later, I bump into her occasionally. We managed to keep things friendly after all. She is still married. (No kids, though. There goes the first theory that crossed my mind when the news cleaved my heart in two.) The burn is still there in my heart, but it?s small, just a quick flash.
The regret I have is not about that night (maybe I regret what might have been, if I HAD NOT STOPPED). I regret that I did not have the maturity to give her more space, not been so damn smothering.
I blew it!
18 years later. Will I ever get over that regret? Probably not.
Will I ever get that night out of my memories? I hope I never do! (With apologies to my wife, who will never know I wrote this?)