Damiens Love

Ya know, I remember the first time he kissed me. I remember the seemingly electric jolt that went through me when he first touched me. I remember the first time I woke up next to him, and saw his body bathed in the morning light streaming in through the windows.

I even remember the first time we met. It was at a party hosted by my firm. I knew almost no one there, and was about to make my way out to my car for a smoke when I saw him. He seemed to have a way of holding my gaze even from across the room and after only a few seconds of his steely gaze I found myself dropping my eyes and breathing in deeply. When I looked back up he was still watching me. I remember wondering who he was, and why his unblinking stare made my knees so weak. He was standing with a group of 3 other men, and to this day I couldn't tell you what they looked like or what they were wearing if I wanted to. All I saw was him. He glanced at his companions and muttered a short explanation before heading my way. "Those things'll kill ya, ya know," he said, nodding towards the pack of Camels I had in my hand. "Umm.. Yeah. Yeah. I know." I couldn't get past his rich southern accent. As he stood there talking to me I was struck by the intensity of his eyes, the way he spoke to me carried an air of dominance that I couldn't quite put my finger on. "Don't you just hate these boring political affairs?"

Occasionally his hand would brush mine as he leaned in close to stress a point and the contact would send butterflies straight to my stomach like it did when I was a school girl. I can't explain the feeling it gave me, the way he would lay his hand on my arm as he pointed out something across the room. "These people always act so stuffy when they're all dressed up." We laughed and talked together for the rest of the night, him always possessing that quiet hold on me, the one that drew me to him, and kept me there, waiting breathlessly for his next smile, his next comment, his next touch. Before long he had his hand on the small of my back, walking me out the door, and I found myself in the cool night air, thinking longingly of the neglected pack of smokes in my hand. As I reached for them though, he slid his hand softly over mine and when I glanced at him, he was looking up at the black sky admiring the stars.

"They really are beautiful," I heard him murmur. I agreed and for a long time we stood there, bathed in the moonlight staring up at the shimmering stars. I lost track of how long we stood there watching the stars and listening to the voices being carried out on the music from the party. I realized he had moved his hand away from mine, and in the process, taken my cigarettes with him. I watched him slip them into his shirt pocket, and for reasons I still don't know, I didn't say a word about it.

I think I knew from the beginning that this man was special. He was different. After that first night, we spent a lot of time together. I learned that he only worked a few floors away from me in the same building, and almost every day after work, he would greet me at the front doors before we began our evening, which usually consisted of dinner, and then talking. Sometimes we went out for dinner. And sometimes we stayed in. We spent a lot of time at his apartment where I learned he was an excellent cook, and a competent housekeeper. Sometimes we'd spend hours in front of the fireplace simply enjoying each others company, and the firelight dancing around the room.

I don't remember exactly how long we continued like this. I don't remember where the turning point in our relationship was. But, I *do* remember the night it came to light. The night that my life would forever be changed by this wonderful man that had entered into my life. We were at a restaurant, this one being a little classier than the ones we'd frequented in the past. His demeanor was different. Not incredibly different, but he seemed to have an air of determination about him that night. I accepted this without question, just as I found myself doing more and more with him lately. He opened doors for me, and followed behind me whenever I entered through them. He pulled my chair out for me, and did countless other small gestures of chivalry that I'd come to love. However, when the waiter handed me the menu, he gently took it from me and laid it beside his place setting. I started to question this, but stopped when I saw the peculiar way in which he was looking at me. It was as if he was looking through me, looking inside me, and something told me to simply relax, and enjoy my evening. He ordered for the both of us, and when my small pasta was sat down in front of me, he glanced at me quickly from across the table as he exchanged my wine glass for a tall water glass instead. I still don't know why – but, again, I didn't complain.

As dinner wore on he explained to me what was on his mind. I nibbled on the pasta and listened intently to his descriptions, his needs and his desires. The feelings that were coursing through me were like none other I'd ever felt. They made me feel alive. And incredibly sensual. I wanted to give this man what he wanted of me – the things he was sitting here asking of me. I wanted to give them to him, partly to please him, but also because they intrigued me. I wanted them just as much as he did. If not, more.

The waiter came and gave him the check, and I watched as he paid the tab and then led me out into the night. We talked more as we walked home and I asked question after question. I wanted to know so much more about this life he was offering me. I opened up my mind and let in a vast amount of knowledge in a few short hours. As we neared closer to our destination I slipped my arm into his and he pulled me closer to him. I snuggled down into his coat, breathing in the scent of him, and I closed my eyes and drifted beside him the rest of the way home.

I fell asleep next to him that night, my mind cluttered with a wealth of new information and my stomach dancing with butterflies. I couldn't wait for the morning to come.

When morning finally did arrive, my new life was close behind.