A Journey

She was so perfect, so beautiful. Outside she was every man’s lust, but on the inside, she was my dream. We were both lonely, so similar in thoughts and ideals, needs and desires. The attraction was immediate. The feelings deeper than any that I’d ever experienced before.

We flirted and teased. We laughed so hard that our sides hurt. She made me feel young and wonderful. I was sensuous and sexy to her, even in my drab everyday clothes. I was bright, light-hearted, and filled with ideas and notions that I’d only once dreamed about.

There was a moment of intimacy, a shared kiss, so soft and light that it could have been imagined had it not been for the butterflies that fluttered their delicate wings in my belly…the frantic race of my pulse at her nearness… and the sheer joy of knowing that she wanted me.

And she knew that I wanted her. I wanted her more than my next breath. I wanted her more than the reality of the world around me for in that instant, she was my reality. She touched me in places that I had never known existed inside myself. And I just wanted to savor those precious feelings, to store them up so that I’d have them on a rainy day when she was not around.

She was befuddled when she told me that she was going to take her bra off and my response was no. She asked me why, and I couldn’t say then, but I know now that it was simply because I wanted to do it. I wanted to be the one to free her breasts to my green gaze for the first time. I wanted to unwrap her slowly, as though she were the one gift that I’d waited my whole life for.

She was the true meaning of passion to me. Lustful. Colorful. Her long blonde hair was a waterfall of softness and her hands were steady as she touched me during our second kiss. Her fingers were light and caressing, bringing me more pleasure than had she been making love to me with her whole body. I drank in her lushness, her giving, her generosity. I hurt so much inside for wanting to make her mine.

My desire made me greedy and I started asking questions. I wanted to know her. I wanted to know everything about her. I wanted to flood my mind and soul with knowledge of her. And so I asked…once, twice, three times. I hungered for every corner in her soul. And my craving only increased with each word she spoke, each detail she shared. But I didn’t know then that in those moments that I was losing her.

She stated, rather than asked if I were falling in love with her. I probed that too. Did she want me in love with her? What made her think that I was? Did she feel the same way?

She didn’t understand that I was afraid to say yes, and terrified to say no.

It was too soon, she’d said for asking such personal things and I lost her. She turned her back on me and put up walls that no apology of mine could tear down. Her manner was cold as she prepared to leave me. She said she hoped we would meet again sometime, but I don’t really think she meant it. I walked out before she could walk out on me, before she could see the tears that cascaded down my face.

Now I sit here, lonely, remembering her and aching inside for what she made me feel. Yes, I loved her. It was a strange feeling, one that I’d never felt for another woman. She brought forth my youth and my playfulness…my lust and my passion. I wanted her body, and her heart…her soul and her mind. I have nothing but a bittersweet memory of what could have been.