A Vision of Valentine

"Like a river, a sonata of sound; Love should lift you without remorse or second guessing." I recited casually to myself as I walked down the hallowed college hallways. "So often, within the raiment of intellect and desire I loose scope of love." I talk to myself often; I use it as a muse when there isn't a person to fill that void.

I walked into my psychology glass a good fifteen minutes early by my watch, twenty by the college clock. The room was disinfectant white. Even the "chalk boards" were dry erase boards that made the setting feel stale to me. That I was alone in the room only added to the feeling of spiritual repression. As a poet I need to be excited, given sensory input. Driven to add something to the lonely room, I continued my oration.

"Cold eyes to warm, soft flesh to flush, I only love you more when you blush." I liked that, the way it rolled off my tongue. "Quiet to shake, stillness to quake…" No, something was wrong. Intuiting it after a few moments, I tried again. "Quiet to break, stillness to quake, I long to hold you when you shake." Perfect.

I glanced at the clock. Barely a minute had passed and still I was alone. I racked my brain for something to talk to myself about. Ironic that the class I am taking is abnormal psychology.

"Two people do not become one. No, that makes no sense to me at all. I believe that when two people know love to its fullest extent, they become more than their separate selves. They transcend the need for self fulfillment." The concept was an old one to me, borne on wings of religion, philosophy and poetry. I was just airing my mental laundry.

"But love is only a concept, a series of singles from the brain. How can you define, measure or rationalize a feeling?" The female voice made me jump. It was light, engaging and definitely pleasant. I didn't bother looking around to see whom it was; I was being a romantic and didn't want to pollute the conversation based on a judgment of her appearance.

"Ahh, but we devise scales to measure everything. We mediate over anger and depression when you can't ever really know what someone else is thinking; unless you're psychic. In order to have a discussion about anything as amorphous as love, you have to set ground rules."

"And what are the ground rules?" She sounded genuinely interested. I was again, pleasantly surprised. Not only did she have a nice voice but she also appeared to be stimulated by good conversation. In my experience with college women they tend to focus on their schoolwork rather than philosophical concepts.

"Well, what would you like for them to be?"

"I'd like to think that love allows us to remove our other selfish emotions and move on to mutual exploration."

I searched the front of the room with my eyes as I thought aloud. "Alright, so love is growth. Love is a force that causes us, or allows us, to transcend the normal desires."

"Like what?"

"Well, when I am in love I think less of eating and drinking and other activities."

"And having sex?" She replied quickly, as if judging me.

"Well, if I am attracted to the person the concept of sex becomes far more romantic. You know the deal, flowers and kisses and gentle, exploring touches rather than the casual fling."

"So you think fucking and making love are two separate entities?" Her adroitness almost made me blush. A thing I had not done in recent years, to my memory.

"I do. Don't you?"

"Definitely. So how do you view Valentines day?" It was quickly approaching that almost holy time of year and the college was peppered with different Valentine activities so I was not overly taken aback by her mentioning that.

"Valentines Day shouldn't be a day of sudden affection; it should be a day of remembrance."

"What should we remember?"

"That love is not a word, or a thought but a state of mind and being. Loving another person is about filling yourself with that feeling no matter what happens."

"Quite passionate about love aren't you? I agree, but think that Valentines Day is also about renewing our commitments to our loved ones."

"I wouldn't know in terms of passionate relationships. I've never had one last until Valentines Day." The sad loneliness of that statement coming from my own lips was depressing. I resolved to end the conversation. "Well, it's almost time for class. Nice talking to you."

She did not reply. Instead I saw the tips of carefully tended nails push a piece of paper onto my desk. "Call me. I'd like to continue the discussion, maybe over dinner?"

My heart immediately began beating faster. I didn't even know which girl in the class she was! She could be a huge, motherly figure or a slender goddess for all I knew. I didn't pay attention to who else was in the room. Despite that, the fact that I, the man, was being asked out was incredibly flattering. "Sure, when?" I tried to keep my voice from trembling.

"Call me tonight. I have work until 8, but after that I'm free." She sounded amazingly spry, as if this was a casual thing for her. Before I could reply students began filing into the room.

The class seemed to fly by, my thoughts no the conversation. I analyzed every line I could remember, making sure that I hadn't eluded to being something that I was not. It took some effort to keep the thought that she may be looking for just another one night stand out of my mind through the rest of the class.

Unlike the class, the rest of the day crawled by. I drove home and attempted to write, to make a song, to work out and to eat but found all of those activities boring. When eight o'clock came I was a nervous wreck.

My fingers were shaking so badly that when I dialed her number the first time, I accidentally entered the wrong one and got an older gentleman who seemed quite inebriated.

"Hello is.." I paused to look at the slip of paper, not sure what her name was; I hadn't looked until I dialed and even then hadn't bothered to read the name. "Karen, is Karen there?"

"We don't have no Karen here. I wanna single barrel of malt liquor on the rocks, ya hear me?" His slurred words convinced me that I had, in fact, gotten the wrong number. I hung up and tried again.

This time a female voice answered.

"Hello?" It was soothingly soft, amazingly effeminate and, unless I was mistaken, also a bit nervous.

"Is this Karen?"

"Yes, this is Karen, who is this?"

"Eric, from class."

"Oh…wonderful. Well, where do you want to meet?"

"Well, about that…Karen, I really don't have much money right now so I was thinking maybe I could make the both of us something to eat and meet you at the park."

"Isn't the park closed?"

"So?"

She giggled at that. "That would be wonderful, which one?"

I named the park and the time and she agreed. I had an hour to make the both of us something to eat.

I hadn't planned what I was going to say and I found the idea of making dinner for a woman, the reputed experts of food in the home setting, a bit intimidating. But I hadn't lied either, I was broke.

Rummaging through the refrigerator I found a few cans of cream of mushroom soup and some tuna. Looking through the cabinet I found some macaroni and cheese. Great, I thought to myself: tuna and mushroom soup, I'm certain to bomb this date!

Recalling a recipe a friend had taught me back in my days of being even poorer than I currently was kept me from panicking. First I began cooking the soup in a frying pan with water then I began cooking the macaroni and cheese. When the macaroni was done I poured it into the mushroom soup, added the tuna and stirred it all up. Once it became a disgusting mixture of noodles and tuna I added the dried cheese. Quickly the entire thing became cheesy. I knew that the casserole I was making wouldn't win any awards but it was, thankfully, tasty.

That done I bathed, dressed and quickly headed for the park. It wasn't until I was on the way that my heart started pounding unceasingly.

I arrived just before the appointed time. The park was dark, lit only from a few streetlights and the parking lot wasn't illuminated at all. The park itself was situated south of the main road and with the exception of the lot, was covered with well-tended trees and accessories for children to play on, like swings and Jungle Jims. I hid my car behind some bushes and took the still hot meal to a park table and began looking for her.

Time passed horribly slow. It wasn't until five past that I began thinking that she wouldn't show. At ten past I was about to leave. Feeling sorry for myself, I began talking to the air.

"Bah, dumped, cheated on and used; what else would you expect Eric? Angels fallen, devils free, all these things or horror I see. Quiet broken, tears shed, all I want no is to silence the horrible shouting in my heart and head."

"Eric, is that you?" A voice appeared from nowhere, around one of the many large bushes in the park.

"Karen?"

"Yea." She appeared around the bush, walking towards me.

Karen was not perfection; she was not a goddess or model in disguise waiting to seduce a poet, but she was close enough for me. Long, curly red hair framed her freckled face and emerald eyes. Lush, pouty lips that seemed to me to be perfect for kissing were turned upward in a smile as she moved towards me. She was wearing an almost sheer azure scarf around her hips and a matching, though much darker dress beneath. The straps went over her shoulders; making me imagine that with a few simple movements of my fingers I could remove the thing and reveal what were, apparently firm though not large breasts.

I don't know how I saw so much detail. It was dark and my eyes were heavy with tiredness and then forgotten grief, but I did.

"I was over there," She pointed through the bush, "At the other table, waiting. I almost thought you forgot to come and was about to leave when I heard your poetry." She was smiling at me. I felt my heart pound when she did that.

"Me too…" I said and immediately scolded myself for sounding stupid.

"I brought dinner. It's not much, but…I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will."

Dinner was quiet. Our eyes kept dancing from the food to each other and whenever they made contact we would both either blush or giggle. It was almost as if I was a teenager again. I kept thinking to myself: Don't mess up. Don't push her. Don't do the wrong thing. Don't fall for this girl on the first date.

I wondered what she was thinking.

When dinner was over she put the plates back into the basket I brought. She didn't ask for the responsibility; she just did it. That singular, giving act almost pushed me head first into an emotion I wasn't ready to feel.

"That was amazing Eric. I didn't know you could do so much with tuna and macaroni." We both laughed at that. And then our eyes met.

Unlike the romance stories you read about or watch on T.V, we didn't kiss. We just sat there, searching each others face as if finding something long lost. Somehow, in some singularly unexpected way, I knew that I could love this woman. I knew it with all of my being, with a certainty that only poets can know.

She stood up and moved to sit next to me as I came to that realization. Her thigh next to mine, purposely put in contact, was enough to make my entire body shiver with mixtures of heady emotion.

She put her hand on my thigh and looked up at me. It was then I realized how short she was. I am over six feet and the way she had to look up to catch my gaze told me that she had to be only a little over five, if that.

"Eric..." She whispered, as if tasting the name. She said it again, "Eric…" savoring the word.

I couldn't help but kiss her. I cupped her chin with my fingers and drew her face closer as I leaned down, guiding her to me. She didn't resist. My eyes stayed on hers, searching for the emotions that were surging through her, wondering if she could see the desire and hope in mine. The moment our lips met, flesh against flesh, was more beautiful than any other moment since in my life. I had never felt such boundless pleasure as the sensation of her falling into me as I fell into her; I naturally released all that I was and gifted her with it and, amazingly, I felt her do the same.

Her hand took mine, guided it to her shoulder. She placed her hand over mine, on her warm, porcelain flesh, and pushed the strap off. Then she removed the other. She still didn't take her eyes off of mine as she pushed her dress down, revealing her breasts. They were, indeed, perky, as I had thought. The nipples tilted up, ever so slightly and were tiny, though erect. The areolas hugged her nipples in a way that made my lips jealous. I looked back at her eyes to see an almost pleading look.

"Don't hurt me Eric. Never leave me…ever. Be mine, forever…"

"You know I won't Karen."

"Make love to me, Eric," she whispered so sweetly, with a voice that was so vulnerable that my heart almost broke. I couldn't help but give her all that we both wanted.

I reached out and stroked her cheeks, trailed my fingers under her chin and over her eyelids. I leaned close and kissed her again, softly, letting our flesh hug as my hands trailed down to her throat. I traced that sensitive flesh with slow, circular thumb motions. Her hands took my hips in an embrace and began stroking my back, urging me closer. Urging me on.

I moved my lips from hers, to her throat. I began kissing, then licking while my hands traversed lower, around the curvature of her breasts. I did not touch them, not yet, I circled them slowly, letting her grow accustomed to the contact. She shivered beneath the touch and murmured, "you didn't tell me that you had your tongue pierced."

It was my turn to not reply. My fingers moved around and below her breasts, this time not touching her nipples. I began kissing down the slope of her swan's neck to the tops of her breasts, placing delicate, promises of affection. Her hands moved to my head, ran through my hair and tugged me closer. Clearly she also had a desire to match mine.

After several long moments of tempting her, stroking and kissing all but her nipples, I abruptly engulfed her left with my mouth. Before she could react, I flicked my pierced tongue over the super sensitive flesh rapidly, forcing the metal cap to brush it repeatedly. She moaned in response and tightened her grip on my head. I moved to the other nipple and did it again, only this time I sucked lightly, and then nipped at it with my teeth. Her fingers grew only tighter on my head. I knew then that Karen and I would have hours and days and hopefully years to explore our desires, which, so far, seemed to match completely.

I moved a hand to her dress and tugged it down. Feeling resistance at her hips, I leaned back and laced her fingers with my own, helping her stand. I reached around her hips, pressing my face against her breasts as I did and unzipped the mid-back trap of cloth. Her dress pooled at her feet, leaving her naked before me.

Rather than take the time to look at the rest of her, I sat her back on the table and knelt before her. I looked up into her eyes, made sure she realized that I intended to gift her and reached to part her thighs. My fingers stroked the insides of her legs, moved with sure care and tenderness over velvet skin.

My tongue met that same skin an instant later. It took me several long moments to moisten the insides of both her thighs, enjoying tempting myself with the valley of pleasure I knew waited. I made sure to maintain eye contact so I could watch her reactions. Her mouth was open and her fingers were rubbing her breasts; she was wordlessly asking me to continue. And so I did.

My tongue reached her outer petals shyly. I tempted and teased them, traced and lolled my tongue across them while my hands misbehaved elsewhere. My left hand found her cheek. I began stroking her face softly, ever so gently and she moved her cheek into my hand, nuzzling me. My right hand found that special spot, just below her belly button, right above her pelvis, and began pressing inward and down softly. She gasped in response.

Her hips began undulating as I rolled my tongue between the valleys of her lower lips, searching for the hard nub of desire. When I found it I pressed more firmly on her belly. She moaned louder and arched, almost bucked beneath me. Certain that I was pleasing her then, I rapidly thrummed my tongue and it's wicked piercing across her rapidly warming flesh. I spanked it with my tongue ring, bobbed my lips around it, suckled it into my mouth, over and over. I kept the process up, adding more pressure as I went with both my tongue and hand.

Minutes into it she began screaming softly in pleasure, "Oh Eric, yess..yess, oh Gods, yes!" She climaxed beautifully, bucking and moaning beneath my attentions. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever heard.

After she came for me I stood and tugged her dress up her legs. She looked at me curiously, half spent but still quite excited. "Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. I want this night to be special, for the both of us."

Understanding flooded her eyes and she kissed me. She licked her lips and mine during that kiss and her hand found the bulge in my pants. When she squeezed me it almost broke my resolve. "Teach me to love you, Eric…" She whispered.

"Teach me to love you, Karen." I replied.

"I will," she said, looking at me with wonderment and longing.

"I will," I said, smiling at her as only a poet can smile. With a look that spoke volumes about how I already felt.

We parted ways reluctantly, promising to talk to each other on the phone as soon as we got home. It had been the best Valentines Day of my life and it was still several weeks away. I wondered to myself then what Karen and I would do for that day; whatever it was, I knew, it would be amazing. Just like her.

While there are many wonderful stories about my and Karen's blossoming sexuality and exploration they are dim against the bright sun of what fast became the most fulfilling relationship of my life. Karen and I are married now, with two beautiful children and have the most active sex life in the neighborhood. Don't ask how I know. Remember, lust is great but love, true love, is about giving to another.