Rendezvous. I must confess, I didn't think I could spell the word without some help, but for the first time I seem to have managed it (if my spell checker is to be trusted). From the French rendez vous; present yourselves. Used as a noun or a verb. The act of meeting or the meeting place itself. The French have some of the greatest phrases. I love that we can use one word or phrase from another language to capture something more completely than we can in our own.
While I'm confessing, I will tell you about my latest rendezvous. A secret rendezvous. This is not the first time I have arranged to secretly meet this man who had, within the last couple weeks, quickly transitioned from my friend to my lover. Maybe the exact point of the transition was that first rendezvous, when I contrived to visit his cabin on the lake to discuss and lament my dissolving marriage. We walked and talked in the promising sunshine of early spring. We sat on his porch and he held me as I cried. We talked some more, his kind and understanding words a balm to my aching heart. Some time later, having migrated to chairs in the sunshine of his yard and under the watchful eyes of nesting songbirds, I tapped some unknown source of courage within myself and quietly asked if I could kiss him. He agreed with a pleased and slightly surprised smile, offering his mouth to my tender kisses. Maybe that was the physical turning point in our relationship, yes, but upon reflection it was only an expression, a confirmation, of what had been growing between us from the beginning, since our librarian friend had introduced us a few months before.
After the kiss our relationship continued to develop on the internet, with email, chat, and other social media. Only a few days passed before we arranged to rendezvous midway between our homes, in a secluded alley downtown. I was at least as nervous as I had been when I'd shown up at his cabin, maybe more so. I arrived first and waited anxiously, drawing deep, slow breaths in a fruitless attempt to calm myself. My heart leapt in my chest as he walked around the corner into the alley. So cool, so handsome with his sexy, hippie geek thing going on. So otherworldly. So mine.
We exchanged greetings and held each other's eyes for ages. Then we were in each other's arms, exploring a little more of each other than we had before, seeking out skin to taste and touch, learning each other by sighs and murmurs of pleasure. Does he like my hands in his hair? Does he like it gentle or rough? Oh God, his hands feel so good on my bare waist, pulling me against him. His hot mouth on my neck is sending hot tingles to my toes.
My mind reeled when he began caressing my bare leg beneath my skirt, working his way up my thigh with gentle strokes. The man was fascinated with my thighs. He was not unwelcome when he moved higher and slipped his slender fingers under my damp panties and into me. My knees nearly gave out as he gently worked me. I opened to him, held him close, moaned my satisfaction.
That was as intimate as we got that day, though I was so out of my head with arousal I probably would not have stopped him if he'd wanted to do more. I was so starved for attention and his touch was so electrifying.
We were short of breath and eager like a couple of teenagers one minute, slowing down to gaze into each other's eyes and absorb each other the next. We explored the depths of each other with sight alone, our eyes searching, asking questions, "Who are you? What do you see in me? What do you expect of me? Do you like what you find here?" Replying, "I am yours. I am open. You fascinate me and I want to know more." We talked some, yes, but mostly we focused on the aspect of US that we could not experience in written word.
Up until this point I knew he was as enamored with me as I was with him, but did not know if he was considering a future with me or just enjoying it for what it was. I didn't dare question it; I would rather enjoy it for what it was than risk ruining it by wondering what it could be. That didn't stop my imagination from building a life with him, however, nor did it keep my heart from hoping. Somewhere near the end of our hour or so together, as we were exchanging sweet words, I picked up on a crumb of something that I don't think he even realized he had let fall to my plate, and surely he couldn't know how hungrily I ate it up, how I had been waiting to hear it. Maybe I didn't even realize the latter myself. He spoke of someday. Someday when our librarian friend would know about US. This man who was everything I'd ever hoped for in a companion was entertaining thoughts of a future with me. I had to fight back the tears to keep them from falling.
Back to the internet; late nights and early mornings chatting. The universe smiled upon us a few days after our alley meeting. I was freed up for a couple of days, with only minimal responsibilities. I sent him a message: I would like to spend the night with you.
And so I did. I found my way again to his cabin and a delicious meal, feeling relaxed and at home for the first time in over a week. I unloaded my emotional baggage, with no small amount of sorrowful weeping. Again he held me and spoke reassuring and loving things to me. We spent the night in each other's arms, in his bed, finding no end of ways to express the love we felt for each other. We slept some, loved some more, slept some more. We spent the next day together, reveling in our love, feeding it, watching it thrive. That night we lay down in his bed again, together. Connected in so many ways. It was a premature honeymoon of sorts and we knew it. We embraced it.
Since then we have managed to steal kisses, touches, and knowing glances at social functions. Sweet, sweet love. On the internet, learning each other, planning our future. And we had one amazing night under the moon in his yard, after our friends had gone for the night. Dancing in the moonlight, the air cool but not very cold; reclining together on a cozy piece of lounge furniture, talking. So much to talk about with my Love. Both of us always thinking, always communicating, always wanting to connect. Soon time pressed and I felt an urgency. I had to be close to him. Closer. Before it was time to leave. Who knew when we would have another moment? I climbed on top of him and let him see the desire in my eyes, let my body suggest things to him. He was in tune; eyes afire, hungry hands sliding beneath my skirt, along my thighs, touching me, discovering how ready for him I was. I made brief but passionate love to him there, our love sounds mingling with the lake sounds; the night sounds of the frogs and the honking and splashing of geese. My legs were trembling when I finally stood to leave. He helped me to the car and kissed me goodnight. Such promising kisses.
My love and I; always following up online, remembering our times together, reflecting on life, the universe and everything. So full of hope. Making each other laugh and cry. The best friend I've ever had. My tender and passionate lover. My life partner.
It was time to rendezvous again. I wasn't sure I could handle another casual, restrained public encounter. Just a half an hour alone with him would, hopefully sate me for a bit. I thought this while in another part of my brain I laughed at the absurdity; I would not be sated. Ever. I couldn't get enough of this man and his love for me, of which, it appeared, he had an endless supply. Another private encounter was just as likely to make me more frustrated and impatient as it would satisfy and calm me.
