Lonely Man

Fitting, perhaps deserved, that I would walk into my empty apartment. Dreading another cold sterile night. My panacea, scotch and wine to sooth my physical and mental aches. My emotional longings, well those, those will remain open wounds. Even as I approach my door I can feel the coldness emanating into the hallway. Nobody would mistake it for anything else. The home of an empty man.

Another long day, purposely filled with overwork to blunt the mind from plotting its own demise. But as always, the body has a desire to stop, a back that needs a rest, a desire for the numbing of the bones provided by the spicy fire of the scotch. As I enter my boxlike home, my only food for the day, a bottle of this and that, and the simple desire to complete my psychological shutdown for the evening.

But tonight is different.

My nose begins to flare as it takes in the scents that were never there before. My chest expands deeply with the aromas greeting me. My head feels lighter as the lack of oxygen begins to take effect. My brain cataloging every new scent that reaches into my primal desires. To hunt, to protect and to love, urges long dormant awakened in a flicker, then a flood of sensations. The aromas of a home cooked meal, candles scented before the glow of their flames reach my eyes. Overpowering all of these sensations that should not be, the scent of a woman. The only woman.

I am paralyzed at my door. On the detritus that resembles my dining table, a linen cloth, seven glowing candles off to one side. Two place settings, not opposite of each other, but side by side. A bottle of wine chilling, two glasses, a taste of the wine in each. Music, soft bluesy jazz, the kind that just flows randomly from musicians who are one with their souls and instruments.

Over the din of the emotional cascade and my reeling mind I can hear a soft humming, angelic, just barely perceivable under the music. Perhaps not even perceived at all were it not for my senses on the adrenalin rush. I can smell the scent of water, the steam of a shower lingers in the air. Carrying with it the fragrance of a woman I felt I would never see again.

I enter my bedroom, sitting in front of the mirror, an apparition of pure love, light and joy, but with a chagrined lip raised in a minor pout. I am earlier than usual. None the less, an eyebrow arches, shower my man, I will not touch you before, is it's implication.

Scalding water cleanses the filth of my existence. Lubrication of life rushes over my body, I am cleansed of the recriminations of another day. My apparition, my love, she enters into the shower to join me. I stand facing her, water rushing over us both. My tears of elation, hidden, the sadness in my eyes, lifted. A moment, an eternity, eyes delving into each others soul. A half smile from her as her hands touch my shoulders and turn me away from her. In her hands the soap as she runs them down my tired back, past my hips, over my buttocks, down the back of my thighs. I know she is squatting, I can feel her breath on the small of my back. A pensive moment, a jaguar before the strike. I feel a finger caress the outline of my rump, then two. Underneath my testicles and then I can feel the slow intrusion into my space. Her other hand gently traces, over this ball and then the other. Slowly a ring of fingers wraps around me, and from the base of my essence she glides outward. Oh, much too much, I have not shared myself with any other since that fateful day. That day, such a horrible day in retrospect, when we dared to challenge the cosmos, and we both lost.

A quick, but almost brutal squeeze from her delicate fingers quells my premature hunger. Head hung low, saddened by the events that conspired to keep us away. She raises, turns me, and into my eyes, dares me. Never could I resist her. The temptress, the seductress, my manipulator, the owner of all that I was, am, and will be. Into my smokey blue eyes, the delicacy of her brown match my intensity. Her breasts, as she wraps her arms around my shoulders, smooth as a silk, perhaps even more, since silk is not a familiar sensation to me. Her lips graze my chest, down the middle. Then to the left nipple. Her lips mount it in a swollen pout and gently milks me. If I were able to melt I would. The essence that is me would be consumed by the love, by the moist warmth of such a beautiful mouth.

Again her hands caress my body. They roll around my genitals, pulling me out. She turns me again, as I am but putty in her sculpture. Her eyes lock onto mine. Her mouth, oh, such a beautiful mouth, takes my lips into hers. And I, I reciprocate. In a moment, our lips are swollen, filled with blood. A gentle smile from my apparition, my love, my reason for existence. As she caresses my neck, then my chest and then she lingers for a few agonizing moments just below my belly button. I am as rock hard as humanly possible. I have already belittled myself once and yet I am ready again. Such is the power of my insatiable vixen. She draws from me what no man could ever dream of, yet somehow, perhaps like a marionette, she can coax from me whatever, whenever her needs make a demand.

She draws me again, with one hand choking my base, I swell, my head as big as I have ever seen it, then, almost brutal, a flick from her fingers, to knock me down, I did not feel it. A casual observer, tis what I was. Still swollen, still with one hand choking my life from me, still, perhaps more swollen, a harder flick from her fingers, then another. Her hand takes my beaten and swollen head and begins to wring it, so gently, a lazy circle around my helmut. And again, still her other hand clamped on my base, the blood, swollen and trapped, and still another slow ring around my most sensitive of possessions.

Heaven, nirvana, whatever god that fires you, would be her lips, her breath, her mouth, to take my swollen purple head and please me to the simple point of absolutely owning me. A simple kiss, a gesture, the warmth of her mouth, the moistness of a reality that does not exist.

She turns me, on her knees, clamping my swollen base with one hand, twisting rings around my head with the other. Her hair, soaking, her face level with my most vulnerable asset. I stopped breathing, my cock, as swollen as humanly possible, my head, purple from her clamped hand. I am dead now. I have gone to heaven.

Her lips, swollen from my demands, encompass me. Just the tip, just the point where all the nerves end. And, I spasmed, again. I have no embarrassment. A demon such as she, can take and take from me , I have no regard. I will reward her in my own time.

She looks into my eyes. Her hunger surpassed by mine, her intensity, burning ferociously, equally smothered by mine and then some.

In just a moment I find myself alone in the shower, my body weakened by the experience. My eyes closed, water cascading over my emotional broken soul. Soon, oh, much too soon the water begins to run cold. It is time to face the demonic demanding holder of my soul again.

There she sits, in front of the mirror, staring, waiting. Her hair wet and uncombed. I pick up the brush and I begin to comb through her hair, gently, until I get the wet tangles straightened. Stroke after stroke, her eyes are closed, a mild swoon in her manner. Such attention, no man has paid to her before. Soon her hair begins to dry. How long have I been brushing? It seems like a moment but perhaps an hour has passed. No matter, we are both lost in the act of intimacy. I set the brush aside and begin to casually loosely braid her hair. Each and every braid, as I complete it, pops apart, no matter, as I begin again. Fingers running through her silken hair, I can caress forever, if I have not already.

My hands begin to drift, from the tips of the hair, to trace the shoulders, then to run down the spine and back up again, only in an agonizingly slow manner. There is no instance to rush. Each moment of contact, a new sensation of emotion. Emotions that were always there but were never coaxed out until we met, until we crossed past our emotional and psychological needs, until we discovered our physical needs.

Each moment together, a birth of energy, each moment a death. Such ambivalence's to our illicit existence. But for this moment, our lives, finally have meaning. Such a moment of pure pleasure, a great joy, finally a satisfaction of the hearts, many decades of longing, to feel love. The sadness however is that this will be just a fleeting moment, a distant storm on the horizon. Ours a path of risk, filled with guilt and self recriminations, well that, we will have to make peace with ourselves another lonely day.

But tonight, a lonely fingertip tracing the softness of a lonely body. Soft gentle, circles around your back and up to your shoulders. My fingers, gentle, trace down your arms, oh so near your breasts. You have the urge to take my slow, delicate mannerisms of my hands and place then on your breasts, forcing me to pinch your nipples. You need the polar opposite, no matter what I give. If I am gentle, you want to be savage, if I am an animal, you want me to be tender. You mind your manners though, because you know, in my own time, I will please you every way you wish.

I trace down your arms and as I come back up, my hands slip to your stomach, my head bent low to your ear. A whispered question. A silent nod of ascent. My hands are coming up and begin to trace under your breasts. Just an outline as they travel up and over the top. I take the tip of your earlobe into my lips already swollen from your passion in the shower. Silk unto silk, what else can I can say. My fingers trace lazy circles around your breasts. Circles that are spiraling towards the center. Your nipples are aroused, swollen from need, swollen from neglect. A lazy finger travels around each. From your ear I bend in to meet your lips. Not a savage mashing, but a gentleness. I take your upper lip between mine. The meeting of the softest bits of us. A simple gentle sucking, just enough to swell your lips with blood. And you sensing what I am doing, reciprocate, a gentle sucking of my lips. Soon, how long, forever perhaps, our lips are plump with blood, filled with love and life.

I think we are both lightheaded, a mild swoon. You roll your head into my shoulder, nirvana, life should be this way always. I, already in heaven, gently nuzzle down the front of your chest, in between your breasts, gently a kiss here, a kiss there. I take your nipple in between my moist swollen lips. The bottom of my tongue, the softest part, only for you, rolls around and around. Your moan, silent, but voracious to me, demands more.

I stop, I look into your eyes. I see the pleading, I see the fear, I see the hunger and I see the absolute abandonment of what is right and wrong. I picked you up from the chair and you nuzzled right into me, as a babe to her father.

Gently, on the bed, I set you. I have a plan, from head to toe in mind, it requires patience, and I for you, have an infinite amount of time. Before I even get on the bed you grab my dick with one hand, lead and push me over onto my back with your other hand. I cannot resist, nor will I. You straddle my stomach, your mons, swollen, hot, silken with moisture of a need, Your hands caress my chest, trace lazy circles around my nipples. You are silent, staring into my eyes. You have forsaken so much, as have I, to be here, for this moment. Your hands caress up to my head and you bend into my lips. A nip here and a nip returned. A tongue traces the roof of my mouth. Our tongues dart around each, a crushing passion of swollen lips. Breathless we part. My hands tracing your body, your gentle curves, lingering around your passion points. You slide your straddle around me downward, towards my passion point. I glide right into your body, instantly enveloped with your love, your passion, your heat. One glorious light we have become. We are both frozen as one. Neither of us knew what it would feel like to be one with your soul mate. We both had searched, many lovers past, spouses present. Never could we have imagined such pure joy, such vibrancy of life, such fires of hunger, emotional needs quelled, physical demands met. We paused in rapture, in eternity.

And in the same moment of glory, we died. We were not aware of it, but that was the moment it ended. We continued, not knowing, lust upon lust, thrust into each, unbidden, hurried, slowed, hungry, starved, filled and then some.

I wake before my alarm. I always do, despite the amount of alcohol I consumed the night before. You are not in bed next me. As always, I awake alone. Alone I have been since that day, that evening, that one night that I mattered. I miss you. What else can I say. You were my twin, my pea in a pod. I know you have made a choice. Your existing misery versus the fear of the unknown. I understand it. I am a year or two ahead of you in the dissatisfied department.

What neither of us counted on was that when you made your choice, the choice to stay with the man you married, to pour your heart and soul into loving him until death. That your confession to him of your weakness, of your fragility, of your needs and desires for a life with him, that he would beat you to death and then take his own life.

On my nightstand, my revolver, staring at me as it does every morning. Sometimes I spin the cylinder until it stops. Well oiled, with only one bullet, it will generally fall on an empty chamber. But I have stopped cleaning the weapon. Some days I don't bother to even spin it before I place it to my temple. I am fairly certain it has been three or four days since I have spun it. Maybe even five.

I wonder if I will have to go to work today.