deeper than love

sweet, yearning, but in a way you’d kiss someone you really cared for.

i’d let you wander over my body. it seemed possessive but you did justice to the greed of it. you ate with disregard over what was appropriate and in private settings i sometimes started telling people that i liked someone. draconian.

it was a return to the kind of sex my body at this age yearned for. after half a dozen years of experience, I wanted a mix of everything I liked, strong and sensual, with enough meaning and words muddled in, that pushed the boundaries of intimacy without making me feel like a middle aged wife. you were pushy, but if i really thought about, you pulled me closer instead of the other way around. we’d understood each other, at least in bed, which is more than i could say for real life.

turns out, you were pleased with me too. i say pleased but you were secretly glowing. maybe your friends noticed it, or maybe they didn’t. I wasn’t sure. but I did.

come here. you said without entitlement or detachment. you felt it, without being trapped by your own words.

easy to please i thought at one point. but no, i worked hard at it. on one occasion, you tried lighting a candle in your bathroom and accidentally almost burned your thumb. i slowly nurtured it on my tongue and you said, that felt a little sexual.

there were the customary kisses. small pecks at the door, saying goodbye or hello. some lean-in’s in the kitchen, between freshening drinks. and then of course, parts of me asleep, with you nudging towards my back and neck. sweet, yearning, but in a way you’d kiss someone you really cared for.

that’s what you said one night.

it feels like we care about each other.

(i’m paraphrasing to protect you)

I’d say really crazy things in bed, and they’d drive you mad and you’d say - that’s the fucking problem with fucking writers. you’d be right, so the last few days i’d spend the nights with you a little quiet.

all in all, it was not beautiful because the sleeping around was intense, but because we were trapped in time. a moment in which we understood each others bodies and gave love away without an ounce of measure and pulled each other lovingly.

sometimes i’d watch your frame around your house in your old college t-shirts and felt very content that I was sacrificing all this time. I’d been waiting too long to be touched in the ways i wanted to be touched and when it finally arrived at my door again, I’d let it wash over me like an ocean wave in the clean beautiful waters of the mediterranean. I’d only let my floating body hold onto you, so i could hear you, so i could understand and feel it in the same moment as when you were feeling me, because when you touched my waist, it just felt deeper than love.

…