It is Thanksgiving, the Sunday. She hasn't seen him since July, but
they talk often, and for everything she knows, she does not know how she
feels about him. Love? A strong liking? He doesn't know either.
They spend the day together, walking, talking, holding hands, and
kissing in a park that does not yet have its layer of frost covering the
uncut grass. Eleven o'clock at night, and she drives him home. She doesn't
leave, not right away. Goodbyes were never good for her.
He holds her in his arms, and she kisses his mouth, softly, yet
passionately. He kisses her back, extending her the courtesy of hesitancy
before slowly feeling the inside of her mouth with his tongue.
The kiss is long, warm, and comfortable, and it makes her feel
unusually unlike herself while being of totally sound mind. He looks into
her eyes, and she knows what he wants. In all honesty, she wants it, too.
Both being too unsure of themselves to vocalise any desires, she takes a
step to her left, and awaits his reaction.
He perceives her action as bold, perhaps because he himself is too
shy to take a step that big first. He respects her, she knows he does, and
he would never push her into anything; he'd only ask. He knows what she is
asking, suggesting, and he can't disagree, even if he wanted to, being so
compelled and inspired to follow her anywhere she might go. So, playing off
of her terrified boldness, he steps to his right, and hand in hand, they
slowly walk toward the house.
She knows what she is doing, knows what it means, knows that she
would then feel like the hypocrite that many believe her to be. But she
knows that things wouldn't be same, could never be same again, no matter
what happens within the next few minutes.
He leads her up the hall, walking slowly, giving her the chance to
change her mind if she would feel so moved to do. She follows, aware that
in the big scheme of it all, what she is doing is wrong, but looking within
the moment, nothing could be more right.
He closes the door behind them and looks at her face, flushed by
cause of the adrenaline mixture of fear and exhilaration. He kisses her
once. He stands back to look at her and realizes that he's never seen
anything so beautiful.
Once again, she leaves her passivity for the opportunity to be brave,
and slowly removes her shirt. She drops it to the floor without once
showing how scared she is. He looks her over again, and she can feel his
eyes burning into her flesh, and she realizes that it's not eyes she wants
to burn; it's skin, his naked skin burning against her own, consumed by the
fires of passion.
Slowly they undress, each article of clothing a piece of tempered
metal being stripped away by the force of mere desire. Two naked bodies
standing across from one another, hot from tension, shaking from nerves,
are both ready to advance on one another in a lovingly blissful manner.
He takes a step forward, kisses her, carefully etches maps of her
body into his mind with his fingers. He knows what he told himself, and for
all the world can't think of any reason why what they are doing now is
wrong. . . Save for maybe one, which he casually discards like another
piece of cloth as he is effortlessly engulfed in the scent of her naive
She lies down on the awaiting bed, all concerns wiped away by the
feel of his body being gently settled on top of her own.
And they become one.
One mind moving within one body, their souls meld together, and as
one they reach the height of ecstasy, the very definition of all that can
be defined within one's own heart.
The segregation leaves them both feeling satisfied yet wanting, and
he wraps his arms around her, finally knowing how this feels. She fits
herself more comfortably inside his warm embrace and suddenly she
understands why it never made sense before, why she tried too hard to make
Two whispered "I love you"'s at the same moment in time show the
permanent, crystalline residue of two halves becoming whole, a declaration
they know they'll be making to one another every day for the rest of their
lives here on earth.