The Romance Novel

I want my romance.

I want what I have dreamed of since I was fourteen.

I always had this fantasy…

The window is slightly cracked and the moon is bright over dew-slicked grass. As the breeze from the window hovers over my cheeks, my door opens. I don't see him…but I hear him. It's too thick of a blackness to glimpse his face, but I feel him. With my touch, I see how his body moves, how he brushes his fingertips along my side. I feel soft warm lips press against mine and, suddenly, I no longer need to breathe. He is breathing for me. My stranger tastes like rain. I feel a soft ache in my chest as he touches my stomach. His eyes are so close to mine, I have to graze my fingertips over his chest, following patterns upward towards his jaw. What a beautiful body. His weight presses down on and I grip his back, feeling the natural squeeze that every animal on God's green earth wants to feel.

His hand, firm and warm, is pressed against the side of my face, his thumb caressing the edge of my lip. Every person dreams about the "perfect"…this includes me. He finally strips my clothes, tearing the little that I had on to read what is beneath. It is a romance novel. Finally, a burst of energy and, quickly, the breeze from the open window is not enough anymore. My body is tingling. Ecstasy is so much less than what I feel. He breathes over my ear, grazing his cheek over mine. We trembled and lifted together, allowing me to dig in. I feel him inside me, moving, pulsing, and dipping into a liquid fire. I'm over him soon; my locks draped over his face, framing his eyes as I kiss him and taste rain again.

The heat in the room is intense and I can't help but breathe deeply to run oxygen through my boiling blood. His hands run over my hips, running to sup my breasts as I breathe. I am so surprised, all I can do is put my hands on his chest and feel high with Heaven. The wind blows and kisses my back. I scent spring wind and morning approaching. I pull him back on top of me and then I breathe him in…intoxicating. I kiss the cove of his neck. His skin tastes of salt and strawberries. Suddenly, I feel tense and don't breathe. He pushes down harder on my shoulders. My mouth opens slightly and I roll my head back deeper into the pillow. He utters something low and grizzly. Soon, his weight is on top of me, his hand on my forehead, and we can breathe again. He feels hot to the touch. He rolls to my side and rubs my stomach, placing one of his arms behind my head. I soon fall asleep and he is gone before the sun rises.

I wake up and go through my day, paying attention to only a few things, my mind always wafting back to me his taste, his scent, his linger…and suddenly I can't breathe. Finally, I am home and I am tempted to go to bed early and wait. We made a type of energy that cannot be mimicked. Not electrical, not powerful, not elemental…we made love in a jar. He was the love and I was the jar. My room smelled of summer rain and a spring garden. I lie down, close my eyes in the dark and wait. My door creaks. Here he comes again. Then…all I taste is rain.

…But it's just a fantasy.

-Anahid Hartoonian

May 10, 2006