Fiction

Tides

Photo by John Fowler.
Photo by John Fowler.

 

Remember a couple of years ago when you sent me that friend request on Facebook? My heart leapt up into my throat, a grin spread across my face and, in an instant, it felt like the fabric of my life changed. I wondered if it was for real this time. That lasted what, three weeks? It was real, then it wasn’t and then it was again. Like the ocean, the tide of this whatever-it-is keeps pulling us back and forth.

It was thirteen years ago that we met. I brought flowers to a sick friend at the store where you both worked but he wasn’t there. It was a little posy from my garden with a red rose in the center. With that captivating grin of yours, you asked if they were for you and I said, “You can have them if you want.”

We’ve never been in an actual relationship in all this time and yet there is some kind of epic thread that connects us.

Here I am writing about you again. You! It’s like you know that I’m about to tell a story and come back into my life to be written into it. I can’t make sense of it.

I know that I taste God in your mouth. I feel the presence of the Divine with you when you are buried inside me, smiling down at me, your sweat dripping into my eager mouth. I feel the most beautiful when your hands are on my body and your eyes are looking deeply into mine. I know I love you in that eternal love way that I love everyone but I am also drawn to you. I mean magnetized to you. I want to devour you and I want you to devour me. Is this love, this thing we have? I want to hear all about your day and what’s in your heart but then I want to stop you and sit on your lap and taste your tongue. I can’t help myself.

The ebb and flow of this and the way we run away when things get hard make me crazy and confused. Is love some kind of undefinable thing that I just don’t get to understand?

I feel at home with you. When I’m in your arms I feel like I can just be. You know what a wildcat I can be but you keep coming back. I love basking in your unbridled sensuality. Like when you rub your cum into my stomach and tell me it’s good for my skin–like that. Or when you throw me on the bed and ravage me–like that!

Whenever we’re connected, I ache for you and shudder when you touch me. This visceral response scares the fuck out of me. I feel way too vulnerable with you and have pushed you away so many times. Too many times. The truth is I need you. I have lived my entire life avoiding needing anyone. It scares me to admit it but it’s true. I need to feel your eyes and hands on me. I need to taste your sweat and your cum and your skin. I need to hear you say, “Shhhh…” as we’re making love. I need to smell your cologne and your musk on my skin and my sheets the next morning.

I need to feel your heart beating beneath my cheek so I know you’re real.

You are real, aren’t you?

Today, as I was writing this, I sent you a text just to be sure. I said that this time, when we get angry at each other, we should just channel it into something more salacious. You said, “Yes, embrace it like a beast.” It’s just been too easy to run away instead of toward you. I really want to stop doing that and I want you to stop letting me.

I want you to tell me to stay.

I think I’ve finally dropped the story I was sold about there being some kind of Mister Right in the world. I don’t need that from you. Can we just live out the tangled questions in our hearts and be promise to be kind and truthful?

I want to be reckless and abundant with you. I want to just drop the stories and the past and give myself over to you again and again until I am nothing and everything. My heart just feels so good next to yours. I saw you last week. You told me I’m your warrior poet and said, “I’ve always thought we would be together one day, even if it’s not until we’re in our seventies.” (Does it matter?)

I can’t think that far ahead so I’m just going to write poems about you and let you write your poems on my skin. I’ll let myself go back into the past long enough to remember how your spiky labret stud used to hurt a little when you kissed me hard (and how I liked it).

I feel the tide pulling me toward you. This time, I’m letting myself float and enjoying the rhythm.

It feels good to let go.