|—||Jodi Picoult (via onlinecounsellingcollege)|
I woke up early one morning and walked over to the French doors that looked out over the beach. I stood and watched as the sun peaked out from behind the clouds that were now receding. It had rained most of the night before, but not one of those heavy rains, just a nice soft steady rain. The kind of rain where you could keep your windows open and enjoy the smell of ozone and the water slapping against the hard surfaces all around. Those were the nights I slept the best. But not last night. Last night I tossed and turned because I kept having dreams about someone from my not so distant past.
My past. What a long and twisted tale that is. I’m not one to revisit my past, but there are times, like last night, where they come unbidden through my subconscious. Isn’t that how the subconscious works?
So, my past, and this person who visits me in my dreams. It’s the only place he can visit me now, and I wish he’d stay away, but again, he comes unbidden, and I can’t hold him or the memories at bay while in a dream state, can I? I know what brought this on, it was the rain. It had been raining like this the last time I saw him, the last time we made love, the last time my heart was whole.
I had met him online, where we’d become friends and had, slowly but surely, fallen for each other. This had taken place over many emails, messages, chat sessions, and even the occasional phone call. The hours and hours we spent talking to, and finding out little things about each other, I would do it all again, knowing what I know now and how it all turned out. Yes, I’d definitely do it all again.
After nearly eight months of talking non-stop, we decided that it was time to meet. I had always wanted to go to London, and he lived on the outskirts of London, so it was perfect. I had told him I would get a hotel room, but he insisted I stay with him. I thought that might put too much pressure on us, but when he assured me I’d be sleeping in the guest room, I decided that it would probably be ok. So, I set about making arrangements to go.
I booked my plane ticket for the following month. As time got closer, I became more and more nervous about going. I was finally going to get to see this man that I love in person, and I’d get to spend time with him. I’d been daydreaming about this moment for so long, and it was finally here. I packed my bags, about a week in advance so I’d be ready to get up, catch a cab to the airport, and go.
It was a long plane ride, with several connecting flights and even one slight delay, but I finally made it. We were getting ready to land at London Heathrow Airport, where he was to pick me up. The butterflies in my stomach were fluttering like crazy, and I thought I was going to throw up. I kept praying I wouldn’t, because it wouldn’t do to meet the man you love, for the first time, with sour breath now would it? I smile just thinking about it. Thank God I didn’t get sick.
Finally we deplaned and I was walking through the airport to the baggage claim area. We’d planned on meeting there ahead of time since I’d need to go there and pick up my luggage, and it seemed easy enough. I ducked into a ladies room along the way so I could freshen up a little. I was happy to see that I didn’t look too dreadful. I figured pulling my hair back was a good idea ahead of time, and I was correct in that assumption, because after that plane ride and all of the layovers, I knew it would look awful. A few minor adjustments, a blot to the makeup, and a little powder, some lip gloss, and I looked fresh as a daisy.
I found my way to the baggage claim area, and I saw him standing off to the side looking this way and that at the people passing by. He was hard to miss at 6’4” and sandy blonde hair. And for God’s sake, you could cut granite with that chiseled jaw. The body was something to behold as well. Not overly muscular, but toned, and angular. Well, from what I could see of it anyway. I took in the sight of him for a few minutes, before he noticed me, and noted he was just as handsome in person as he was in his pictures. What in heaven’s name he saw in me, I’ll never know, but he said I was beautiful on the outside and inside. He also liked the way I laughed when he started talking about the way his cat woke him up that morning, or how a coworker had done something to amuse him. He had a way of retelling such events, that might not have otherwise been funny, in a humorous way and I liked that about him.
I must have been lost in thought because the next thing I knew, someone was whisking me off my feet in a bear hug that took my breath away. He held me like that for a few minutes and I dropped my bags at his feet and wrapped my arms around him. It felt good to be hugged like that, and by the man I loved. It felt like home. He felt like home.
A few moments later and he lowered me to my feet, all the while holding my gaze with his own. To say his eyes were a stunning color of blue would be an understatement. The intensity in that stare locked me in place and I couldn’t look away. The passion behind that stare. The longing in those eyes. I was in their depths, and felt like I was drowning in the ocean that was his eyes.
We only broke contact because someone bumped into me and I almost fell down. I needn’t worry about that, as he was there to hold me and keep me from falling, all the while giving the passerby a piece of his mind. Did I tell you how at home I felt? Well that was enough to break the spell and we headed off to get my luggage from the carousel. There weren’t a lot of bags left on there, so it wasn’t hard to spot. I pointed them out to him and he reached over and got them, and we were heading to the passport area. A few more minutes and we could be on our way.
We walked out to his car, he dragging my suitcase along with my carryon over his shoulder, and my hand securely enveloped in the one left free. As we were walking, he kept looking at me and smiling, which made me giggle at him. Finally making it to his car, he loaded my bags into the trunk and opened my door for me to get in. Dummy me had gone to the wrong side of the car and this made him laugh at me. I laughed as well. I blamed in to on jet lag and he agreed with a twinkle in his eyes that told me he didn’t think it was jet lag that caused the memory loss. Those eyes were distracting.
We made it to his flat without traffic issues. Of course there wouldn’t be traffic issues in the middle of the day, I thought to myself. The time difference was going to play havoc with me and my sleep schedule, but I didn’t care. I was in London, with the man I loved, and I was spending a glorious week with him. What could be better than this? He carried my bags inside, showed me to my room and left me there to change my clothes. I was a bit rumpled, and couldn’t wait to put something on that didn’t have a million wrinkles in it. My things put away in the connected bathroom and closet, and I was off to find where he’d gone.
I followed the sounds of lunch being prepared into the kitchen. Did I mention he was a chef? If I failed to mention that, now you know. He was just adding the finishing touches to some crostinis with sliced avacadoes and prosciutto on them, and I saw a mixed green salad, with more avacado, tomatoes and goat cheese. He was drizzling some sort of vinaigrette based dressing on them that smelled slightly of raspberries. He knew how much I loved raspberries, so I can only assume it was for me. He cleaned up and put away the few things he had out. I wasn’t quite sure how the kitchen wasn’t a complete disaster, because every time I cooked or prepared anything the kitchen always looked like a bomb had been detonated in it. He was putting something in the refrigerator and pulled out some small plates with fruit on top of yogurt and drizzled in honey. His had coconut and mine didn’t. Again, he remembered, something I’d told him months before. The surprises were never ending. We sat down to eat our light lunch that was divine on so many levels, I can’t begin to tell you.
We’d left our plans open for the evening because I wasn’t sure how I would feel. I was exhausted and he decided we should just stay in for the night. He made a light dinner and we sat and watched a film while curled up together on his couch. It was so nice to be that comfortable with someone. I must have fallen asleep in his arms, and I’m not sure how long I had been asleep, but when I stirred and raised my head, he smiled and said we should head to bed. I agreed, and we wandered off that way. He stood with me outside my bedroom door and held my hands in his, then leaned down and kissed me on the forehead, and told me to get some rest. He’d planned a long day of sight seeing and he wanted me up early to get the day started. I didn’t move for a few minutes and just looked up at him, and he leaned down, gave me a tender kiss on the lips, and then turned me around, and patted my arse and told me to get some sleep while chuckling at me. I was too tired to be offended and frankly, I kind of liked it. Strange that thought should come to mind. But there you have it.
The next morning we got an early start and ate at a little cafe down the street. We spent the day wandering around the city, going this place and that place. I’d like to say I was taking it all in, but I couldn’t think beyond being in his presence, I was so overwhelmed by him. I kept watching the ladies at the different places we went and how they reacted to him. He was charming to all but paid them scant attention. It was rather endearing. One looked at me like I was an annoyance that she would swat away, but he quickly made it known that he wasn’t interested. I smiled over my shoulder at her like a Cheshire cat as we left the little Bistro where we were having an early dinner.
It was early evening when we got back to his flat, and it was pleasant outside, so we sat on the balcony enjoying a glass of wine, and watching the cars go by below us. It was a Friday evening and people were going out to this function, or that concert. We had plans to go out on Saturday evening, but this night was a night to relax and just be together. He had been entertaining me with stories of his childhood and I told him a few of my own. We’d had a couple of glasses of wine when he told me to come to him. I got up, walked over, and stood in front of him, my back to the street. He reached up and grabbed me by the ass and pulled me down onto his lap. I sat there looking into his eyes. And then we kissed, lightly at first, and eventually with more passion. That kiss went on forever, or so it seemed.
He stood up with me in his arms and I wrapped my legs around his torso. He walked with me like that, still kissing, into the flat. I had no idea where we were going, but I know I didn’t want the contact to end. He walked into the dining area and sat me on the table and proceeded to pull my sweater and t-shirt over my head at the same time. The contact was only broken momentarily, and we were kissing again. I felt my bra loosen around my body, and figured he must have unclasped it. He pulled back again and slipped it off, then yanked his sweater and t-shirt off and dropped them all to the floor. He pushed me back on the table and started working on my jeans while leaving a hot trail of kisses from my neck to my navel. When he got them undone he pulled them off. If he was surprised to see I hadn’t been wearing panties, he didn’t say so. His head went lower still and his mouth covered me. That mouth and that tongue sent sensations through my body, and I thought I’d come any second. He didn’t relent and I did come with a scream that might send the neighbors into a panic, but what did I care. All I cared about was that mouth and what it had just done to me. He stood up and removed his pants while I lay there panting, trying to catch my breath. and he stood there watching me.
When he could see that my breathing had started to return to normal, but not quite, he picked me up from the table, stood me on my feet, turned me around, grabbed a fistful of hair and bent me over that table, while spreading my legs with his feet. He no sooner had my face on the table that he was entering me. There was nothing gentle about it. He was fucking me and he was fucking me hard. I didn’t mind at all. I loved it because I loved him. He kept his hand fisted in my hair and pumped me over and over, again and again. He kept telling me to wait, don’t come until I tell you to, and it took every ounce of self control I had to not come. I told him a couple of times I couldn’t wait, and he would let up, ever so slightly, and then started pounding again. When he finally told me to come, I let out a guttural growl that lasted a full minute, and he let out one that matched my own.
He leaned over my back and we stood there like that resting against the table, breathing heavily and trying to come back down to earth. I can honestly say that I didn’t sleep in the guest room again. And I can honestly say we fucked on every surface in that flat. And I can honestly say that balcony had become a favorite place to fuck as well. My last night there, it had rained. A nice soft and steady rain, and we had made love all night long. Nothing violent. No taking. Only sweet, sensual lovemaking, and listening to that rain as we finally curled up in each other’s arms.
The week had passed quickly and I was heading back to the states. I wasn’t happy about going, but I had to get back to work a few days later. I stood there crying while he held me, and when he turned to leave I could see the tears in the corner of his eyes. I cried the whole way home, silent tears that wouldn’t stop streaming down my face.
We talked when I got home, but the frequency became less and less. Ultimately the distance proved to be too much, and he had started seeing someone else. My heart was ripped to shreds when I found out. I hadn’t talked to him for a little over a month at that point, and I had come upon the information by happenstance. The shock was terrible, but in a way, I understood. I sent him an email telling him that I’d always love him, but I understood why he had done what he’d done. I wished him well, and I really meant it.
I spent the next few months picking up the pieces of my broken heart. I decided to take a trip and drove down to south Florida to visit a friend of mine who lived there. That’s where I am now, and that’s where the dream happened last night. Memories of him, and our time together. I felt like they would plague me forever, but they only plagued me during my dreams. At night, when I couldn’t control my thoughts. Those damned dreams.
Relationships take work. They take time and patience. They take an infinite amount of understanding, by both parties, to make them work; after you get there, that is. And here’s the thing about the ‘saying’ above. If both parties are interested, and they’ve made that interest obvious to each other, it’s up to the MAN to put the woman in his life. Yes, I’m old fashioned in this belief.
Men, if you want a relationship with a woman, put her in your life. And women, if you want to be in his life, make it abundantly clear to him that you want to be there. Please don’t leave him guessing. Neither one of you should hide your intent in this matter.
If one or both of you aren’t serious about it, if you aren’t totally committed to it, DON’T put them in your life, as this only causes hurt and heartache for the other person. And that my friends, isn’t something we should be doing to one another.
Yes, I’ve said this, and no they haven’t, and yes that’s ok. I’d rather the right person come along, than deal with a lot of wrong persons who aren’t committed to making a relationship with me a priority. And you should feel the same way as I do. Any why should you feel this way? Well, because, I’m right, and deep down, you know I’m right.
Remember, YOU are important. Your happiness, well-being and security are important. And you should only be with someone who feels the same way you do, and whom you reciprocate those feelings for.
This happens too often