passion

If Only For One Night…

September, 2002.  I don’t recall ever being as focused and productive in my life. I took on the challenges of each new day like a badass mercenary. I was unstoppable. It did not matter what came up at work or at home, I was up for it. The way I saw it, each new day brought me closer to the big day.

The day Courtney and I would cross our own boundaries into our magical place of refuge…each other.

The anticipation was killing me.  I found myself answering my work phone on the first ring in hopes of hearing his voice…of knowing the specifics of the plan. I got my wish a few days before the big day…he called with details.

“We have a suite at the Riverfront Marriott on Monday the 23rd.  I will arrive early in the day for meetings.  You come over when you can.  There will be an envelope for you at the front desk.” he paused, “but get there as soon as you can, I want as much time as I can have with you.”

I was speechless.  It was happening.  It was really happening….I had no reservations about crossing the threshold of infidelity.  I’d already darkened the door to the other side many times over with Greg at work.  But this was Courtney.  This was different…this was the love of my life.  I didn’t know if I could I ever walk away from him again.

“Hello?  Tess are you there?” he asked

I quickly responded, “Yes!  Yes I am here.  Just thinking.  Taking it all in…that’s all.”

“Are you having second thoughts?” he asked.

“No” I replied.  “Not at all.  I can’t wait to see you.  I do worry that I may not be able to walk away again.”

“Tessa, we will be fine.  We can handle this.  If it gets too much, I will be the one to stop it before it goes there. I’ve got us. Okay?”

That made me feel better.  I’d always been the one to shut it down.  I’d been the one to walk away.  I felt safe knowing he would take care of us…that I didn’t have to.

I’d been planning my fake out-of-town meeting for a week  before my husband took notice.  I told him over dinner one night and then casually brought it up again a few days later.  He seemed uninterested and asked if he needed to pick up our son. As I was about to answer, he said, “So you’ll be gone on the 23rd? Overnight?”

“Yes.  Remember?  I told you last week.  There’s a training in Savannah on Tuesday, I will have to go down there on Monday evening.”

He looked irritated, “That’s not going to work, Tess.  Remember, I have my safety conference in Boulder that week. Someone needs to be here for Nick.  Your parents hate driving on this side of town, so you need to stay. I am not cancelling my plane reservation last minute. Maybe you can do the training another time.”

I felt like I’d be punched in the gut.  All of the air was sucked out of my balloon. I nodded in agreement and made my way to the kitchen to wash the dishes when it hit me.  He will be gone for a week…in Colorado…halfway across the US.  I can still see Courtney.  I thought further…I will have Nick stay with his friend overnight and all will be as planned.  Hot Damn, Van Damme!  You can’t keep a good girl down.

The next day, when I spoke to Courtney, I told him about the near miss.  He chuckled, “we should cancel the hotel reservation and I should just come over to  your house.”

We were both silent as we pondered the scenario.  I laughed…then he laughed…then we were silent.  And then I said, “Sure. You should come over.”

And it was settled.  We decided to take it there…yes….there.  Nothing like peppering in more spice to an already volatile mixture.  I felt it was safe…John was flying out on Sunday morning and I would have verification he arrived long before Monday evening.  Courtney could park his car in the garage where it wouldn’t be seen.  We could actually “play house” in my house, doing all of the naughty things one should do at their domicile.

Monday arrived and I was calm.  Very calm.  I arranged for Nick to stay over at his friend’s house and made my way home from work.  Courtney was planning to come over around 8:00, when it was beginning to get dark, but not so late it would alert any of my curious neighbors.  I opened the garage about 7:50 and he arrived at 8:00 exactly.  I stood in the doorway to the kitchen as he got out of his car.

“So this is what coming home to you would feel like?” he muttered as he walked up the steps into the house.  He threw his overnight bag on the floor and took my face in his hands.  “A man could get used to this, you know?” and he overtook me with a kiss that made me stumble in my stance.

I took him on a tour of the house and we ended back in the kitchen, where I’d made us some appetizers to nosh on.  He made us both a drink and we stood there…staring at each other for the longest time.

“Are you sure about this, Tess?” he asked.  I nodded.  “Yes”

And with that affirmation, he pushed me up against the wall, pinning me with his body, unbuttoning my blouse, exposing my red lacy bra. Within seconds, my shirt was off…his shirt was off. Then my skirt.  His pants.  We stood there and admired each other.  I dropped to my knees and took him deep in my mouth.  His head fell back and he let out a loud groan.  He grasped my hair in his hands and pushed me into his body.

“My god you are amazing” he whispered as I continued to take him deep in my throat.  My knees were sore from the cold floor below and I didn’t care.  I wanted nothing more than to be with him…in that moment. I wanted him to feel immense pleasure.  After a few minutes he pulled me up to my feet and walked me into the bedroom.

He carefully guided me to the bed, opening my legs with his.  Softly kissing my breasts down to my navel and then to my sweet spot.  He held my legs open onto his shoulders as he made me cum over and over.  I had not had orgasms like that in years and I began losing my voice from screaming so loudly.  He rolled me over onto my stomach where he traced my spine with his tongue.  Over and over.  I almost came unglued.  It was beyond sensual and I was lost in him again.  It was like it was before, only better, more intense, more mature.

He pulled me up to my knees and pushed himself inside me, taking my breath away just as he did the first time we were together.  He filled me.  All of me.  We fell into a rhythm as we made love on my bed.  We fucked for hours in every way possible, making up for our eight year hiatus. In between orgasms we talked and spooned and dozed off.  He stroked my hair and told me about his life.  About his kids.  About his job.  I did the same.  Neither of us were miserable in our ascribed paths, but neither of us were really happy. .

We watched the sun rise that morning, as we did on our first night.   I made us a cup of coffee and we drank it, tangled up together in bed.  We took a shower and got ready for work.  I could barely walk and I was exhausted…but I was fulfilled.  Complete in a way that I’d not been in years…eight years to be exact.

I watched him leave from my driveway with a sense of longing.  I wished we could have made a life together, but maybe this is how it is supposed to be…maybe some things are too good, too intense. They burn at too high of a temperature.  Maybe this was the only way “we” could be “us”.

I’d not paid any attention to his CD.  Our evening was so incredible, that I was lost in him and had no recollection of the songs he’d put together for us.  I took it out of the stereo and popped into the car for my drive to work.  And as I pulled out of the driveway, “If Only for One Night” came on.

It was apparent that he finally understood what I’d figured out eight years before…we could never get it together to be together, but we would never be over.  Even if it were just one night at a time…with eight years in between…that was enough.

It was enough. If only for one night…

one-night

(Photo credit, Pinterest)

Heroin

I am a drug virgin.  I have never tried anything.  Seriously.  NOTHING.

I have never even tried pot.

Sex is my drug.  It always has been.

And he was my heroin.  

September 2005.

It was almost a year to the day since we’d seen each other.  He was in a nearby state, living his life and I was living mine, in a committed relationship, with a man I later married…and divorced.  Both of us were trying to stay on our prescribed paths.  Both of trying to do what is right.

But doing wrong is far more fun, isn’t it?

He opened the hotel door and the heat pulsating from his form was palpable.  He stood there in his t-shirt and underwear taunting me with his presence.  He ushered me into the room and we just looked at each other.

Time and space were irrelevant.  Intensity.  Attraction.  That’s all that was present in our realm.

My clothes came off in a matter of nanoseconds.  As badly as I wanted him…as much as I wanted to feel him fill my dripping wet cunt…as much as I wanted him and as much as he wanted me, we just continued to stare into each other’s souls.  We kissed.  We felt of our bodies.  I love the feel of his smooth skin.  I love the smell of his neck. I love the bulge of his large and ample cock protruding from his boxer briefs.

As he entered me, it was like the addict…feeling the needle prick her skin.  Penetrating the vein.  Giving sweet release into the “high” as passion mixed with the blood running through my veins.

We fucked like gods.  It was divine.

He rolled me over to mount him.  I held onto the headboard, grinding slowly as I consumed more of his drug.  In a matter of minutes I had an orgasm as I gushed all over his cock.  Before I knew it, I gushed again, soaking him and the bed below. And we continued to rock into our own rhythm.  I found myself becoming intoxicated, almost drunk from passion.  He has this innate sense of how to fuck me.  When to turn me over.  How to position my body for maximum ecstasy.  And quite honestly, when he turns me on my side and puts my leg on his shoulder, that’s when the drug takes over.  I could easily overdose on him.

When he exploded inside me, I could see that he was experiencing our drug.  I could see that he could feel this heroin in his veins too.  We were on a high like a couple of junkies.

By lunchtime, the sheets were soaked and we were a beautiful mess.

We found a dry spot on the bed and engaged in a deeply intellectual chat.  It’s our thing.  We fucked like addicts and talked like Einstein afterwards.  It was our version of afterglow.

There was something this man gave me that I hadn’t experienced at that point in my life.  There was a connection on a deeper level that I didn’t comprehend.  It was on another plane.  I yearned to have him inside my body.  Inside my head.

But our time was limited.

Our relationship was sporadic.

Our chemistry was flammable.

Our passion was consuming and addictive.

And a few days afterwards, I found myself like the heroin addict coming down from her high. Realizing that my reality was without him, without this drug.  Not accessible.

I couldn’t have it.  I couldn’t have him.

And part of me wonders if the high I felt was worth the low that followed.  And in retrospect it was.  To have that level of connection with another life-force was worth the withdrawal that ensued.

Every autumn I think of him and hope he is well in his part of the universe.

addict