Everyday Stranger

Where Have You Gone?

I wander into the living room, where we sat on the couch last night, our limbs tangled up in a soft fleece blanket and a bottle of chardonnay was quaffed while we watched reality TV for a bit and made merciless fun of it. My legs were curled up on your lap, and you removed a sock and stroked my foot, not making me the least bit ticklish but instead caressing and kneading the arch of my foot into a blissful satisfaction. Later, in the DVD player "Secretary" languishes, two chapters away from the finish as you had to take me then and there on the couch, spanking me hard and fucking me even harder to the tune of slapping flesh and moans.

In the kitchen are the messy pans where I cooked you risotto for dinner, my specialty. You even helped me cook it, chopping leeks and mushrooms, grating the knarled bit of parmesan I had that I saved from a trip to Rome. We swilled white wine together, dashing bits of it in the pot to steam the risotto, and your hands strayed around my waist, cupping my breasts and leaving the aroma of parmesan on the lengths and curves of my skin. We laughed and talked as the risotto steamed up the pot lid and we steamed up the windows.

We ate the lush and wonderful risotto by the forkful, and you even finished my bowl of it. I decided to forgo my usual need to clean just after dinner, leaving the risotto pan, the pasta bowls, and our wineglasses in a jumble in the sink, knowing that the time it would take to scrub the pots would take precious seconds away from being with you. The dishes didn't matter. The vacuuming was ignored, the woodpile grew small, and all I cared about was having maximum exposure to your skin through the evening.

I make my way back to the bedroom. The bedsheets are rumpled, strained and thrown aside. I remember you taking your arms and wrapping them around me, gentle now compared to our cinematic excursion a few hours earlier. You were so calm and loving in the last round, taking your time to massage your mouth across me and bringing a full shuddering orgasm between my legs. Your lips were everywhere-my neck, my shoulders, my legs...and you kissed and licked all of our war wounds from earlier-the scratches, the bruises, the animal brutality of the couch forgotten in the luscious love-making under the covers. I ran my fingers over the nail tracks on your neck and shoulders, massaging loving into their textured surfaces.

You slowly guide yourself into me, moving in one fluid motion, and we move in a gentle rocking that I always look forward to. It feels as though I am coming home again, making my way into something I know after spending my life wandering the world. You stare into my eyes the entire time, your pupils large and drinking me in, and just before you orgasm you grab me hard and squeeze, almost in agony and say "My God, I am so in love with you."

And then you lay on top of me, the weight of you reassuring, pinning me to the bed in a reminder that there is no where else I would rather be. And you roll me over and lay beside me, wrapping your arms around me and placing your knees behind mine, and you hold me until we fall asleep, freeing me then to move around the canvas of the bed.

When I wake, I look out the window and see only swirling snow, hear the wind batter the house and hope that the fireplaces can hanker with enough fire in the fireplace to warm up the little spots in the corners of the bed that I occupy. The sun has forgotten to come out today, or maybe it just hasn't seen the point.

The bed is empty. And when I make my way downstairs, I see no pile-up of dishes in the sink. The wine bottle is empty, but my headache reminds me that I was the one who accomplished that alone. The woodpile is refurbished, the house is vacuumed, and there are no scratches and bites down the length of my body.

I walk back upstairs, to the bed that is only warm on one side. I huddle under the blankets and put my hand on the pillow next to me, trying to find any trace of warmth or remnant of your scent that you were there. That you loved me.

I got to walk the house with you in a normal relationship under normal circumstances for one evening in my dreams. And with a sigh, I pull the covers back over my head and try to reinsert myself in my dream, to reinsert myself back to you. It was just my dream. And all I want to do is sleep in order to try to find you again.

If anyone needs me, I will hopefully be making love, making memories, and making risotto today. The real world can slip by unnoticed for now-we don't need each other today...

-H.

Posted by Everydaystranger at January 12, 2004 09:20 AM | TrackBack