Sunday, December 18, 2011

Moving at the Speed of True Love

The passion is unreal. Kissing Her, looking into Her deep eyes, sucking on Her lips, Her tongue, biting Her neck. The intensity of our eyes locked onto the other's, our bodies moving in perfect rhythmic poetry. Every touch, every movement, every breath as though it's all a grand choreographed waltz we've practiced a thousand times until performed flawlessly with no thought. It's sexual. Emotional. It's biological and chemical. It's animalistic and unrestrained, sensual and tender all at the same time.

It's been 35 days since the night we met Them, and only 20 since we started communicating regularly through text. Tonight is our second time together sexually. Things are moving so fast none of us knows what to do. What started out as just a time to get together with the families to build the friendship ended in five sleeping kids upstairs and four adults overcome with lust, passion and...and something else. Something that scares the fuck out of all of us. Something that not only can't be voiced, but something none of us can even let take root inside our own heads. Yet it's already germinated in our hearts. There's no denying it, no matter how much we try to convince ourselves we must. The evening started with good intentions of keeping our pants on. But we're all helpless to resist. We're compelled by something beyond any of us.

We put a movie on in our bedroom so if one of the kids comes downstairs, we have some level of plausible deniability. It's a night of trying-our-best-to-be-quiet-but-probably-failing-miserably sex, four people on one bed. After a couple of hours we fall asleep in each other's arms. We wake up, have more sex, fall back asleep. Wake up, caress each other, talk, fall back asleep. He and Mrs. aren't talking much. They seem to be all about the sex. They're much less verbal than She and I are, but their connection is just as strong. Sex is how they communicate, but they communicate the same things we do. We are content to just look at each other sometimes and soak in the wonder of each other. We don't need to utter a sound, we feel what the other is thinking. Every part of Her feels amazing under my hand. As She lies there, half asleep, I just stare at Her beautiful face, slowly brushing the hair off Her forehead. I can't believe the way She makes me feel. Not just physically, but emotionally, intellectually, spiritually. Yes, even spiritually. Me, the former Christian turned agnostic atheist. I feel a purpose in being with Her. Something cosmic has brought us together. She makes me see a god I don't believe exists. I've loved Mrs. for over 25 years. But it's never been like this, not even when I hearken back to our hormone- and off-the-wall emotion-driven teenage beginnings. I love Mrs. But She...She brings something very different to every part of me. I resist the urge to even think it, because it's so cliche, overdone, overused and misused. But I find myself thinking, "This is what they mean when they say soul mate." It's more than the idea that two souls were made for each other. It's as though we are the very same soul inhabiting two bodies. Everything about Her--Her soft pale skin, Her face, Her smile...that stunning, wide, perfect crescent smile with the full, soft lips...Her voice, Her sense of humor, the way She fundamentally views the world, the way She moves underneath and on top of me, the way she makes me feel life as though I've never seen the sky before--She embodies my lifelong ideals of the perfect woman, the perfect partner; the one that doesn't exist outside the unreachable realm of inner fantasy. And She's lying next to me, her face radiating a brand new view of life, love and the world.

We wake up before any of the kids get up and make pancakes. After we eat, I go outside on the back patio to have a cigarette (even though I'm the only one who smokes, She doesn't mind that I do; She actually likes the taste of smoke on my breath, it turns Her on, unlike Mrs.). As I stand outside looking in the sliding glass door, I see three people I've come to care about, Him sitting, with Mrs. at His shoulder and Her standing in front of Him. It's a crystal clear picture of absolute happiness, utter contentment and comfort. My eyes tear up at the sight of these three amazing, completely satisfied and elated people in my life, enriching it beyond anything I ever imagined. It's a snapshot of perfection. After I go inside, as we're sitting at the table talking, She is the first one to utter the word: polyamory. I'm a bit surprised. She has been more hesitant to embrace where things are going than the rest of us. Even though this is the first verbal recognition of the idea that any of us, let alone all of us may be in love, we all knew it was inevitable, and we all knew where each of the others stood. We just knew. Everyone could sense it. And She had been hesitant, but She is the one to say it. We all knew She had to be the one, because none of us could embrace it unless everyone was on board. She couldn't bring herself to use the word "love". She says it just means that you care for more than one person. We all agree in unison, each of us with the knowing look deep in the eyes that it's only a matter of time before the "L" word would comes out.

Later that morning, as they prepare to leave, it's so unbelievably awkward. The awkwardness should be caused by the fact that, after 21 years of being married and less than three weeks of getting to knowing Her, I want to grab Her face, pull it to mine, kiss her passionate lips, wrap Her in my arms as tight as I can and tell Her I love Her. But that feels like the most natural thing I could possibly do. It is letting her walk out the door without doing those things that feels awkward and unnatural. But the five children in the room give me no other choice.

1 comment:

  1. What an incredibly powerful story. I relate to much of what you write as we are living something very similar right now. I look forward to reading more.