At Last

My entire relationship with Charles, what little there was of it, consisted of countless opportunities for emotional growth and never-ending nights of frustration. We hadn't been dating long, only a few months, but our liaison was defined by what seemed to be an endless supply of patience on Charles' part and innumerable occasions for me to redefine myself anew. Unfortunately, I am plagued with a biological preponderance for self-doubt which he was challenging me to face head on. My mother hadn't bonded with me during her pregnancy thus I was left challenged to form healthy, loving relationships as an adult. My brain had been wired differently in the womb than most people's, my subconscious mind operated under the assumption that I was inherently unlovable and intrinsically without value despite how much work I'd done on myself, no matter how many rituals I'd performed, regardless of how many pages I'd written in my journal or affirmations I'd recited in the mirror, even in spite of how wonderful I believed myself to be in my heart. I'd taken tremendous strides toward healing and I had shown marked improvement and I was more than willing to exert the effort needed for me to tackle the internal demons that had been preventing me from attracting someone who was capable of loving me unconditionally.

Apparently, I was doing something right, because I had attracted this amazing, enlightened man of my dreams into my life. So while I didn't entirely feel worthy of his love, I knew in my heart and in my soul that I was divinely worthy of a love that was greater than my mind could imagine and Charles was intent on proving to me that he wanted to give me every bit of his love. From the moment we met, from the moment I laid eyes on him, I was drawn to his energy, his aura, and his incredible beauty. Initially, in his presence, I felt like he was going to reject me at any moment; I felt like he would prefer someone with a name like Ausar Nut Ma'at Imhotep, who wore locs and constantly smelled of patchouli oil, and who carried around incense and shea butter in the red, black, and green backpack that she had crocheted by hand. I just knew in my heart that he could never really love a woman who wrote about sex and sexuality and whose opinions on race and gender were so outside the norm, who loved wearing high heels occasionally, and who showed signs of insecurity and doubt openly. Luckily, I was wrong. He saw me as infinitely talented, grounded, inspired, and beautiful and he felt the pull of my African centered consciousness and saw my ability to free the descendents of slaves from our mental and psychological bondage with my words.

We vibrated on the same level in so many ways. While not identical in our every thought, we shared similar master numerological energies, spiritual outlooks, and interests. There was something very holistic and organic about what we shared and he was more than willing to nurture and heal my soul and that meant more to me than anything else. Our masculine and feminine energies complimented one another and we just seemed to fit like hand in glove.

For weeks, we grew together. Our days were filled toiling in the earth, growing vegetables, expanding our consciousness academically and culturally. We were always preparing food together as we were both dedicated to a living and raw diet and we even fasted together as well. He pushed me to trust him, to trust that he loved me, to see myself as the special and unique being he saw me as. I met each challenge he gave me head on, never afraid to push myself. Much of our time was spent in meditation or doing ritual. Sometimes we sat in silence, other times would laugh, talk, and listen to music until the early hours of the morning. I loved that he never made me feel like a victim or try to pity me because I was going blind. Charles would use his inspired words to paint pictures so I could see through his eyes and he helped me work out how to get around my apartment with my eyes closed for when the day would come when I had no sight at all. In every way imaginable, he was there for me like no other man had ever been there before and I found myself in falling in love with him in ways that were more profound than I had ever thought possible.

At times, our evenings were simmering, smoldering, and steamy, building a raging inferno of sexual tension between us. He seemed to know how to get me to the edge of explosion without any direct stimulation of my special places. He could whisper in my ear, telling me all the things he wanted to do to me, describing his fantasies about me in poetic, glorious detail and I would melt. He had the ability to lay his body on mine, I could feel his erection, engorged and rock hard grinding against me, and I could detect his unbridled passion, his intense desire to be inside me. His energy was strong and I would arch my back and wrap my legs around him as we kissed, hoping against hope that he would cross the threshold into my sacred space without my verbal consent. My hardened nipples would ache for his mouth to devour them and my swollen, wet pussy throbbed with anticipation and delicious expectation of his penetration. I'll be the first to admit that when things would get hot and I was on the brink of erotic surrender, I would sometimes freeze up and ask him to stop. It had nothing to do with him. I was letting old tapes play in my head about being used, about men in my past who didn't mind sexing me up but didn't want a relationship with me. Charles wanted our lovemaking to be unfettered by fear or negativity; I didn't want to have any emotional blocks between us. And we both wanted us to join in a union of transcendent, unparalleled ecstasy so we waited until the time was right.

Other times, the subject of sexuality never entered our evening experience. Sometimes, I could sense that I shouldn't initiate anything romantic or sexual between us because he was at his very limit for frustration. I would hug him and he would give me a look letting me know that I needed to back off. On those nights, after we would part, I would lie in bed alone, pleasuring myself, wanting to call him to me and invite him to be my lover. When I showered, my fingers would find the slippery folds of my pussy and rub my clit and I would imagine him thrusting deeply inside me, completing me. I imagined him, at home alone, white cotton sheets covering his nude body, his erection tenting the covers, a sheen of perspiration covering his lean frame as he lay tortured, frustrated and aroused, thinking of me.

Our dance of frustration came to a screeching halt one night without much fanfare or preparation. We were fixing dinner one night and I was standing at the sink washing up a few dishes as he was moving around the kitchen doing his thing. I felt him slide up behind me, placing his arms on the counter beside me, his lips brushing the nape of my neck. He used his body to push me against the counter and I could feel the evidence of his erection against my backside. Instinctively, I pushed back, grinding the soft, full curves of my ass against him, leaning my body back and luxuriating in his hands caressing my waist and his nibbles to my earlobe. I could feel my temperature rising and my body was responding to his every touch.

As if by conditioning, when I could tell things were reaching their critical boiling point, I said, "Come on baby, stop. Let's not get too carried away." That did nothing to deter him however and he became even more assertive, sliding his hands over my breasts and making me elicit the most intense moans of pleasure. "Mmmm, king, that feels amazing." I forgot all about my request to have him stop momentarily and I met his every thrust with equal passion. As the temperature began to rise, I renewed my objections, thinking he would be at his threshold and he would be packing up his stuff and heading for the door any minute.

Turning me around, facing him, using his body to press my body against the counter, Charles took my face in his hands. "Queen, I'm not going anywhere. I love you; you are in love with me." I stood frozen. I heard the words fall softly from his lips like lyrics to a song. I diverted my eyes to the floor and he tilted my chin up, his eyes meeting mine. He said it again and this time I held his gaze intently. "I am in love with you and you . . ."

"And I am in love with you," I cut him off. I swallowed hard, half expecting the floor to open up and swallow me whole but deep in my heart knowing that, at last, I had found the love that I had been searching for all my life, for many lifetimes. "I . . . ," the words momentarily got caught in my throat and found the strength to go on and speak my truth, fixing my gaze on his beautiful brown eyes for comfort, "I . . . need you. I want you to stay tonight. Join with me. Be my lover tonight. Enter me, taste me, and feel my . . ."

This time, he cut me off with a kiss. He placed his mouth gently against mine and tasted my lips. It wasn't just a kiss; it was much more. It was his declaration of love. I breathed in his air and we became united in that instant. I kissed him, his tongue softly and gently conforming to mine in a soulful dance. My heart raced as I felt his lean body press more deeply into mine, feeling his engorged manhood against my mound. My breasts pressed against his chest and I started to unbutton his shirt, tracing my lips down his slightly salty neck, eliciting gentle moans from him.

Something about him, about what we shared comforted me and I released all my inhibitions and allowed myself to be sensual, erotic, passionate, and primal without reservation. He met me where I was and matched my passions equally. Our kisses become more fevered; his hands under my sarong and slid up the soft, inner flesh of my thighs, finding the moist juncture between my legs. I took his hand and held it firmly in my own. "Let's go upstairs," I whispered.

He led the way; I followed with complete trust. Inside my sanctuary, the lights off, he made his way around the room, lighting candles as I put on some music. We met in the middle of the room and embraced again. This was our night to join together in a holy, transcendent union. This was the quintessential union of man and woman, of masculine and feminine energies, of yin and yang. This was the universe revealing itself, creationism and evolution coming together in the ultimate expression.

He laid me on the bed and untied my sarong; he unbuttoned my blouse and slid it off my body. Pulling his locs up and securing them atop his head, he began to make a feast of my body. Slowly, methodically, he used his mouth to lick, suck, taste, and kiss every inch of my body. His lips gently explored the inside of my elbow and his tongue made sensual love to my belly button. As ticklish as I am, I couldn't stop squirming and giggling. It made me more at ease; I was able to laugh and enjoy every delicious second of his seduction. Charles' hands explored my curves and with each passing caress, with each tender stroke, I became more and more aroused. I responded to each touch with a moan, a guttural groan, and a heavy sigh. My skin tingled under the manipulations of his fingertips.

Just when I thought I was at the very limit of my arousal, when I thought I could take not one more millisecond of stimulation, Charles decided he was going to up the stakes. Standing, he removed his clothing and stood beautifully naked and erect before me. Without using words, he used his eyes alone to instruct me to spread my legs. I arched my back and did as I was "told" sliding my hands down my body, teasing him seductively. The candlelight bathed his silhouette beautifully, creating shadows and light on his golden skin. I was beyond aroused; each and every one of my senses was stimulated and heightened. My mouth watered staring at him; I wanted to explore his body with my mouth the way he had done with mine but Charles had other plans.

"I want to taste you," he whispered, "I've been waiting for this moment from the day we met. I need to feel you explode in my mouth. I want to give you pleasure untold and drink freely from your center." I slid my finger between my engorged lips, brought my finger to my lips and seductively sucked it, tasting my slippery, sweet juices. He took his time, positioning himself so that he was comfortable between my legs. He wasn't one to be rushed. At first, he just stared at me, taking in every detail of my sacred sex. He spread my lips and studied my clit and lips like a painter studies his subject. He inhaled deeply my fragrance, intoxicated by my personal aroma. Then, only after he had taken in every detail, memorized my every contour to memory, he closed his eyes and softly, gently, lowered his mouth to my flesh. I let out a sound that was otherworldly. Bliss consumed every pore in my body. He tasted, licked, sucked, and kissed me, building my passion, raising my energy up my chakras. I wrapped my legs around his head and grabbed a handful of locs. I was nearing the point of no return. My muscles tightened and my orgasm was eminent. Charles was a man on a mission. He used his fingers to penetrate my holes and his mouth to gently, rhythmically suck my clit. Unable to hold off any longer, I released my cum into his mouth. I shook and trembled with ecstasy but that was not he signal to stop. He wanted my orgasm to unfold against itself, to replicate like a strand of DNA.

Trembling and shaking, I felt intoxicated with pleasure. I was beyond wet; I had soaked the sheets with my juices. Taking his true place between my legs, he positioned himself to penetrate me for the very first time. I wanted to speak words in the moment but none came. Our communication was cellular. I felt him enter me and he took my breath away. I met each thrust and he maintained eye contact with me intensely. I could see concentration on his face but I could tell that he was experiencing intense pleasure as well. He stroked deep and hard, my juices coating him, our bodies sweating, moving in time. We made love, he made loved to me more intensely, more passionately than I'd ever experienced before in my life.

When he was on the verge of erupting, he flipped me over, he entered me from behind, filling the room with the sounds of our bodies colliding as he made love to me like a man on a mission. My orgasms outnumbered his at this point by about five or six to none and he wasn't even close to finishing. I grabbed the sheets and met his every thrust. I think I might have passed out from pleasure, or at the very least, I was delirious with satisfaction. Four positions later, I was no longer able to keep track of my orgasms. Finally, he laid his body on mine and, almost imperceptibly, I felt his penis throbbing and pulsating within the warm, wet, velvety walls of my vagina. Our eyes held each other's gaze, we kissed; we were connected body, mind, and soul. In that moment, I felt his body tense and he arched his back and buried himself deeply inside me. I joined with him, releasing my energy into him as I exploded in what was more than sexual ecstasy, it was spiritual bliss. We had made it to a new place in our relationship, and at last, I had released all the pain and negativity that had kept me from experiencing true and abiding love.