I Remember Her How She Used To Be

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As if my shoes were cemented to the floor, too stubborn to take them off and follow her in my bare feet, I couldn't walk the path that she wanted me to walk. Too self-centered in my thought and too stingingly selfish with my emotions, I needed to take a different route, before meeting up with her on the other side of the hill, where the fork had me go one way and she in another. I'm glad that I finally decided not to turn away from her again and to accept her hand and walk with her finally, because I wouldn't have become the man that I am today without having had her in my life. Without doubt, my life would have been shitty without her in it. It breaks my heart to think of me without her and immobilizes my brain to think of her with another man.

Had I made that decision early on to embrace her and to believe all that she said as the truth, for sure, I wouldn't have hurt her in the way that I did by rejecting her and disrespecting her by not wanting her. Only, afraid to admit it, spinning around with other women, wanting to play the field first, before settling down with one woman, I did want her. I always wanted her. When not with her, even when with another, always comparing her to other women and with every other woman falling short, I always thought of her and how better not only the sex was but also how better my life could be with Becky in it.

Our intimate times together were always soft, special, loving, and memorable moments and not rushed and desperate, as all my other sexual encounters had been. Calm and soothing, without any head games, name calling, cussing, or unkind words, best of friends, we talked as if we had known one another since forever. Compared to the other women, the sloppy rushed sex I had, after getting drunk, paled in comparison to just kissing Becky. Thinking about them now, I couldn't even recite their names or remember what any of them looked like. Compared to Becky, they were faceless, anonymous women and our brief unions together meant nothing.

In the beginning, when it was more about sex for me, intimate times with Becky was more about love for her. As if my feelings for her were just bulbs planted in a garden, Becky patiently waited for my love to bloom and blossom. As if awakening from a drunken stupid or a drug induced sleep, love was something that came later for me than it did for her. While kissing her and having sex with her, when I thought that there was nothing that could possibly make our times together better, it was then that I finally fell in love with her.

As a bonus or a surprise firework display that lit up our private skies when making love, intimate times with Becky was akin to unwrapping a package at Christmas. Wrapped in pretty paper with ribbons and bows, her gift of love came inscribed personally to me. Always a surprise, never was our love making the same, and/or routinely boring. Our times together were as different as they were exciting the first time.

Still, in the case of love, especially in the beginning, she was way ahead of me in that regard. She looked at me with love and I looked at her with lust. Thinking that I was way ahead of her because I thought I was taking advantage of her, but heading in the wrong direction, I was already running a race that I couldn't possibly win. As if she had already run this race with me before, carrying me along with her, with me in one arm and our baby in the other, she knew where to go and which turn to take, so that we could win the race together and as a family. While I struggled with drugs and alcohol, got lost with other women along the way, and disappeared forcing her to fend for herself as a single mother, she was planning our wedding, while thinking about our future together.

She never faltered in her love for me, in her belief in me, and in her desire to stay with me. When I think about the past now, she was always out front and way ahead of me, while I lagged behind interested more in looking at and being distracted by the scenery than in concentrating on the prize. Where I had to experience other women to realize how special Becky was, she didn't have to experience other men to know that I was the one she wanted forever.

Now that I've lived my life with her, she was, by far, the biggest prize of all and the best thing that could have happened to me in my life. Yet, in the beginning, just as I wanted to bed her, she wanted to marry me. As if she was Medusa and could turn me into stone from wanting and desiring other women, I avoided looking her in the eyes for fear that I'd fall in love with her. Focusing more on her shapely figure than on her pretty face, every time she looked at me, I could tell she loved me and, as if I was doomed to be with her, her look frightened me. Too young for marriage and children, what I thought was my doomsday with her then was my salvation now.

I remember focusing my attention more on her breasts than on her face. Even though she had a beautiful face, I feared that if I looked at her, really looked at her, she'd find me out for the fraud that I am. I feared she'd see that I didn't love her, when somehow she knew I did. She knew more about me than I knew about myself. She knew that I wasn't a fraud, but just needed a bit of prodding and guidance to find my way.

For me, especially in the beginning it was all sexual and we had sex nearly every day. Feeling safer by the sexuality of her without the commitment, if I stared long and hard enough, if I focused more on what she looked like on the surface, instead of what she was saying and who she was inside, I could see the impressions her nipples made through her blouse and bra. Because her breasts were so big, at least a C cup, her breasts pushed open her blouse and I could see her sexy bra.

I remember riding the merry-go-round, the Ferris wheel, the rollercoaster, and sitting on the park bench talking and laughing, while eating our ice cream cones. The horny guy that I was, I made sure that I sat on the left side of her, so that I could have a constant view of her lacy bra and the top portion of her breast, between her stretched open button holes of her blouse. Every time I looked at her, instead of seeing the beauty within, I saw the outside package, while imagining her tits. More enamored with the surface of her, her blonde hair, blue eyes, and big tits, I was so immature. Every time she looked at me, she saw her husband and the father of her children, no doubt. Every time I looked at her, I thought about her naked and on her knees. Polar opposites in what each of us wanted and expected from one another, trying to bring us together in the beginning took a lot of tears, questions, and conversations. Finally, it was with the realization that I truly was in love with her that we were both finally on the same page.

Oh, I was in love alright, but not with her and not with who she was. More interested in bedding a beautiful blonde, I didn't even know who she was. Too busy drinking, having a good time with my friends, and preoccupied with sports, I never took the time to find that out, until much later. I wasted too much time and money with foolishness, time and money that I could have shared with her.

If I loved her at all in the beginning, I loved her form, her fashion, and her image. I loved what she looked like in a pair of tight jeans. I more loved the outside package. I loved her sparkling blue eyes and her full ruby lips. Especially in the beginning, not giving a care to if she was happy and how I could make her happier, I wondered more about what she looked like naked than how I could be a better man.

Putting a face to the image, more beautiful than Kim Basinger, she resembled her more than anyone I knew. She was a real beauty and I was smitten with her, but I didn't love her then, in the way that I do now and always will forever. Needing some maturing to be the man she saw that I was, could be, and finally turned out to be, I was stupid. I wasted too much time trying to get others to have sex with me, when Becky was there waiting for me to be her one and only man.

When I think about it, who wouldn't love someone who looked like Kim Basinger? Only, I was too young for love, didn't even know what real love was. Bedding a variety of women, getting high and drunk, while pounding my chest and bragging to all my friends, I was clueless. When most men never find their one and only, I had found Becky or, more appropriately, she had found me from the beginning.

Back then, her smile didn't have that magical hold on me that it would have later in life. Back then, I only translated her smile as beauty, something tangible, instead of the person she was within, something intangible and something I couldn't see but depended upon so much later. Yet, later in life, glowing brighter with time and experiences, there were so many joyous emotions behind her flashing me that smile. It took me years to see the real woman behind the smile. She could have been anyone for all that it mattered, but one in a million, few women looked as good and was as good as she was, inside and out.

Yet, that was then and this is now. Now I get it. Now I know that not only was she beautiful on the surface but also she was beautiful on the inside, too. Truly, it wouldn't have mattered what she looked like, so long as I could put a translation to that smile and her smile spoke to me without words.

"You're the one," she said with eyes that made me want to believe her but also that made me question her sanity. "I knew you were the one the first time I saw you and positive you were the one the first time I kissed you," she said with that little smile that made me want to kiss her and, for the sake of sex, tell her that I loved her, too, when I didn't then in the way that I did later and still do now.

"I'm the one? What one? Which one? How can I be the one, when I'm no one? You don't even know me."

"I know who you are, Tommy. I see you differently than you see yourself. Trust me, we were meant to be together."

How could she know that I'm the one, when I didn't even like myself all that much? No doubt, she saw something different looking at me than I saw when looking at myself in the mirror. By what divine providence does she have that she could see so far into her future, my future, and/or our futures together to know that I'm the one? How dare she tell me that I'm the one. She has no right to tell me that I'm the one. Truth be told, I didn't believe her. Truth be told, I didn't deserve her.

I remember kissing her, when she told me all that in the moonlight and under the starry sky that peeked through the dilapidated roof of the barn. With her first kiss forcing me take another and closer look at her, she crumbled my resistance with each kiss. I remember thinking, she's been waiting for me all my life.

"Wow!"

She thinks I'm the one and knew that from the first time she saw me. Kissing her again and again, I reached around behind her and rested my hand on the top of her firm, round ass. If only I knew then what I know now, thinking that I was taking my time, when I was rushing things, I figured I'd feel her ass with our next kiss

"Wow!"

I'm getting lucky tonight, I thought. Ready to push Becky back in the soft hay and have my wicked way with her, I was ready to feel and touch her everywhere through her clothes, before stripping her naked, while kissing and kissing her. Much like all the rest of the women I had my way with, I figured our time together would be easy, when it was the most difficult, albeit most enjoyable time that I ever had with a woman in my life. As if being mixed in a blender and no longer able to separate the ingredients, even though I tried to pull us apart by remaining distant and difficult, we made an indelible memory that first night together.

Then, over the years and through all the tears, I nearly ruined that memory. Oh, I was the one alright. Truth be told, I was the one who ruined our first kiss. I was the one who made our first time together unbearably uncomfortable and almost our last time together. I was the one who took advantage of her by forcing myself on her, or so I thought.

In hindsight, she was the one who showed me the way by allowing me to be with her, so that she could teach me what true love was. Otherwise, I never would have known. Truth be told, had Becky not loved me, I would have wandered through life alone and lonely. Even if I was to get with another woman, a woman lesser in every way than Becky, just going through the motions with disconnected emotions, while pretending that I was in love with her, I'd be thinking about Becky, no doubt. If it wasn't for Becky knowing all that she did about me from the start, we never would have been together now.

As if there was something missing from my life, as if I had forgotten my wallet or lost my dog, there was always a nagging feeling of something not right, whenever I wasn't with Becky and especially before we were married, when I was cheating on her with someone else. Reluctant to solely be with her, I always thought about her. Fighting her superiority in her knowing we were supposed to be together, not wanting to be so dependent upon her and always resisting her self-assured notion that I was the one, I did my best to disprove that idea by proving to her what a real bastard I was. Still, no matter how much I hurt her, as if she knew I'd soon become the man she needed me to be, she always forgave me.

"Kiss me, Becky," I said grabbing her breast with one hand and wrapping my other arm around her waist.

Ready to stick my tongue down her throat, ready to show her the man that I was by the lover I had become by bedding other women and, yet, another woman, I pulled her to me with a hand to her ass and my fingertip reaching between her legs from behind. Only, when I leaned down to her and closed my eyes for my kiss, she slapped me hard across the face.

"Don't be disrespecting me like I'm some slut you picked up drunk from a bar and fucked in a back alley, Thomas," she said pushing back on my shoulders and knocking me over a bale of hay.

"Sorry, Becky," I said getting up and rubbing my face, as stunned as I was embarrassed.

Making me feel, as if I was a child, she always called me Thomas when she was riled up like that. All the other times she called me Tommy, never Tom, except for those times that she fell ill. Then, she called me Tom, as if that was all the energy she had left to utter.

Never having been slapped by a woman, it was as if she threw a bucket of cold water at me. Her way of giving me a cold shower, no doubt, she awakened me from out of my horny state. Having never been rejected before, I looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. Who is this woman? So soft and so feminine, yet so strong and so powerful. I never knew she had it in her to talk to me in that way and to knock some sense in my head with just one slap.

"If you want me, you must treat me with respect," she said staring me down, before unbuttoning her blouse.

When she slapped me, I figured I had blown my chance to be with her. Then, when she started unbuttoning her blouse, I felt such sexual excitement for her that I've never felt for any woman before. The thought of her rejection mixed with her sudden obvious consent overwhelmed me with lust and desire for her. I watched her undressing with my eyes bugging out of my head.

"I'm sorry, Becky," I said not believing what I was seeing.

I couldn't believe she was unbuttoning her blouse. I couldn't believe all that she was exposing. I couldn't believe I was seeing her cleavage, her bra, and then the entirety of her bra clad breasts. I'm gonna get lucky tonight, I thought. Always having to struggle in a wrestling match and grope at a woman to get her naked, I couldn't believe she was voluntarily removing her clothes.

"You've only just fucked sluts, Thomas. You must learn how to make love to your woman and not disrespect your woman by forcing yourself on her. Love is a beautiful thing, when both want it and are ready for it," she said removing her blouse and hanging it over the horse stall.

Love? With this just our first date, how could she be talking about love already? I didn't want love. I only wanted sex. Yet, willing to say and do anything to have sex with Becky, I was too excited by watching her undress.

"Okay," I said, the only word I could think to say. I was stunned that she was standing there in her sexy bra, without having had to wrestle with her and pin her down to undress her.

After she removed her blouse, she unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. Watching her undress that first time was just as exciting as watching her undress for bed thirty years later. As if lit up with a black light, as if they were magical, florescent panties, I remember clearly seeing the top of her white bikini panties in the moonlight, as she slowly lowered her tight jeans and stepped out of them. Oh, my God, she had such a fabulous body, the best body I've ever seen.

Standing there in her bra and panties was the first time she allowed me to touch her, actually feel her soft, supple skin. My favorite place to hold her was just around her waist and just above her hips. More groping her, I was so clumsy in touching her, but she was a good teacher. She helped me by taking me by the hand and showing me where and how to touch her, so that she could enjoy the experience, as much as I did. Then, we kissed and kissed and kissed. Never has just a kiss excited me as much. Never have I been as sexually aroused by any other woman, as I was with Becky.

From the first time we were together, she allowed me to stick my hand in her bra, fondle her breast, and feel her nipple, before allowing me to feel and squeeze her ass through her panty. Normally, with the other women I had been with, even with all the wild women I've known, I'd have to liquor them up and take them out a few times before hitting a homerun and making my way around the bases. Then, as if I was having a hands on sexual education course, she lowered my hand to her panty clad pussy.

Taking me by the finger, she had me trace her pussy slit and then pushing down harder on my finger, she had me finger her clit and rub her bean through her panty, as we kissed and kissed. Not allowing me to rush, slapping my hand away, when I tried going too far, too soon, she finally allowed me to part her panty and reach inside to feel her warm wetness. Feeling as if the first time with Becky was the first time I had sex with a woman, never have I had sex with a woman who was so willingly helpful. The difference being that we weren't having sex. We were making love.

It wasn't until I had her sufficiently heated up to where she needed to be that she reached down and fondled my cock through my jeans. Excruciatingly waiting for her to touch me, when she finally felt me, I thought I was going to shoot my load in my pants. By the time that I had reached this point with another woman, every other woman I had been with before would already have had my jeans unzipped, my cock out of my pants, and would have been sucking on it some by now. Only, mindful that I was already ready and waiting, she slowed down the action by taking our time and never have I had such an erotically pleasurable time making love to Becky than I did fucking the other women in my past.

It was more exciting feeling Becky's tits and fingering her nipples through her clothes than it would have been had she been topless. She made me realize all the excitement I had missed by rushing the sex I had in the past. As if having sex with a prostitute, too many women I were with stripped naked, before I so much as touched them. It was differently better with Becky. Feeling her through her clothes first, while kissing her and not removing her bra and panty, until I respected her enough to wait until she was ready, proved that this is how to have the best sex. When Becky was aroused, she was wilder than any wildcat I had bedded. Wilder than Betty Jo and Bobby Jean, more wicked than Mandy, Amber, and Sue Ellen put together, never have I had such pleasurable and long lasting sex.