On the Other Side of Passion

She called Love, he answered the phone on the first ring as if he knew it was going to be her on the other end. He could hear her sobs on the other end of the line, “Don’t cry, I know you’re afraid.” His voice was soothing to her, calming her. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up the phone and braved the storm to rush to her side. A short while later there was a knock at her door. There stood Love, drenched, shivering against the chill of the rain. He brought emergency provisions, her favorite gourmet coffee. Together they weathered out the storm, sipping coffee, drying her tears. She felt safe, she felt warmed by Love.

Chapter 3: Rescue Attempts

When at last the storm ended, she looked up at him, her eyes reddened and swollen from the tears that fell. “Why did you come?” she asked.

He looked surprised by her question; he brushed her hair away from her face, running his fingers through her locks. “Because you needed me,” he replied.

“I’ve offered you nothing and yet you came, after all the hurt I’ve caused you.” Her brow was wrinkled into a frown as she struggled to come to grips with his statement. She looked over the rim of her coffee cup at him, sizing him up. Physically he hadn’t changed, maybe emotionally he had grown, she wasn’t sure what, but something was different. Maybe it was the look in his eyes; he looked at her in a way he’d never looked at her before. He looked at her before as if she were sexless, ordinary; nothing spectacular, he looked at her with all the enthusiasm that one would show while watching an old black and white rerun on TV. Now, there was a spark where familiarity lay, a gleam as if he were adoring a rare piece of art; erotic, beautiful, desirable. The look in his eyes frightened her, excited her; peaked her interest and aroused thoughts that she had not had for him in a very long time.

“I don’t recall asking for anything in return, you called, I came, it’s just that simple.” He replied shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t expect anything from you. I didn’t come because I wanted something. Don’t you get that? I don’t expect any kind of repayment. I’m here just solely because I want to be, I want to be here for you.” He angrily slammed his coffee cup on the table, rising to leave. “Don’t you know I love you? Love doesn’t keep score, love doesn’t expect a payback. Love is because love is, there is nothing you can do to earn it, nothing you can do to keep it, nothing.” He slid his jacket on fumbling for his keys. He was frustrated with her, after all this time, all the years, everything they had gone through, she still didn’t know him, he thought he knew her, he didn’t.

“Stay the night,” she bade as she timidly lay her hand on the sleeve of his denim jacket. “We don’t have to do anything, we don’t have to talk, we don’t have to figure things out, just stay with me.”

He sank to the couch, placing his keys on the coffee table. He reached up, caressing her face. “Ok,” he said as he removed his jacket. A short while later they lay together in the dark, she cuddled up against him, sighing lightly in her sleep. She felt so good, she smelled so good, this was good, even if it was just tonight, his heart sang with hope, maybe, just maybe they could work things through. He could forgive all she had done, he would never ask, hopefully, she would never ask either. Maybe if he forgave her, she’d forgive him, maybe they could go on together. He slid his hand up her hip, feeling the silky nightgown beneath his fingertips. He became aroused, he felt his penis harden, his wanting for her was driving him mad, not tonight he thought to himself, way too soon.

The next morning, they made arrangements to meet for dinner. At dinner, they made arrangements for the following week to go to a movie. After the movie, they made arrangements to go out for drinks after work the next day. She called him more frequently now, he didn’t call her, and he wanted to be sure she had all of the space and time that she required. They laughed together, chatted like best friends, teased and joked around.

She heard no word from Passion, once in a while, she would call his house just to hear his voice on the answering machine, and she would never leave a message. She was growing weary, angry, frustrated, and distraught with Passion, she felt contempt for Passion, and the contempt hardened her resolve never to seek out Passion again. Her contempt turned into hatred. Yet she would lay awake at night thinking of him, his hands which knew how to pleasure her, his lips firm and unyielding against her flesh, his cock erect and large, his voice, his whispers in erotic tongue. She began to doubt what she had felt for Passion, she wondered if it weren’t lust on her part, lust disguised as love. Where did one end and the other begin? Where were the boundaries between, lust, love, and passion? She began to search for answers.

He walked her to her front door after yet another dinner date; she smiled now, where before she wouldn’t even raise her head to meet his gaze. She was beginning to brighten, showing interest in her self and her appearance. To him, she didn’t need any improving, but she had always considered herself unattractive. He praised her vehemently for her efforts. She had allowed him to kiss her goodnight now, allowed him to drape his arm casually about her shoulders, allowed him to hug her, and to hold her hand. Love was patient, Love was kind to her, Love never pushed, Love waited for her to take her small steps, Love endured. He waited on the steps for her to ask him in, she did. He waited for her to make the first move, she did.

She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, burying her face in his chest. She nipped at his chest hair, pulling them with her teeth. He slid his hands deep into her back pockets, pinching playfully at her butt. She raised her face to kiss him; she slid her tongue into his mouth. He slid his hand up to the small of her back, tracing tiny circles. She pulled him inside her apartment, closing the door and locking it behind him.

She guided his hand up her blouse, over her ribs, resting it on her breast. He slid his thumb under the elastic band of her bra, tracing her nipple, teasing it erect. Her kisses were deep and passionate, he groaned in wanting. Gingerly, he took her hand, navigating it to the front of his jeans; she could feel his cock straining against its confines. She didn’t pull her hand away, but continued to massage him, bringing him to full hardness. He slid her blouse over her head, unsnapped her bra, admiring her breasts in the fullness of their arousal. He lowered his head and began to lap at them eagerly with his tongue; she threw her head back, arching her spine.

She slowly unbuttoned her jeans, unzipped them and lowered them to the floor. He could smell the desire on her heavy and intoxicating. She dropped her underwear, stepping out of them and kicking them out of the way. She reached for his zipper, lowering it, grabbing his belt loops and pulling she slid down his jeans and underwear. She dropped to her knees, looking up at him. She grasped his prick, and began to suck, softly at first, then harder and harder. He felt as if his knees would give way, instinctively he wound his fingers into her hair, and began to guide her head in a back and forth motion encouraging her onward.

He stopped her before he came, she led him into her bedroom, lay back on the bed, spreading her legs wide, she granted him entrance. He advanced into her slowly almost loosing his come. He pushed into her deeply, relishing the tightness, the wetness, and the grip of her cunt on his dick. He wanted it to last forever, but in a matter of minutes, he lost all control, spilling into her. He rolled over, sliding onto his side; he pushed a finger in, swabbing it in her vagina, slick from him. He sucked her tits, nipping at them with his teeth; he rubbed her already enlarged, sensitive clit, causing her to spasm with delight. He didn’t stop until she cried out in the heat of her orgasm; he didn’t stop until he exhausted her. Drowsily she cuddled into his arms, falling fast asleep. In moments, he joined her in the numbness of slumber.

They continued on like this for weeks, being companions at the dinner table and in the bed. She knew she loved him, but she was dismayed, she continued on her quest for answers to the riddle, which haunted her. She loved him, but she yearned for Passion. Passion without love left her empty, love without passion left her in despair.

She had not heard a whisper from Passion, she began to loose hope, she began to accept what she thought was fate. She could live without passion, but she couldn’t without love. If she chose Love, she resolved herself that this would be her fate. She knew it was rare to find someone who truly loved, the way that Love did. She should be grateful for his love. She began to repeat a familiar chant “Passion is a lie.” “Passion is not real.” “Passion is temporary.”

He talked to her on the phone, behaved like the perfect gentleman, he tried not to loose hope, but she gave no promise, no indication that she would return home. She told him that she loved him, she held him at night, she gave herself to him willingly, but he could see that something in her still wasn’t right. He could see sadness and loss in her eyes, the more he was with her the more he began to see. He didn’t know what she was lacking, he chose not to dig too deeply, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear her response. He would continue to prove himself to her, he would continue to be there for her, he would continue to love her, and he hoped someday she would love him too. He longed to see the look of passion in her eyes and love in her heart; love only for him, Eros, felacio, agape’, all the forms and levels of love, for him. He wanted her to feel for him the same way that he felt for him, but he feared she did not. He dreaded the words that he feared someday would come. He accepted her love for what it was and hoped it would grow into more. He continued on patiently.

She didn’t return to her home, in the process of being lost between Love and Passion, she had begun to find herself; she had developed her own identity, which required neither Love nor Passion to exist. Her tiny apartment was her refuge from Love and Passion, her domain, her respite from the thunder in the distance. She had a true love for Love and a true want for Passion. Love had been extremely good to her, she knew he wanted her to return to their domicile, but she couldn’t, she wouldn’t until she had conquered her quest. She was afraid of love, she was afraid of passion, until she had her answers; in her solitude she would hide. She had to unravel the secrets of passion and love.