Consummated Desires

This is the story that may end up writing itself; who really knows? Capturing the action of sex is easy, and anyone with a modicum of talent can do that. Capture the emotion, though, ah now, you are starting to dwell in the realm of the Gods, and we humans aren't really meant to go there, now are we?

At least, we cannot expect to go there and remain unchanged, as if our present forms and lives can go on like nothing special just happened to us. The rules were written for a reason and you should break them only at your own risk. But who writes the rules? Is it Man, or God, or nature herself? Can we be forgiven our trespasses, really?

I am 33 years old, and I am a seeker. I have not been afraid of much in my life and I am terrified now. For although the following story is speculative fiction of a sort, I know it has more than the proverbial ounce of truth in it. I also know it has a chance of coming true, and the impact that will have on my life if it does could be irreversible.

What would you do if your unrequited love from your young adulthood, your first and truest real love; came into your life and said you had one night to find out how deep and true your feelings really are? Could your ideals of the mind hold up to the realities of the flesh? Or would the very idea be ludicrous?

I picture this scenario: it is winter, the time for hibernation and nourishing of the soul. I am burned out from work. No surprise there- I am one of the youngest professionals in my field to hold my position. For the last 12 months I have been traveling, conducting meetings, responding to government inquiries, and generally leading a very grown-up existence. I had some flings a year ago when I thought my relationship with Ray was ending, and seriously considered giving my ex, Chen, another chance and leaving Ray. Nothing really panned out, and my life had grown somewhat stale.

Ray and I are ok together but we are more or less intellectual partners. The spark isn't missing, but it never really grew much beyond a spark. We recently moved in together, and the stakes are higher now. We are in the process of consolidating resources. He doesn't love me, but he likes me well enough. We have a good sex life, not a great one. It could be anyone's story of maturing into one's adult life with adult responsibilities. There's no chance of marriage, legal or spiritual, but we're in it together at least for the time being.

I need to get away for a weekend. Periodically, I do this to replenish my spirit, which still rebels even after all the years it had to outgrow its wild oats. I've had some pretty interesting adventures, and I've tried not to burn too many bridges along the way.

I'm in a place now though where I need to make some pretty heady decisions about my future- follow a secure path or take a plunge into the complete unknown. My job is secure but unfulfilling, and I'm deciding if I have the courage to follow a dream of starting my own consulting business that will take me into literally dangerous places in a 3rd world nation. It is a heady place to be- follow your own dream or realize that what you need right now is a salary and 401K to secure your future.

I imagine renting a cabin in Northeastern Pennsylvania, near where I grew up, in a remote state park, for a week. The cabins are modern, they have heat and electric and fireplaces; running water and tables and chairs and beds. They are perfect little getaways. They are located in the middle of thousands of acres of protected land where the starts shine at night like diamonds and you can track foxes by day over miles of new snow. The trees ring them for miles around. Heaven to a soul inclined like mine. I tell only a few people where I am. Ray, of course. My mom, who might come spend a weekend day snowshoeing. On a whim, I tell my old friend Jack, who lives about 45 minutes away.

Jack and I have known each other for 23 years, and I have been head over heels in love with him for at least 19 of those years. We have a very close and Platonic friendship that once almost blossomed into something more. I told him one time, 12 years ago, how I felt, and he was unable to respond due to the very real and complicating factor of being engaged to someone else at the time. Since then, he has attained mythical status in my imagination as the "Great Unrequited Love of My Life". One of those sweet fond memories whose realities fade with time but whose thought always makes you smile. We have remained close despite the distance, and talk openly about our lives.

I know through my years of talking to him that his marriage is profoundly unhappy. Once, when I was about 26, he hinted that he'd like to spend some alone time with me. I purposely avoided it because I was afraid where it might lead. I've had more than my fair share of sexual adventures, most of them very good, but I've never let myself be involved with a married man.

I've bedded women, men, couples, strangers, and even a vampire once (now that's a story for another time, but less interesting than you might think), but never a married man. I have fantasized sexually about him for years, but never in a way that seemed remotely real. I've seen Jack periodically since then, but always on the up and up. I never wanted anyone to even think that something untoward might be going on when there wasn't.

Yet. I know that he and his wife have a nonexistent sex life. I know that his youngest daughter is dying. I know that he wishes he'd lived his life differently. And I know that when I look into his blue eyes all I feel is the love I still have for him. I know he once might have felt the same about me. I know that we are older now, and almost all of us have secrets to tell.

He sent me a poem recently, about star gazing, that had a line, "Do you feel the need for someone, To fulfill your empty life?/I'm wishing for the same thing, As I watch this star tonight... are we watching the same star?". The symbology is clear, as we both initially fell in love all those years ago while stargazing and holding each other in our arms. He has told me in a dozen little ways he is infatuated with me and always has been. Most importantly, I know that we have a deep and caring soul bond, as we have visited in our dreams several times throughout the intervening years to provide comfort to each other during times of need.

As you get older, some limitations seem more real, some absolutely silly to maintain. What seemed unbelievably stupid a year ago doesn't seem so far-fetched now. I imagine telling him where I can be found, and when, and leaving it open. I know what I'm really saying in my invitation to visit.

I know I'll spend my days writing and tracking and playing in the snow, and my nights waiting to see if a pair of headlights pull up outside. I know I'll shave my pussy and masturbate at night. And what then if the headlights do show up? Will we look at each other and crack up laughing at the absurdity of the situation? He has given me almost no indication that he has any sexual feelings for me any more. He often talks longingly of "what if's", but seems resigned. I have no business being here. Still- there's this picture I can imagine.

It will be evening, so I have a strong fire going for warmth. I am wearing soft velvet pants and a warm silk sash and sweater and fur lined boots. I hate harsh light at night, so I have lit oil lamps and candles and am alternately reading and writing by their warm glow. I see those truck headlights pull up. I see the driver silhouetted by the fading dashboard light, sitting for a moment before deciding to come in.

When Jack actually comes to the door, I open it, and invite him inside. He hugs me warmly, picking me up off my feet as he always does, and spinning me in a circle. It's so good to see you, how are you doing, etc. We make small talk about our jobs and families. I delight in his nearness, and the feel of his strong arms wrapped around me when he hugs me. He holds me just a second longer than normal- if I weren't paying attention, I would miss it.

I offer him a cup of hot chocolate, homemade. I love to cook. While the chocolate is melting on the stove, we go outside to stargaze. The snow sparkles in the moonlight with millions of little diamond-like crystals. Our breath frosts the air, which, aside from the squeaking and crunching of our feet in the snow, is perfectly still. An owl hoots plaintively, then is silent. The Milky Way is spread out above us like a jewel studded carpet. Orion chases Taurus across the horizon, flanked by faithful Sirius. The sky holds, suspended, for us. It is a fairy tale night, crisp and cold and pure.

We start to reminisce about the old days, quietly, afraid to disturb the perfection of the surroundings. He takes my hand, gently, and kisses it, barely brushing my knuckles with his lips. I am glad he cannot read my expression. He carefully slips the tip of my finger between his lips, suckles it gently, then lets go like it never happened. We stand for a moment, an eternity, perhaps both contemplating a lifetime of might-have-been's. Then, without need of words, we silently turn together to walk back towards the cabin.

Back inside, I scrape chocolate into the milk, and add marshmallows, a starlight mint, and vanilla. When I go camping, I go prepared, damnit. It is a child's treat, but that makes it no less tasty. We sip hot chocolate while I perch on the edge of the table, being too restless for the chair. We spend a good deal of time continuing to bring up old memories about camping together for all those years. It is a little strange for me. I am no longer the child I was when I fell in love with him. I wonder how he sees me now? As the little girl who adored him, or the grown woman I am now? Something in-between? And why should I care?

As we continue to talk, I think back to his gesture outside. I remember the things we are not talking about, waiting patiently under the stars as innocent as lambs until everyone else left or was asleep, and then cautiously making out silently under covers. He was such a good kisser, and had such great hands. We never did the deed, but came close a few times!

I wonder now, can he sense that my throat is tightening at this moment with those unspoken memories? Is he embarrassed by them? Does he know that my nipples are throbbing under my bra and sash? Does he suspect that my pussy lips are fluttering from his presence? Can he actually smell my mounting need over the scent of woodsmoke and chocolate?

I am both embarrassed and turned on. I don't know how I should feel in this situation. I'm afraid of what he would think of me if he knew the filthy things I am imagining. What if his intentions really are only friendly? Am I out of line? I try not to shake visibly as my genitals spasm under my clothes. Try it sometime- it's not easy!

There's a song I love, with the lines, "and a voice on the phone said I'll be home/ when I get these wheels to start/ and it's not my promise that I'll break this time/ but someone else's heart"

This is how I've always thought of my feelings for Jack- that if he were to pick up the phone and tell me he was coming for me, I'd drop everything in my life to be with him. I've tested every relationship I've been in with the metric, "if Jack called today, what would I really do?" Now I'm faced with the reality of Jack in front of me, and I freeze. I realize I don't know what I'll do, after all.

It is a little girl's fantasy I hold. My supposed love for him is pure because it's never had to be tested by the realities of day to day living. I presume he also has fantasies about me as the perfect lover for exactly the same reason. There's a reason unrequited loves are so powerful- they do pose the ideal fantasy, and reality never has the chance to screw it up. If we made yesterday's dream a reality, would we wake up regretting it? Would it cure us both or would it just make things awkward? The last thing I want is hurt feelings to mar my beautiful friendship with him.

I've not had an easy life. I have long pictured my soul as a little fragile thing made of spun glass, like you see in the artisan shops in the mall around Christmas time. I have kept it safe my whole life by not getting into dangerous situations where it could be dropped or broken beyond repair. All my loves have been safe because I never let anyone save an untested man guard it for me. If Jack and I were to consummate my desires here tonight, I fear I would lose that protection. My heart would be unguarded, where anything might happen. It might finally break open from the strain of the hurt I carry with me, leaving my soul vulnerable.

I sense he feels my hesitation too, and is thus reluctant to make any move in my direction. We talk for a while longer without looking into each other's eyes, perhaps afraid of what we will or will not see? His body language says at one point he has overstayed his welcome, and he rises to take leave and go home.

Yet, inevitably our eyes meet, and shiver goes down my spine. This is not adolescent desire we are feeling, and we both know it. It does not surprise me in the least when Jack actually walks over to me, embraces me while standing in front of me on the table, tilts my head back, and just gazes into my face. He runs his hands down my hair. He shyly brushes his lips to mine and kisses me, gently at first, then more insistently. Claiming his due after all these years.

Do I respond? Of course I do. Holding his stare with mine, fully aware of the choice I am making. Knowing where this is going. The interesting thing is that it doesn't feel awkward at all. It's not like kissing my brother, or like being in high school again. I realize in an instant that he is a man responding to a woman he desires in a very real and carnal way. I realize in an instant I am his world tonight, and he wants me as badly as he has ever wanted any woman.

If my body's response is any indication, I also see him as a man I desire with equal fervor. There is probably no stopping us after that first damning kiss that seals our fate. It is an act so loaded with intent not only do I really feel for the first time, despite a few trivial dalliances, that I am cheating on my lover at home; but I may as well have already spent the entire night fucking the man I am with.

My tongue indicates as much as I explore his mouth, communicating my feelings in a matter of seconds. I literally melt into him. His hands hold my head and he continues to stroke my hair. He hesitates, thinks, almost stops, then kisses me again. His hands caress my neck and shoulders, without either hurry or hesitation. We kiss wantonly for at least ten minutes.

There's nowhere to go from here but onward. I imagine he lays me back on the table, running his hands wantonly up my sides, under my sash, while I wrap my calves around his legs, pulling him towards me. As he undoes my top, letting the soft material pool around me, a few words are spoken. Ground rules. This can never happen again, we'll never speak of this. From here on out, it is unfair to ever say to each other "what if?" This is our one chance to know what it could have been like. No one knows we're here together. It will be our secret. We don't want to die never having had this experience. All in whispers.

There are no pretenses. I want him to make love to me, and at the same time I want to fuck his brains out and feast on his cum while it dribbles down my chin. I want him throbbing inside me. I want to speak unbelievably filthy fantasies to him and have him act them out. I want him to hold me and tell me he'll never leave me again.

I can tell he is equally conflicted. He undresses my torso like he's unwrapping a gift he's been expecting his whole life. His fingers tremble but they don't falter, and they certainly don't stop. He is exploring the forbidden territory he is about to claim.

I have no time to think about consequences. Nor do I have time to be afraid. All I feel now are his hands and mouth. He smells of wood and smoke and leather and man. His whiskers are rough against my delicate skin. He kisses my neck, nips my ear, buries his face in my hair. His hands unclasp my bra, exposing my nipples to the air. He suckles them with a fierceness and tenderness I've never experienced before.

The calloused, gentle hands I've dreamed about my entire adult life caress my breasts gently while his tongue lashes my skin. His teeth nip me. He seemingly tries to drown himself in my mounds, licking and sucking and nibbling, savoring them.

All thoughts of right and wrong instantly fade into the background. I am peeling off my reservations in layers with each layer of clothing he undoes. My body and soul are both being laid bare to him.

This man has made love to his wife only three times in the past year. I now plan to at least double that number tonight for him. I can live only with short-term thoughts like that right now. More is incomprehensible. I use my hands to push more of my breasts into his mouth, inviting him to do absolutely whatever he wants. He responds by biting down into my flesh with unmistakable lust. He growls in the back of his throat as he prepares to ravish his little she-wolf. He removes my top and bra completely, and moans softly.

A part of me is still not present, and is holding back, with enough clarity as to think, "what is like to make love to your soul mate after over a decade of waiting?" I run my hands down his back, unable to come to terms in my mind yet that this is really happening. At the same time, my intuition is already fully there. It forces my body to respond even as my mind becomes dazed with the power of the situation.

Jack caresses my smooth skin through the soft, thick velvet of my pants. His touch on my calves and thighs sends a new wave of chills down my spine. As he tugs my boots off and slides my pants down my legs, he sees I'm not wearing underwear, and I am doubly bare for him, and he draws in his breath. My body is now responding at a level that is terrifying to me because it is so powerful.

I feel my ovaries ache with pending spontaneous ovulation, my pussy twitch in anticipation, and my heart skip several beats. I almost black out from the surge of energy that rushes through me, lighting me on fire inside. He pushes me back and lowers his face to my thighs, and my pussy absolutely gushes liquid on the table. There's no way he can mistake me for the girl I was twelve years ago. I am quite frankly going into a woman's lustful heat inches in front of his face. My scent is overpowering and unmistakable. I've never been so ready for a man's touch.

That does it- my mind snaps completely into the present moment. I now could be the fucking Whore of Babylon. I spread my legs as wide as I can, and finger my open dripping pussy for him. I've known him my whole life but realize I hardly know him at all. It's too late to turn back, though, for either of us. I have no earthly idea what to expect, yet somehow I also know I've been with him a thousand times before. I shake in anticipation of his next move.

Tables are for dining, after all. He abruptly buries his mouth into the folds of my cunt, his lips and tongue immediately eating me out like a starving man offered his first meal in days. He drinks my wetness, savors it, and drinks more. My body produces replacement in copious amounts to match his appetite. His hands caress my thighs as he holds me spread open.

He continues looking me in the eye. In the soft lamplight, it is a look that is both tender and lustful. He knows exactly what he wants, and he's making sure I want it too. Unashamedly, he continues delving deeper into the open hole between my spread-eagle legs. I start to moan under his ministrations. He feasts with unhurried abandon. He works his stiff tongue in and out of me, stopping only to nip my clit and relish the flowing juices with an occasional single long lick. He brings me right up to the edge of orgasm.