It is never easy to get up and leave a post-coital bed, despite it always being a fact of reality at some point, even when such beds are those in which one is legally obliged to perform coitus.
Last night, however, brought a whole new meaning to the word “difficult”.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to let you sleep, or that I didn’t realise that the real world had intruded in that sweetly consistent way in which it always does. I haven’t lost touch with reality, nor do i plan to in the near future. It was simply a whole new level of want and need that manifested itself in me in a way I’d either forgotten or have never known before. Need to be near you. Want to be in your arms. Need to kiss you. Want to be kissed by you.
Take that first moment when we finally met in the same airspace. From zero to lipsmacker in 0.03 seconds. No hesitation, no awkward polite smile, no restraint, no holding back. Pure, unbridled, unadulterated passion. The kiss that made me tingle with pure energy, radiating outwards from my lips across my entire body and psyche. It’s not just that you’re a good kisser. It’s that you and i were clearly destined to kiss.
Sitting across a conveniently small table from you, while you indulged your need for beer and traditional English delicacies* would have been agony if it hadn’t felt so lovely. So near and yet so far — and then you slid a hand under my shirt and my body glowed with pleasure. All over. And I loved it. I loved feeling your hand on mine, your lips on the soft inner skin just by my elbow. I loved how you kept leaning your head against me. I loved every minute of being with you — in the pub, in your bed, all of it. I’m still glowing.
I love how you touch me, how your skin feels on mine — whether it’s the rougher and more weather-ready skin on your sensual hands or the softer less exposed whiteness of your belly against mine, or your cheek on my cheek. I love how you hold me, encircling me with those strong arms. Keeping me close to you, enough that I could feel your heart beating. Your touch has stayed with me. I can conjure up a memory so tangible that it takes my breath away. (I just hope it lasts.)
Feeling you near me completes me. It’s simultaneously that fundamental, and yet that simple.
I don’t know how i’ll cope with separation. Just as you need me in your life, so, I realise, do i need you in mine. You’ll be with me wherever I go, and whatever I do. Sitting there, on my shoulder (in my head), next to Captain Paranoia, and the little angel and devil who argue with me about what I should be doing in any given situation. (Incidentally, you were the one thing that they’ve ever agreed on.)
I have no doubts that when you can, you’ll reach out to me across the ether, and that when next we meet, whenever that may be, the separation will not have done anything to change the status quo between us. I know this. And like I told you last night, I’ll wait. I can’t promise to do so patiently, because lord knows, I’m not a patient person. Realistic, yes. Patient? Eh… Just make sure you take good care of yourself, and that you’re in one piece in three weeks. I have plans to utilise all of that one piece in ways that would make a Rabbi blush.