The Parting Thought

I think about how fate and time and stars have conspired against us, against our pursuit of pleasure and the comfortable embrace of our company. I think about time wasted, the days when all that mattered was the arc of the sun through the sky and we had all day to get lost and make love and just be lovers in the shade of trees.
How they were wasted!
The past invites me to wallow in the lost chances, yet we are not supposed to look back. In that conceit, the wishful thinking, we invite disaster, we ask for fire from heaven to consume our future, we beg for the prison of salt pillars.
The scalding heat to sear old wounds.
But I do look back, I do regret the wasted moments, the lost kisses, the missed opportunities to embrace. I accept the salt in the wounds with grim determination and the fire in the sky does nothing to dissuade me. I want only to return to them, to surrender to days long since passed.
I am vexed that I failed to seize moments that I could have used to get you wet and heated, chest heaving, heart racing, blood pulsing, the feel of my passion, throbbing and filling.
I miss the sweet seductive feel of your lips dancing against mine.
My world cries out for decadent treasures lost to me. Things I surrendered all too easily in my innocence.
That innocence is sin to me now and I hate the thought of it.
But my sin of arrogance is worse. This illusion that I can somehow revive the old fires, resurrect the old passions and unite two souls that have grown distant in the mean seasons is the result of the madness of a fever, a brief spell of insanity that I have fallen victim to.
The fractured soul that lies within knows this is folly.
Yet I savor those memories.
Damn me if you must, I no longer care. I savor them.
I close my eyes and rest my weary head and fall away to those idle segments, the intimate moments when the clothes struggled to stay on, when we fought against the urges to lose ourselves in the heat of the moment and ultimately lost.
I long to hear you beg me to come to you.
To feel your legs part, the soft skin, the muscles of your thighs, the heat rising from your sex. I miss the look in your eyes, pupils wide open, unfocused and yet seeing right through me. I crave the feeling of your wet, wanting lips parting for me.
At times we played both teacher and student and this, the education of lovers, was what cemented our bonds.
It was what united us in the beginning.
Do you remember the silky glide, the wanton thrusts and muffled cries in the dark of the night when our school was in session? The lessons of passion played out in a tangle of limbs and lips and warm flimsy fabrics caressing our bodies haunt me. Remember that first night, the way the shadow played across your face as I pulled the cotton panties free?
Where you surprised that I was so bold?
Where you scared to be naked and wanting me?
When my head bent to taste you, when my tongue licked at your pearl, what went through your mind? What went through your body?
Did time slow down in that moment or is that just my wishful thinking?
When we joined that first time, were your ready for me? Did your body cry out for me? I remember the feeling of the sheath slipped on. The way my heart pounded in my chest as I lay down with you. I wanted you to feel the weight of my desire, the strength of my body, to feel the heat of my skin as I penetrated you.
I watched you.
I know that it’s impolite to do so but I must confess that I did.
I fed the guilty pleasure of watching the expression of your face change.
I watched your eyes close and your head fall back as you felt me slide in, the heat all encompassing, your heartbeat in the wet folds. I listened to the soft moan escape as I buried myself within you. I could feel the world fall into rhythm with my movements. I wanted to give you the strong, sure strokes of a man, of a confident lover; one well versed in the pleasure of a woman, as one knowing the intimate delights your body offered me.
I wanted you to feel me deep within you, to feel my excitement grow, to feel my desire swell and press against the tight hot confines of your body. I remember your arms around my neck, the strength of your embrace a surprise, the sinewy strength in your arms revealed only in the throes of our union. I remember the way we were sealed off in the night from the rest of the world and how you were holding me tightly as your breath became unsteady.
I felt your legs open wider, the subtle way your body begged me deeper.
And I wanted that.
I wanted to be deeper.
I wanted your legs to wrap around me, to hold me in place as I stroked and pushed, our kisses feverish and passionate.
I felt you orgasm. I was able to discern the hints and clues that preceded it. I felt its silent approach, the tremors of the coming dawn. My body could sense it, feel its crazed fire. I felt your body shudder suddenly. I marveled at your moans and the crush of your embrace, the halting breaths that stopped and started and stopped again. I felt my body race to join you in that moment, to meet you in the explosion of passion released. I wish that I could feel the intensity of those first magical tremors. That initial union that bound us together.
I savored the weary collapse of lovers satisfied.
I wanted more.
I wanted to give you more.
In that regard my arrogance was well earned. I remember the timid lover I once was, the cautious, callow youth with no idea what waited for him on the other side of the adventure. I remember the fumble of fingers on clasps and the clumsy crash of desperate kisses in my inexperience.
But that was a lifetime ago.
I have since become more.
I have become pure flesh and bone, man and lover, a perfectionist, a sensualist of the highest order. But even now it isn’t enough. Even now, the memories are fading like the sun sinking below the horizon and I scramble to cling to them in the dim light.
But we fight against the setting sun. We fight against the very path of our lives.
We fight fate itself.
Are we greedy for wanting more?
Most assuredly.
Maybe we are supposed to be happy with what we had.
But it doesn't quench the thirst does it? It doesn't sate the hunger.
I must have you again.
I must have you in the morning sun of my younger days and not merely settle for this hollow facsimile of a life barely lived.
I want to taste your wet folds. I want to hold your pearl hostage with my lips and make you beg for me. I want to feel the delicious slide of me into you.
This is pure torture for me because I know the deck is stacked against us and part of me realizes that we were fortunate to have received the gift of what we once had, so very fortunate.
And I have done nothing extraordinary to earn this lasting ecstasy.
There is no nobility in me to merit the prolonged beauty of sunsets and lovemaking under the open sky. How I wish that were not so. For all my tenacity and strength I feel helpless. I know that we may never get another moment like the ones we shared.
Perhaps we had our moment and it is passed. Maybe we are wrong for wanting more. But then again, maybe the stars will align one more time. Maybe fate's attention will fall elsewhere for one brief moment and we will find ourselves alone and hot and naked in the real embrace of lovers.
I wonder about that when I see the stars at night.
I wonder and I remember.