It was unreal. I’d constantly pinch my thigh to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
My thighs — he loves my thighs. I’ve always found my thighs the ugliest, after my nose. Such a narrow (relatively) waistline, that goes down to form the broadest hip bones and even fatter thighs — oozing with cellulite. Disgusting.
But he doesn’t think so. He thinks I’m beautiful. He tells me often. I see it in his eyes when he stares, I feel it in his touch when his bare hands hold the small of my back, and I hear it in his voice when he sings for me.
And there he was, sitting inches away from me, teasing my lips with his. My dream guy. The one I’d waited all my life for. The love I never thought I’d get to experience. The love, that at one point, I was convinced did not exist.
It’s funny how all it takes is one person to completely throw you off balance and make a perfectly sane life seem absolutely crazy; or maybe, in my case, a perfectly crazy life, absolutely sane.
My fingers fit so easily between his.
Lying in bed, entangled, we were like two adjacent pieces in a puzzle. His smell, all over me, and mine, all over him; his warmth filing up my insides, spread throughout — and my soul smiled.
We were approaching the end of our magical weekend, his city calling him back, demanding of us both, the journey of a cruel distance. I’d have to wait a whole month to see him again — to taste his smoky lips, to feel his warm breath, all over — to run my fingers through his dreamy hair.
“I want you to try on my shirts, choose the one you like most and keep it.”
“I’d like that. I want to remember your smell. I need to. I don’t ever want to forget.”
So I tried them on, all three — and I chose.
A military green t-shirt, that smelled just like him: smoky, faintly musky, and laced with a soft sweetness that I associated with his bare chest and soft earlobes. It draped perfectly on me, hanging lightly off my shoulders — as if he was there, running his palms along them and around my waist, as if he was there, slowly tracing my curves with his fingertips. The print on the front had an ape holding up a gun, and below that it read, The Ape Convoy.
We were kissing, passionately, lying down, and hands all over each other — oblivious to the world. I pulled back and giggled. He grinned and we laughed, for perhaps a minute, but one that seemed to outdo itself — and then we were back at it, or so we hoped – for I did it again!
We’re laughing now, heartily, heads thrown back.
“You have to stop baby! Because I can’t, unless you do”, I beg.
But he won’t listen. He can’t help it, and neither can I. Smoking up wasn’t the best idea after all.
His deep laughter, accompanied with my high pitched, quirky, gasping for breath kind, formed the most beautiful melody that still lingers on in my head. A melody that wouldn’t stop, till our sides began to hurt and our sanity came into question.
He tightly gripped my waist, kissed my smiling lips and whispered on them, “I love you”
And in that moment, I swear, we were infinite.