" The greatest thing you'll ever learn is to love & to be loved in return." - Eden Ahbez"

Love was indisputably an art — there was an art to loving , being loved , and falling in love. An art and a lesson. Falling in love was slow, no matter how "fast" — one may fall in love, a slow build up. Like two lovers in bed — before getting straight to the "deed." It was walking on eggshells at first, cautious. It was testing the waters — dipping your toes in, before fully submerging yourself. It was trying to not be "overbearing," "pushy," "too much" — it was erasing paragraphs, to send minimal texts, like "okay," "I like you" , trying desperately not to say the other "L" word, because it's "too soon," — then trying to define what was "too soon" : one ? two ? four months ? It was trying to not be "clingy," or "annoying" or "desperate," to being inseparable. It's wishing it were possible to turn off your emotions or not being so sensitive — to be capable of matching energy or falling back or being "heartless" — whilst telling yourself it's completely okay to be sensitive, to love hard and in a world which tries its hardest to make us ice-cold, it's an admirable quality to remain warm and full of love. To wearing his T-shirts and not caring if you wear your heart on your sleeves, to moving in with him entirely, to arguing, to not wanting to leave, even on days when you can't find a reason to stay. Love was doubtlessly a slow , yet sure proliferation. Like a rollercoaster ride — at first it was slow , absolutely "nothing" to be sacred of, then it goes a bit faster — & you mentally prepare yourself, bracing yourself, but you can never be too prepared — & it goes unbelievably fast — in circles and you don't know whether you want it to stop or continue , whether you want to get off expeditiously or go again & again !

It was open mouths/screams, untamed, frizzy hair — a battle lost with the wind, racing hearts and unsettled stomachs — and little to no regrets, "we have to go again!" It was us — laying there, analyzing beauty spots and moles and for you freckles and scars and playing connect the dots/guess the constellation — you knew I had a thing for stars and the universe. Your fingers would trace over my body — ever so gently , like it did over my lips, as you stared. Oh so focused, contemplating, should you ? Your mouth opening and closing — as you'd battle with your head, with your thoughts — "please just kiss me," — I'd think, praying and hoping I don't think out loud- a habit of mine, but, "I want you to." Eyes closed, lips slightly parted and us moving closer and closer — until our lips meet and move in sync — perfectly molded, as though we belonged together — as though it was written in the stars, almost inevitable and my hands find their way in your tousled hair and yours rest on the side of my face — while the other sits on the small of my back, holding me, pulling me closer, until there's no space left nor air — & neither of us complain, because who needs to breathe — when your reason for breathing is right there in front of you, then we pull a part — because we're sadly human. Then your lips find your way to my neck , then my breast and so do your hands — as your thumb run over my nipple — before you know it we're there — the build up , maybe not the climax — not yet, but the part where I need you — I. need. you. Then I position you carefully inside & slowly , sit on your hard dick. My arms wrapping around your neck & me bouncing up & down— moans slipping from my lips. Then you taking full control — bending me over, while I close my eyes tightly , preparing for you — preparing to take all of you. But I told you, you can never be too prepared and my eyes will fly open as you thrust into me , while something between a whimper & a loud moan will fall involuntarily from my lips & my head will fall back, while my lips hope to find your lips & it will. As you have me , your hand falling from cupping my breasts & instead grip my hair. Then you'll slip your dick out & I won't be able to help the moan that slips out of my mouth or the "please" as I beg for more of you — while your fingers slip into me — toying with me and me unable to say anything. Every sentence I'll attempt to string together — coming out into moans & sounds that resembled words , slightly — maybe their third cousins or something a long those lines.  You teasing.

" Not yet baby." You'll coo.

& without warning you'll slam into me once again. Our body's slippery — but you'll still manage to hold me firmly , slipping in & out — slow strokes mixed with fast — hard , sloppy strokes & me not being able to help myself as I cum all over your dick. This will enrage you.

" I said not yet baby. " You'll growl , fucking me harder and I'll cry— as your nail digs into my waist. Tears of pain , pleasure & lust/love.

Then you'll cum and I'll laugh to myself at how shy we were at first, as though we never knew what was going to happen. Quite similarly to the very beginning when you worry yourself sick— not wanting to be clingy, battling yourself with whether or not you should double text or send the first message of the day — then months later unashamedly send the tenth texts within half an hour.

To present day — me reminiscing on days like those when you loved me and fucked me and loved to fuck me and you'll compare love and loving them to rollercoaster rides and no matter how scared or how much you wish to come off— you listen desperately to a little part of you begging, "let's go again." Telling you that you don't want to get off this rollercoaster ride and you listen, you buy a limitless ticket to the ride and well you ... ride.

I looked at the invitations— hot off the press, examining them — every detail, going over the color scheme of the wedding in my head and what color envelopes we had settled on. The clear plaque in my hand — was the idyllic size and the gold lettering on it was visible — despite my many worries. I sighed in relief — just a hundred & ninety-nine more to go. I smiled — not at the fact that I'd have to sit at the printer designing a 199 more invitations or the fact that I could've hired someone else to — but the fact that I was going to be your wife. The machine made a noise & I jumped out of my thoughts — I hadn't realized I'd started it again or that I'd have to wait another hour or two or three for the finish product. I got up & made my way to the kitchen — memories flooding back to me, memories of you & I & the many nights you had me — right here , in this here kitchen. It was a late night — you had a business meeting, there were many nights like that, but you knew how lonely I had been — because weeks on end, you travelled to different states and countries, while I wrote & drew & planned our wedding on end.  I had made my way into the kitchen to grab the bottle of wine that I had left on the counter, to refill my almost empty glass. The door opened & you were there, five minutes early— but here & I smiled internally. You walked over to your study & put down your briefcase & joined me in the kitchen — I put down the glass as you kissed my lips— then my neck, your hands moving up & down my waist till they slipped behind cupping my ass & you lift me up — placing me on the counter, my legs parted & you came in between— your lips never daring to leave mine & I didn't wish for them to— what I did wish for was for you to have me here — right here. I was only wearing one of your button down shirts I assumed you no longer wore & you liked it — the way you looked at me. How your eyes filled with lust & your pink lips looked even pinker — plumper & your jaw seemed sharper as you sucked in for air — did I make you breathless ? & a moan fell from my lips as you sucked on my neck & I gripped your shirt — then fumbled to loosen the buttons, accidentally breaking a few. I'd replace it— even though you probably don't need it , but for you ? I would.

My shirt— well yours was off & you looked down at me like you wanted to devour me — & I wished so desperately to tell you how much I had missed this. How much I had missed you.

I didn't know when I had gotten off the counter — but I remembered ever so clearly being bent over , crying as I took all of you in me.

Jesus, you felt so good.

Your fingers dug into my hips & though it slightly hurt, I couldn't help the moans that left my mouth instead & my whimpers as I begged for more— of you. I rocked my hips back against you , enjoying the sensation — enjoying this moment. My bun falling out of place & my curls had now covered my face. And I didn't care — not one bit.

You groaned, pulling my hair until I was— until my neck was fully arched back & you kissed me, then my neck. " You like that don't you?" you whispered into my ear & if I wasn't turned on already, I only got wetter.

I moaned. Did that answer your question? I do.

" You do, don't you." You fucked me harder & I whimpered.

"Mmm-hmm. Yes." The yes wasn't clear — but it was something, hopefully you understood.

I bit my lips as I tried to bear all of you in me all at once, my hips rocking, grinding on you, while you pressed a kiss on my neck— finally letting go of my hair & instead replaced it with my breast — forming circles with my nipple— teasing me & your other hand moved to where the wetness was coming from. Your pace went from short and hard, having me begging & screaming, " Oh yes, like that. Please. God!" Then you picked up your pace, your long, thick dick, pushing & pulling from me till I was no longer thinking about the wine that I had knocked over or the shards that i'd have to pick up after. Just you — you pulling out slowly, to tease me & then slamming back in, hard, to drive me insane. Your thumb — flicked & pinched my nipple & I cried out in pleasure & maybe pain — as I felt a pressure in between my thighs— dampness in between them & I could swear I was going to combust. I was about to cum — again. You too, I felt you — heard you as you groaned & moaned in my ear — coming inside of me. I moaned lowly.

"Wow." I tried to remember how to breathe. Honestly? It seemed impossible.

You finally pulled out, tossing the condom in the trash can near us— then you kissed me & again & again. I held your hand — leading you to our bedroom. I dropped down beside you on the comforter & you pulled me closer , fingers running up & down my waist , rubbing on my ass— till you fell asleep & well so did I, in your arms.

On nights like these — I remembered nights like those and how desperately I wanted you — I want you. But nights like those kept me hopeful — that maybe you'd come home five minutes earlier & fuck me on our kitchen counter — while I spill my glass of wine and remain not even be the slightest bit mad/phased about it. Nights like those — reminded me why I said yes and why I didn't mind waiting an hour or two or three or four — for the most perfect invitation— for OUR wedding and reminded me — why I wanted you , why I needed you & nobody else.

~*~

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