When Tom came on Thursday evening and I opened the door and saw him, it all seemed slightly unreal. I embraced him and we entered the flat and talked to each other. Here was this person, this living man standing in front of me. My boyfriend (still weird to say). Who had kissed me and shared so much of himself with me only days before. Everything that had happened was so out of the ordinary for me that it was really hard to believe it had truly happened to me, and happened with him.
I told Tom about it a little later, but thought it sounded pretty crazy, so I tried to find different words to make him understand that I could in fact tell reality from dreams.

I had prepared dinner and he surprised me by bringing a small cake, with a heart-shaped biscuit on top. He is so sweet and thoughtful! I wanted to kiss him again and playfully told him that I had read that one couldn’t catch a cold from kissing. He replied that he knew that and anyway, it would be the nicest way to catch a cold and he would risk it, but I said to wait until after dinner, as I didn’t want him to starve (on Sunday, he’d said he couldn’t eat much after kissing me because of the adrenalin.) We weren’t hungry yet, so we went into the living room and Tom sat on the chaise longue and I on the foot of the bed. He said he still had cold hands from the cold outside, so I said I’d warm them and took his hands in mine and held and caressed them. I told him that I had been reading my old journal entries and how his beautiful hands had caught my eye on the first date. After some time I went and sat next to him. We leaned our foreheads and faces together, savouring the closeness, holding hands. At first nobody spoke and then I asked him tentatively whether he had not felt lonely all those years without a girlfriend. He said sometimes, but that he had kept busy with work and his studies. That he hadn’t been actively looking for love, because in his opinion it just had to ‘fit’, no use trying too hard. He asked me the same and I said there had been phases, and told him about the ‘new feeling’ I experienced last year and how I had learned very much since then. He told me a little about watching people at work, and how it amazed him that many women apparently fell for rude, primitive behaviour while saying they wanted an intelligent and caring partner. I wouldn’t know, I never go anywhere and my only two friends don’t do that. We also came to the topic of death and how fast it can all be over. I asked him whether he was afraid of dying. I think this is an important question, since it influences how we live our lives. He said he tried not to think about death at all. I told him I wasn’t afraid of death (only pain and horror), that I was even curious, and how this realisation had freed me long ago. I think he was surprised and I got the feeling that he really likes that I think about things. It made me feel special. We both agreed that we loved the fact that we could talk with each other about such topics. Tom said he can’t talk like that with his friends, or maybe only with one of them. And I remember writing months ago that I wanted a partner who could follow my ideas.

By then his hands were warm again and we went into the kitchen to make dinner. I wore the apron this time and Tom cut the potatoes with my big knife, to which he wasn’t used. I had prepared some squash to bake as well, and chicken breasts wrapped in bacon. Tom wasn’t familiar with Thyme, so I made him smell the bush on the balcony. He already knows where the cutlery is. Is it silly that such a tiny thing makes me feel giddy with happiness? I can’t really cook well, but apparently better than Tom. He liked the meal and afterwards we ate some of the delicious cake he had brought. I gave him the heart, and afterwards he helped me clear the kitchen. We agreed to meet again on Saturday and make pizza together and finish the cake.

I didn’t know what we were going to do, and thought maybe we would watch another film, but Gina was lying on my bed when we entered the room and we watched her for some time, I stroked her a little and told Tom about her and he tried to approach her. Then we sat down side by side on the chaise longue again and our hands met and we embraced and then kissed. And kissed again. I stopped trying to count our kisses pretty soon and just focused on truly feeling them. I think I’m getting better at kissing. Tom had his arms around me and held me against him, and then put his arm around my neck. I let myself breathe more deeply and once made a sound and I think he pulled back a little and said something encouraging like ‘hey, great’. When we made involuntary kissing sounds, I always had to laugh. It is just something that never entered my mind before when I imagined kissing; it was always silent. We held each other close and it was getting a little uncomfortable, as I had to hold myself up with one arm. So I suggested displacing the cat and we sat down on the bed, side by side again, and a little later moved up higher so we could lie down. The logistics of two people wanting to hold each other lying down are more complex than I imagined, but we found a position with Tom’s arm under my neck, lying half on our sides. We kissed again and Tom held me very close to him. Oh, the sweetness! I had always longed for and often imagined this. He was so warm, and so affectionate. I stroked his face and head, his arms, and we kissed again, embraced again, kissed again. Tom whispered how nice it felt, and that he cared for me so much, and I whispered yes, and his name. I love saying his name. It isn’t really Tom. Tom is a stupid name, why did I choose it? I am not sure about the exact sequence of events, but it isn’t important. We had breaks between kisses when we exchanged caresses; he stroked my hand, interlaced our fingers, and I held his hand close to my heart. I stroked his lower arm, his neck, his back. I kissed his fingers and he traced my mouth with a feather-light touch and whispered that I had beautiful lips. I had to smile and almost said, ‘I agree.’ Because I really think of my lips as one of my beauties. And it was lovely to feel that he saw that. I wish he would love my fingers and neck as much as I do, too. But I held back and thanked him instead and whispered on impulse, ‘they’re yours’, which made him kiss me again. Some time around then, he told me I was wonderful and I whispered his name again.
If I had been alone – well, you can’t be alone in such a situation, but you know what I mean – I would have been pretty quiet. Just savouring and processing all that happened. But I consciously (mostly) accentuated my reactions to what Tom was doing. Letting him know when he surprised me or I especially liked something. I somehow don’t like telling him explicitly. If he doesn’t react or doesn’t understand what I want to tell him after some time, I can still be more explicit. For now, it’s lovely to discover each other slowly, bit by bit. We both grew bolder. Our hands stayed strictly above the waist, for which I was grateful. Once I suddenly felt dizzy. Maybe I am more sensitive than I thought.
Then my ‘go to sleep’ alarm sounded on my phone in the hall and we slowly came back to reality and noticed that it was getting late. We must have spent hours like this! No need for films or entertainment… None of us wanted to get up, but we let our heartbeats slow down and our caresses became slow and lazy and even more loving than before. I stroked his eyelids, his lips, his dear face, and he caressed my hands again, and my ribs and the top of my head. All this time, we didn’t open one button from our clothes, and I was glad about it as soon as I had calmed down a little. I want everything, in time, but have noticed clearly that I need time.

I tried to check in with myself now that some of the channels were no longer busy. I didn’t regret anything we had done, and Tom had never pushed me and always made me feel loved and cherished. I was incredibly happy and feeling so much love. And yet there was this slight sadness underneath it all. I wanted to let Tom know about it, because I didn’t want to be left alone with it, but it was hard finding words for what I was feeling. It was a slight feeling of shame and guilt and loss. Loss of innocence, of that power and freedom, that ‘purity’. Shame at having admitted desire and having shared passion, even just a little, and guilt because some weird little part of me seems to think it was wrong, or wrong for me to do it. I don’t know where this comes from, since I wasn’t brought up like that. The topic was almost never mentioned at home, that is all. But I have long been ok with the fact that I do feel desire and that it is natural and human, and have recently decided that I am ready to share it with somebody. This is Tom, who loves and respects me and knows how inexperienced I am. It is ok. But my emotions told a different story. Just hours before, I had told myself that I would not abandon myself this time, but acknowledge how I really felt even if I thought I was wrong. So I told him I was feeling a little strange and ambivalent. That I was mourning my innocence, even though it was wonderful with him. I tried to explain to him how special this untouched-ness had seemed to me. He was tender and understanding and not hurt or anything, and told me it was part of growing up. ‘Turning from Artemis into Aphrodite,’ he added, because he studies ancient Greek and always thinks along those lines. I agreed with him and added that it was also part of becoming a real human being, not just a blank page, and that I wanted that and was ready, but couldn’t help feeling as I did. And he said that was unusual, since many women apparently couldn’t wait to ‘get rid of’ their inexperience. And I quoted Milton, because it just came into my mind in that second: ‘Innocence, once lost, can never be regained. Darkness, once gazed upon,
can never be lost.’ Maybe I am unusual, but I actually like this about myself. Not sure why.

We kissed again a few times, with a little more passion, but then Tom said he would go home and let me get some sleep because it was late, and we would meet again on Saturday. ‘I’ll stay longer then,’ he said, ‘and I won’t consider your sleep. But you decide the tempo.’ I said ok, but made it clear that I actually wanted him to show a little more initiative, and that I would stop him. When he was gone, I did not have an immediate desperate urge to eat. I didn’t feel hungry at all. That is a good sign and means I did not abandon myself this time. I went to bed thinking of Tom and fell asleep. At five o’clock this morning, my brain woke me up and I lay there thinking about everything from last night, alternately smiling and blushing. And today, I can’t concentrate and can’t wait to see Tom again and be close to him again. It really is like an addiction, like all the articles I read say. But he is feeling the same, which makes me feel more normal. He even wrote that he could still feel my kisses on his lips the next day, just like me.

About annalienor

Lover of beauty, adult ballet student, deliberate creator wannabe.
This entry was posted in Love, Milestone, Moment and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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