“I know I said we were coming in to talk, but I honestly can’t think of anything to talk about.
It’s like everything that needs to be said between us has already been said before, if you know what I mean,” Greg said, his tone heavy with feeling.
“Yeah, I do,” I agreed quietly, and then felt my breath catch in my throat as Greg moved closer and pulling me up from the couch where I had taken a seat, took me in his arms.
“Let’s not talk, then,” he whispered against my cheek, before his lips moved from my cheek to find my own.
I did not try to pull away from him, even though I knew I should, and instead surrendered completely to him. Before I knew it, his hands had slipped beneath my top and as they unclasped my bra, I began to feverishly undo the buttons on his shirt, my unbridled hunger for him making itself known. Clearly taking my active participation as an invitation to carry on with what he had started, Greg pulled away just long enough to suggest that we relocate to the bedroom, a suggestion that I eagerly agreed with.
As we tumbled onto the bed, and struggled out of our clothes, Greg propped on one elbow above me, paused once more: “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked while looking searchingly into my eyes. Not wanting to use words, I answered his question, by gently taking his face between my palms, and pulling it down towards my own. There were no further questions.
In the past, Greg and I had had a wide scope of varied sexual experiences some of them rushed physical releases, others, gently-drawn-out bonding sessions, but this time round we came together in a manner that seemed to reflect a feverish desperation to find what we had once had, and this time round, hang onto it, and not let it slip away.
Needless to say, it was a fruitless effort. As we both knew, there was too much water under our bridge, too many dashed hopes, and too many regrets over decisions made, for us to be able to hold onto the past beauty of our relationship that we had once again briefly experienced as our bodies became one.
Now, laying spent side by side, Greg pulled me close to him, and as I lay with my head on his chest, he silently ran his fingers through my hair. Like teammates that had just lost a match to a formidable opponent, we were now bonded by a common pain, and I soon felt silent tears begin to trickle down my cheeks at the affirmed loss.
As my tears slid onto his chest, he moved his fingers from my hair, and used a thumb to wipe some away from my cheek. There was no need for him to ask why I wept, for he already knew the answer to that. Instead, he gently eased his arm out from beneath me, and climbed out of the bed with a gruff “I’m going to take a shower” either to escape from the sight of my pain, or to deal with his own in private. Maybe it was a combination of the two.
When he emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, Greg was surprised to find me dressed and ready to go, as I’d normally have headed to the bathroom for a quick shower as well. This time round though, silly as it may sound, I did not want to wash off the traces of him just yet.
I was pretty certain that we were not going to be repeating what had just happened between us any time soon, if at all, and so I wanted to cling to the feel of him for as long as I could.
Source : The Observer