Here, There and Everywhere

Posts tagged ‘loving’

Writing “Real” Sex

I enjoy writing about “real” sexual and sensual experiences, and including them in my fiction. Some of it is imagined, or fantasized, but most of my scenes are from personal experience. This isn’t true for all writers of erotica and romance. Many will include scenes and situations that are unbelievable or, literally, out of this world. This kind of sex writing is not better or worse than using, or exploring, “real” sexual situations, just different.

Setting, relationship, and feeling are vital ingredients in my erotic world. There’s nothing wrong with throwing in “pussy” “fuck” “lick” “suck” or similar words into a scene, but to do so without context tends to have them fall flat on their face, or someone else’s. Sometimes you just want to fuck, or read about a good fuck, without any emotion, romance, or preamble, but minus some setup or story, it ends up looking like a glut of sexualized words and actions randomly thrown onto the bed. The heat is missing.

Here is an example of intimate sensual sex from my erotic romance Loving Annalise.

41jh2yi72qlHis soft fingertips lightly scratched the skin as they moved towards the base of my spine, lighting a torch that licked my groin from the inside out, filling my body with the heat of the sun. As my legs wrapped him tightly into my cocoon, I heard a voice rise from my gut, screaming, “Tomas! Tomas!” My body shook and jerked on the wet sheet with gale-force winds, as my muscles contracted from my toes to the crown of my head. The candles danced, and my back arched towards an invisible force. I was conscious of nothing and everything; bathing in a river of sex, I swam in its smell, sight, sound, taste and touch.

I invite you to read Loving Annalise, if you enjoy realistic erotic fiction.

 

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Favorite Literary Sex Scenes

Some of my favorite sex scenes in literature.

The Pink Blanket

I have been entranced with the novel Ebba and the Green Dresses of Olivia Gomez in a Time of Conflict and War by Joan Tewkesbury since it was released. The story is a literary wonderland of love, hate, darkness and hope and is steeped in the spices and flavors of Latin American magic realism. This is Ms. Tewkesbury’s first novel, though she is well known for her screenwriting (Nashville, etc.), directing and acting.

Among the many delectable and delicious delights that are embedded in this story, are her loving sex scenes between husband and wife Bernardo and Hortence Grace. They flow seamlessly and beautifully into the narrative and are not only believable but palpable. Here are some savory examples.

“Hortense Grace stirred in her sleep and turned over, opened in her sleep for Bernardo who slid into her darkness, her well, her reservoir and they made love in semiconscious cascades. They were one over and over so many times before they drifted into sleep, deeply asleep, a sleep so deep they had no memory of how well they had known each other in the night.”

“Finally, when they were sure Rebecca and Tobia had fallen asleep, Hortense Grace and Bernardo pulled out the pink blanket, the one that Ariel had been conceived on, and unfurled it in the garden. Then they took off all their clothes and made love under the stars and the moon, accidentally rolling off the blanket onto the ground as they pounded into each other’s flesh over and over and fell asleep in a bed of wild sweet peas. Just before dawn they woke up covered in mud and started to laugh. Then they turned on the hose and wdashed each other off, let the water flood them as they slammed into each other one last time before running into the house to make coffee which they took outside and drank as the sun crept up over the morning glory covered wall.”

The beauty of these examples are the respect and intimacy that are shared between the characters. Though I enjoy explicit descriptions of sex (when they are in context), the scenes in this novel have much more impact, because of the development of the story and protagonists. It is raw, real and relative and resonates with experiences of loving consensual and joyous sexuality. That is why I’ve chosen sex scenes from this literary mistresspiece as some of my favorite of all time and encourage readers to pick up this novel and see for themselves.

Read more of Ebba and the Green Dresses of Olivia Gomez in a Time of Conflict and War at Amazon.

A Circle of Love

images17Communion: The Female Search for Love by Bell Hooks.

One of my favorite passages from one of my favorite books.

Witness to Love

Women and men, girls and boys, must restructure how we spend our time if we want to be loving. We cannot be overachievers and perfectionist performers from kindergarten on in our public lives (the world of school and work) if we are to learn how to love, if we want to practice the art of loving. Genuine love requires time and commitment. And this is simply the case for love in the context of partnership. Self-love takes times and commitment, particularly on the part of those who are wounded in the space where we would know love in our childhoods. New women today, the late-twenties and thirty-something crew, are as reluctant as their patriarchal male counterparts to make time for love. Wise aging women know that one of the keenest regrets a large number of females experience in their lives is failure to understand early the power and meaning of love. Not only would that knowledge have afforded an understanding that would have prevented them from ending up emotionally abused and battered, it would have ushered true love in to their lives sooner rather than later.

My hope for younger generations of women is that they will examine the unfulfilled spaces of their lives soon and boldly, unabashedly choosing to do the work of love, placing it above everything. Again and again it must be stated that when I talk about doing the work of love, I am not talking simply about partnerships; I am talking about the work of self-love in conjunction with the work of relational love. Visionary feminist thinkers were among the first group of people to call attention to the disservice we women do to ourselves when we act as though it were important only to find the right partner, someone to love, rather than to choose a circle of love. When we place emphasis on building a beloved community, of which having a partner may be an essential part but not the whole, we free ourselves to lead joyous lives as single folks, (in or out of partnership with another).

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Bell Hooks and Love

searchCommunion: The Female Search for Love by Bell Hooks (Harper Collins Publishers, 2002)

Excerpt from Chapter One – Aging to Love, Loving to Age.

Women are often more interested in being loved than in the act of loving. All too often the female search for love is epitomized by this desire, not by a desire to know how to love. Until we are able to acknowledge that women fail at loving because we are no more schooled in the art of loving than are our male counterparts, we will not find love. If the female obsession with love in patriarchal culture were linked from birth on to the practice of love, then women would be experts in the art of loving. And as a consequence, since women do most of the parenting in our nation, children would be more loving. If women excelled in the art of loving, these skills would be imparted to male and female children alike.

As long as our culture devalues love, women will remain no more able to love than our male counterparts are. In patriarchal culture, giving care continues to be seen as primarily a female task. The feminist movement did not change this perception. And while women more than men are often great caregivers, this does not translate into knowing how to be loving. Love is a combination of care, commitment, knowledge, responsibility, respect, and trust. Socialized in the art of caring, it is easier for women who desire to love to learn the necessary skills to practice love. And yet women have not chosen to give themselves whole-heartedly over to the art of loving. As long as being loved is seen as a gesture of weakness, one that dis-empowers, women will remain afraid to love fully, deeply, completely. Women will continue to fail at love, because this failure places females on an equal footing with males who turn away from love. Women who fail at loving need not be disappointed that the men in their lives – fathers, siblings, friends, or lovers – do not give love. Women who learn to love represent the greatest threat to the patriarchal status quo. By failing to love, women make it clear that it is more vital to their existence to have the approval and support of men than it is to love.

Lesbian Tips for Men

images-1Wake up my testosterone engorged brothers. Our estrogen dominant queer sisters have the inside scoop on pleasuring women. If you want to get off your tired stereotyped butt and really connect with a woman, listen up. They know whereof they speak and they say it loud and clear.

Melissa and Kayla kindly shared with me the real low down on gender, sex and relationships. Their advice is tempered from a lifetime of loving women. They blew the top off the usual paradigms and images males cling too and provided a choice, challenge and opportunity for men to approach women in a different light. Here are some of the juicy tips and wise suggestions they shared about how to truly love a woman and enrich your life.

DON’T BE CONFINED OR LIMITED BY SIGHT. Men get stuck in the visuals and only see tits and ass or some mountaintop to climb and reach its peak. Gender is more complex and fluid than that. It can be difficult for men to enjoy the whole picture and appreciate the in-between places, the different layers and textures of a woman. Women tend to be more process oriented and appreciate a man who sees more in them then a place to park their penis.

DON’T FOCUS ON “GETTING OFF”. The illusion that it’s hard for women to climax is bogus. She can come by herself anytime she chooses. When you’re together enjoy being together. LOVEMAKING IS AN EXCHANGE, not a pursuit.

STOP TREATING WOMEN’S NIPPLES LIKE A TARGET. They aren’t radio tuning knobs or buttons to be pushed. The nipple is one small part of the entire breast, which is connected to tissue across her chest and under her arm. Enjoy the whole thing. The same goes for the clitoris. It is contained and surrounded by an array of wonderful muscles, nerves and skin that extend outward and inward. Take it all in.

ENJOY THE SENSUALITY OF SEX. Enjoy moment to moment pleasure. Take time to love every inch of your partner. Let the tension build, then linger, play with it, experiment, bathe in the ebb and flow of energy. USE ALL YOUR SENSES of touch, smell, sight, sound and taste. Sex is a basic human need. It comes in a variety of flavors. Make it tasty. Make it fun.

TAKE YOUR GIRLFRIEND/WIFE/PARTNER/FRIEND TO AN EROTIC BOUTIQUE OR HAVE HER TAKE YOU. Get some toys, books, lingerie, videos, oils and/or vibrators. VIBRATORS AREN’T JUST FOR WOMEN. Men can receive just as much pleasure from a vibrator as a woman can.

BE WILLING TO HAVE ANYTHING YOU DO WITH HER DONE TO YOU. That’s right, anything. If you want to have her kiss, lick and suck you everywhere, then do likewise. If you love kissing her breasts then let her lick and suck yours. If you want to come inside of her or have anal sex, be willing to have anal sex and be penetrated by her. Be willing to take what you give (but only when it is something you mutually wish to experience and is safe).

LISTENING TO YOUR PARTNER WHEN SHE SPEAKS AND GIVING HER ATTENTION IS LOVE. Eye contact and the courage to honestly reveal yourself emotionally and physically is love. When you risk being open and intimate you allow her to do likewise. Sex isn’t just jumping into bed and diving in; it’s sharing your feelings, thoughts, desires, fears, hopes and dreams. It’s being open to change and transformation. COMMUNICATE in bed (or on the floor, table, couch, chair, car or beach). THE BEST LOVERS ARE THOSE THAT TALK about sex, feelings, thoughts, experiences and desires.

MOST WOMEN ARE PHYSICALLY AND EMOTIONALLY IN FLUX. Instead of complaining about these changes, CELEBRATE THE UPS AND DOWNS, the curve balls and the unexpected. It makes life more adventuresome and unpredictable. Every day is a new day. Every time you make love is different. What a wonderful gift to be sexually reborn and see each other for the first time again and again.

CAST A SPELL. Create a nurturing, loving, sacred environment for you and your lady. Use it as a retreat, an inner journey and a safe sanctuary to explore and discover your erotic selves. Sex doesn’t take place in a sterile vacuum. Put it in context. Give it time, attention and meaning. Make an altar to your sexual union.

IT TAKES COURAGE TO BE INTIMATE and not let the privileges that heterosexual men are accustomed to in our society confine your life and define who you are. Our greatest fears are to allow another human being to look inside and see who we really are. Don’t just touch a woman’s body; touch her soul. Open the door and let her inside your heart as much as you want to be inside of her. ACKNOWLEDGE THE BEAUTY, WISDOM, SEXUALITY, POWER AND FREEDOM IN THE WOMAN YOU LOVE.

Spice It Up With Heart

Nothing spices up a relationship like romance. Whether you’ve been together ten days, months, years or decades, sharing your love and desire for your partner is the ultimate aphrodisiac. Everyone wants to be adored and appreciated. You don’t need a lot of time and money or a doctorate in sexology, to keep the sparks flying. Here are a few ways to re-vitalize, reawaken and jump start your partnership.

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Place flowers that are visually stimulating on the table and change them several times a week. Roses’, tulips, daisies, forget-me-nots, gladiolas, sunflowers, carnations and orchids are just some of the vast array of plant species that provide sensual images of curves, softness, rising, opening and merging.

Take a TO DO list to your office or place of work. On the list write down special, thoughtful things you are going to do for your partner every night when you get home from work. Help with the dishes, finances, dinner or childcare; massage their neck and shoulders; stop and get them a card or gift; pick up a movie they’ve been wanting to see; or just telling them how much they mean to you.

Get up early in the morning, while your love is still sleeping and make them breakfast or go out and buy breakfast. Serve them breakfast in bed, with accompanying flowers and coffee.

Ride bikes, run, walk and/or hike together in the woods, meadows, valleys or parks. Keeping fit maintains your health and increases the odds that you will live longer to enjoy one another’s companionship.

Allow time for each of you to be with friends and family separately. Friendships outside the relationship are vital. Nobody can be everything or fulfill all your emotional or creative needs. Give your partner the freedom to interact and connect with others. Talk with your partner about your friends and family; let them know about their ups and downs. Though your time with others can be special, don’t keep secrets.

Join a club, church or civic organization together. Get involved. Help your selves and your partnership, while helping others. Remember that your marriage is dependent on many factors, including family, friends and community. Your relationship doesn’t take place in a vacuum. Honor the connections and lend a hand.

Give your partner a massage, from head to toe or vice-a-versa. Apply hot towels and massage oil. Try different scents and oils until you find one you both enjoy. Take your time. Intimately explore every muscle, curve and crevasse. Ask if you’re applying too much or too little pressure. Trade giving and receiving massages if you have enough time or alternate evenings for one, than the other. A good massage can be as sensual and pleasurable as any sexual act, especially when it is given with attention and care.

If time alone was the main ingredient for a loving partnership, than everyone would be in bliss at a specific given moment, but the spice that really keeps the fire’s burning is attention and care. It is the time and attention that make the difference.

If you feel that you aren’t getting the same kind of thoughtfulness in return, talk about it, don’t let it slide or take it to bed. There is nothing wrong with conflict, as long as you learn how to work with it and accept your differences.

Take a pause from thinking about your self and help your partner with their coat; give them a hug and kiss before you leave and when you return; check in throughout the day and ask about how they’re feeling, what they’re thinking; become an emotional barometer that tunes into your love’s weather station.

Remember what brought you together and attracted you in the beginning. Think about your deepest intentions. What do you want from your relationship? If it is money or sex, it will never be enough; if it is security and safety, you will never feel completely safe and secure; if it is to love and be loved, there is a good chance you’ll find it. Whenever you forget why you’re together, return to your heart.

Angie’s Diary Loving Annalise

An Erotic European Romance By Gabriel Constans on Saturday, September 12, 2015. Angie’s Diary.

The morning sun opened our lust-covered eyes. Tomas pulled me near in my half-asleep state. The next thing I knew, we were engaged where we’d left off the night before. “Damn,” I exclaimed. “What a wonderful way to start the day!”
imagesAs I lingered in our pleasure, he threw on a robe and went into the kitchen to make breakfast. I stared at the outline of his behind, appreciating his graceful stride as he disappeared from view.

We’d spent months planning this honeymoon. The kids were with Mutti and Vater in Chicago for two weeks, and we’d rented the cabin in the beautiful Rockies three months in advance. It stood above a shimmering clear lake, about an hour and a half outside Boulder. The closest residence was a quarter-mile away, and we were well-stocked with every necessity. The most essential item we’d packed with care was our freedom—the freedom to explore our love without guilt or remorse. Our self-imposed exile was over.

The scents of fresh coffee, toast, and bacon, mixed with the sounds of pans, silverware, and clinking glass, drifted into the bedroom. I pictured Tomas, with a smile of contentment, squeezing fresh orange juice and setting a tray. His gentle humming, a rendition of an old English love song, mingled with the sounds and smells of the breakfast.

The sun’s rays shot through the window and reflected off my wedding ring. It had been Omi’s when she’d been married and her mother’s—my great-grandmother’s—before that. It was a small, simple diamond set in a silver band. The light reflected a thousand colors of the rainbow. I looked closer and was amazed by its brilliance.

Jens had been like that ring. He’d overwhelmed me with his worldliness and intelligence. But like a fake diamond, he soon lost his luster, and our love faded to a dull gray.

***

Loving Annalise An Erotic European Romance

The bike vibrated between my legs as my arms encircled Jens’ waist. I was scared, but also excited. The wind blew through my hair as we wound through country roads and back to the city, ending up at a party with Jens’ buddies. I was in the bathroom for half an hour combing out my snarled hair. When I emerged, they were drinking, smoking and talking about the World Cup and politics.

“Germany doesn’t have a chance against Brazil. Their forwards are too fast, and Germany’s defense can’t keep up,” said Jens’ friend Paul.

Jens shot back, “Speed isn’t everything, my friend. Germany has strength. They’ll wear them down. You wait and see.”

“Yeah, look where strength got them: almost annihilated!” replied Paul.

“Why do you always bring in politics?” questioned Jens. “World War II has nothing to do with soccer, you idiot. And even if it did, you’d be wrong there, too. Germany has rebuilt itself from the ground up and is one of the strongest economic powers in the world. And mark my word, someday the Wall’s going to fall, and they’ll be unstoppable.”

“You must be drunk,” snorted Paul. “The Wall’s never coming down. You and I will be dead before that ever happens. You think Khrushev is going to allow it? No way! Never! The U.S. doesn’t really want it to fall either. They’re scared to death of a united Germany. Who can blame them? It wasn’t that long ago that we were under their thumbs as well.”

“Paul, you have not only lost your mind, but your reasoning ability as well,” Jens grinned. “Who did you say was drunk?”

They laughed and raised their glasses. “Mark my words, NATO would love to see The Wall crumble, and by tomorrow night, you’ll see the new world champions of soccer celebrating in Berlin.”

The night went on. Everyone grew louder and more adamant about his position. I didn’t dare say a word. I was too afraid to open my mouth, and I didn’t have a clue about half of what they were discussing. I was happy to just be there and sit by “my man.”

Around one or two in the morning, we swerved back and forth to the hospital. Jens dropped me off by the maintenance entrance. I took off my shoes and snuck in like a burglar. Kristan was wide awake and insisted I tell her “everything.”

“There’s not much to tell,” I said. “We just drove around for a while and went to see a friend of his.”

Annoyed with my reluctance, Kristan exclaimed, “Not much to tell! Didn’t you even kiss him?”

“No, why would I?” I asked naively. “We just met.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

I told her I was tired and went to bed. I could tell she was annoyed with my answer and knew I’d kept a lot to myself. I pulled the cover up to my neck, felt my legs still vibrating from the bike, and thought about Jens. He must be the most wonderful creature on earth! He’s so smart and handsome! I’d die for him here and now.

Jens and I continued to escape the watchful eyes of my benefactors at least four to five times a month. We went to movies, concerts and parties and took long walks. Jens did most of the talking and usually decided where we’d go, but I was happier than I’d ever been. Part of me enjoyed being told what to do and being taken care of. As the oldest at home, I’d always been the responsible one. Now I was the youngest. Jens was seven years my senior. I didn’t need to make any decisions—he was my mentor. His presence in my life opened new vistas and possibilities.

Three months later, the inevitable question arose. When he asks me to sleep with him, will I? It wasn’t a difficult decision. I was sure he was the love of my life, and I had no reason to hold back. He’d suggested I start taking the pill a month earlier, when I’d turned eighteen. He’d obviously decided already. And since I’d taken him up on his suggestion, it wasn’t a matter of if, but when.

“When” happened on a cold, windy, Friday night, after we’d gone to see the movie Easy Rider starring Peter Fonda. Jens loved biker movies. I didn’t understand all the drug references or American slang, but the need to let loose and be carefree spoke to all cultures and languages.

After the movie, we went to Paul’s home and discovered that no one was there. I learned later that they had it all planned.

Jens was very sweet and restrained himself from attacking me the instant we walked in the door. I could see in his eyes that he was holding himself in check, waiting for me to “give in” and “let go.”

He kissed me hard, took off my sweater and shirt, but had trouble getting my pants down. I stopped him and did it myself. He took off his clothes. I’d never seen a grown man naked, let alone one this excited. I stifled a giggle, and we continued our play into the bedroom.

Kristan was right: it was awkward. All the sensations were new. It felt strange to have another person inside of me. But this wasn’t just anyone—it was Jens! I wanted to show him I was a real woman. I’d never felt so close to another human being.

That night I went home and didn’t whisper a word to Kristan; it was too personal. I associated sex with love and was sure we were moving down the yellow brick road to eternal wedded bliss, with adorable children following in rapid succession. My head hit the pillow with a contented sigh.

Two days later, Jens took me to a ritzy downtown eatery known as Pole-Nord. I entered with a waltz in my step and a glow in my heart. I’d borrowed a silver, shimmering, low-cut dress from Kristan and spent hours on my hair and makeup. My expectations and exuberance filled the room to capacity. I felt like Jacqueline Onassis; I could have dazzled kings and queens with my brilliance.

As we sat waiting to order, Jens asked how I was doing.

“Great. How do you think?” I winked.

“You look gorgeous,” he said, but without any spark.

“Thought you’d never notice.” I smiled coyly.

After a few more moments of my intoxicated admiration and fawning, he began to unravel.

“I’ve got to tell you something,” he hinted.

“Yes…,” I stated with intimate glee.

“I’m not sure how,” he hesitated.

Here it comes, I thought. It must be hard to propose. I couldn’t wait much longer or I’d burst.

He moved his napkin on and off his lap several times, took a deep breath, and continued. “Well, there’s no easy way to do this.”

“What is it, Jens?” I asked with a shy grin, knowing all the while.

“It’s tearing me up.” He lowered his gaze and his voice.

A flicker of doubt crossed my mind. “What’s tearing you up?”

How could asking me to marry him be tearing him up?

“She doesn’t mean a thing,” he blurted.

I physically recoiled like a gun.

“What?” I mumbled. “She?”

“I was only eighteen,” he whispered. “Her father made us.”

“Made you what?” I asked, hoping against hope.

He looked up. “Get married, you idiot. What do you think I’m trying to tell you?”

Ashamed at my own ignorance, I continued to react like a schoolgirl who’d been attacked by the class bully. “Get married,” I stuttered. “You . . . you were married?”

Impatient and red-faced, he glared, “Not was married. I AM married. Why are you making this so difficult?!”

“Difficult?!” I exclaimed.

I couldn’t believe my ears were being defiled with such obscene hypocrisy. My outrage embedded itself in his floundering gills. “You’re married! You’re telling me you’re already married?!” He nodded. “You were married when we first went out . . . when you took me to see your friends . . . when you made love to me?!”   He looked away and nodded again.   “And I’m being difficult?!” I shouted.

I’m not sure why I didn’t stand up, kick him in the balls, and leave right then and there. I was paralyzed with shock; I simply froze and watched the crap pour from his lips.

“Yeah, I’m married,” he confessed, “but she doesn’t mean a thing. I’ve never loved her, and she knows it. It’s no big secret.”

They have no secrets, I thought. How nice.

“We’d have never have married if her father hadn’t threatened me,” he reiterated. “Hell, we’d only known each other for four months.”

“What’s her name?” a voice asked, as if it hadn’t come from my own throat.

“Julia,” he said with a hint of appropriate distaste.

“Julia,” I repeated. It felt sharp on my tongue.

“Yes, Julia,” he echoed.   “I’ve told her again and again that we’re through, but she doesn’t get it. She and Franz will do fine on their own. He’ll be much happier without us fighting all the time.”

Reluctantly, I asked, “Who’s Franz?”

“Our son,” he stated, as if everyone on earth knew.

My skin began to crawl. I felt the blood drain from my face. “Your son?” the mystery voice continued. “You have a son?” I asked, as the aftershocks continued to rock my world.   “How old?”

“He’ll be seven this March,” he said with a hint of pride.

My voice left me, and I sat in stony silence.

He whined on and on. “They mean nothing to me. Do you hear me? You’re the only one who matters. You’ve got to believe me! Don’t ever think of leaving. I couldn’t live without you!”

Grabbing my hands tightly, he continued, “You’ve got to understand!”

“A son. You have a son?” I thought my head would shatter. “Why didn’t you tell me?” My insides were screaming. My mind refused to believe the obvious, and I whispered with one last hope, “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“I wish I was,” he said.   “I didn’t want to hurt you.   Can you ever forgive me?”

“No,” I said resolutely. “Never!”

“It didn’t seem like the right time,” he blundered. “I tried, but whenever you’d look at me with those beautiful blue eyes, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand to make you cry.”

“And now’s a good time?” I replied rigidly. “After all we’ve been through?!”

“I understand,” he said gloomily. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Understand? I silently intoned, continuing to stare with a porcelain face at the blue velvet wall across the room.   He doesn’t understand squat!

“Don’t shut me out!” he implored, squeezing my hands tighter. “Annalise. Annalise!” He shook my shoulders, and I returned to the pain of the moment. “Say something. Don’t just sit there; it’s driving me mad.”

“What do you want from me?” I asked flatly.

“Your love,” he lamented. “Don’t let a past mistake cut us down.”

All my insecurities rushed to the surface, as my need for affection and direction overpowered any reason left in my hollow shell of a body.

An unknown force removed the adrenaline from my muscles and mind; I calmly looked Jens in the eye and said, mysteriously, “I could never leave you.” I smiled unconsciously.   “We’ll work it out.”

I heard a sigh of relief exhale from his lungs like a gust of wind, as he suffocated me with kisses, hugs and reassurance. “I knew you’d understand. You’re one in a million, I tell ya . . . one in a million.”

I retained a semblance of misplaced dignity and insisted he divorce immediately. “If not, we’re history!” I exclaimed, thinking I was being assertive and strong.

I had a rabid case of snow blindness, and I kept crawling up Mt. Illusion, ignoring all signs of the impending avalanche.

The rest of the evening was a drunken blur. I doused the bonfire of my betrayed trust with an ocean of booze, demanding “one more” until I had to be carried home. Throwing up on the floor of his precious BMW was the only inkling of justice I could manage.

True to his word, Jens divorced Julia within the month and maintained contact with his son by buying him expensive gifts, which he delivered with his usual warmth and personal touch . . . by way of the Postal Service.

***

When I turned eighteen and finished nursing school, I jumped off the mountain’s ledge into the fiery pit: I irrationally moved in with Jens and his seventy-four-year-old grandmother, Rochelle. We inhabited the top floor, she the lowlands.

Rochelle was a little senile and talked as if we’d been married for years. With her failing eyesight and wandering mind, she often called me Netti, as if I were her niece. Honesty isn’t as meritorious as it’s always cracked up to be. There are times when fudging the truth a little—or outright lying—is the most compassionate course.   If I’d attempted to tell Rochelle the truth about her grandson and me “living in sin,” I would have drained her pious Catholic heart of all her saintly blood. She would have turned over in her grave—before she’d even died.

I never met Jens’ wife or son. Apparently, Julia had more wits than I’d expected and skillfully kept her distance.

The only persistent threat to our fragile happiness, other than the relationship itself, was my family. The thought of them discovering my living arrangement loomed over me like Godzilla about to attack Tokyo. They had to know sooner or later. And if the news didn’t come from me first, they’d hit the roof . . . and the floor . . . the walls . . . and then me. So Jens and I arranged a little visit. I told my family I was bringing my boyfriend, period.

The little visit went from disaster to disastrous.

Continues at: Loving Annalise

More stories and articles at Angie’s Diary.

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