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I don’t answer right away. The truth is I don’t know.
No, that’s not correct. The truth is I do know. I am willing to try to live life the way she prefers, but I know I won’t succeed. I’m not capable of it. There’s a verse in the Bible that asks if a person can change the color of his skin or if a leopard can change his spots. I’m not religious, but I believe the Bible has many lessons that can benefit people even if they don’t believe in God, and that’s one of them. As hard as I might try to live life for the moment, the reality is that I won’t succeed at it. Eventually, my nature will take over.
I am human. I am a tiger. I am a shifter. I am all three at once. I am never any of those things without the other. Similarly, I am ordered, structured, planned, and organized. I am never not all of those things, and I can’t be no matter how much I want to.
I push the stew away, no longer hungry. My thoughts are consumed by the dilemma before me. Denise and I have been seeing each other for a few weeks now, and I have completely fallen for her. The way she moves, the sound of her laughter, the way she embraces life with abandon - it all draws me in and leaves me longing for more. But can I really abandon everything I’ve ever known for her?
“I’m afraid she’ll refuse,” I say. “I don’t think I’m capable of living a carefree life. But I’m not giving up. I have to find a way to make her mine.”
Garrett nods, understanding in his eyes. “Love can make us do crazy things, Curt. Just be sure you know what you’re getting into before you go too far.”
I nod, feeling grateful for his wisdom. Love is a risky game, but I’m ready to play, even if it means stepping outside of my comfort zone and embracing uncertainty.
As I sit there lost in thought, the fire alarm suddenly blares to life, jolting me out of my internal debate. We rush to gear up and head out, the adrenaline pumping through my veins calming my racing mind. By the time we returned to the station, hours later, I felt more at peace with my decision.
I'll talk to Denise, see what she wants, what she's willing to compromise on. Maybe we can find a way to make it work, to blend our two different worlds into something that fits both of us. And if we can't, well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.
But for now, I'll take comfort in the fact that I've made a decision, that I'm finally taking a risk for love.
Chapter Eight
Denise
I plan a surprise for Curt tonight. I’m not usually one to dress up or focus much on my appearance. Part of living from day to day means I don’t put much thought into the impression I leave on people.
I don’t mean I’m gross or unkempt or anything. I mean, I shower, and I brush my hair, and I wear clean clothes that might not match but at least don’t offend the eyes. I just don’t care to look anything more than presentable.
I’m not making sense. What I mean is that I don’t try to look pretty or beautiful or like a model or anything like that. I don’t wear makeup, and I don’t wear lingerie, and I don’t have clothing designed to accentuate my body or attract the eyes of men—and, I suppose, women of that persuasion.
So the lacy black panties and bra that I wear now and the makeup that adds just a touch of color to my cheeks and lips and outlines the bright color of my eyes are new to me. My hair is not just brushed but straightened so it hangs in soft waves that frame my face and draw the eye downward to the swell of my breasts underneath the sheer, just barely see-through top. I wear heels, a pair I pick up from a department store in the middle of town, and above that, I wear a long skirt with a slit that extends from the hem just above my right ankle all the way up to the upper part of my thigh. I arrange the skirt so that each time I walk, the slit opens and my right leg is visible for a moment before falling underneath the skirt again when I take another step.
The skirt and top, I think, are the most pointless pieces of my outfit. I don’t expect them to remain on my body for more than a few minutes, if that, and after today, I’ll never wear them again.
But I wear them today, because I want Curt to remember this night for the rest of his life. When he looks back on his time with me, I want him to remember me as I am now, a treasure, the pinnacle of beauty. Maybe it makes me selfish to think this, but I hope that in the future when he meets a woman he can truly spend his life with—and I know he will—I want him to occasionally think of me when he’s with her, and I hope that a small part of him, at least, will wistfully wonder what it might have been like to have me with him forever.
But I can’t be with him forever. It breaks my heart, but it’s inevitable. I have to leave. I can’t stay in one place. Already I’ve been here longer than I’ve been anywhere since leaving home at sixteen. These two months represent the most time I’ve spent in any city since I didn’t have a driver’s license and couldn’t choose to leave the home my parents insisted on staying in from the time they met until probably the day they died.
And I can’t. Already, I feel myself grow restless, wondering what lies beyond the next horizon, wondering what other places, what other people, what other experiences await my wandering. I don’t want to leave Curt, but I know if I stay much longer, I will, and I would rather leave him now, when he represents the greatest happiness I’ve ever enjoyed, than wait until I do resent him and our last memories together are sullied by that resentment.
So I will give both of us a beautiful memory to linger with us when we part. Then I will leave during the night while he sleeps and dreams of me.
That, I suppose, is the cruelest part of my plan. I won’t tell him that I’m leaving. I’ll just be gone. Oh, I’ll leave him a note thanking him for the wonderful time we’ve shared, and I’ll tell him that I’ll carry his memory always, but I won’t tell him face to face. I don’t think I could handle seeing the heartbreak in his eyes.
We’ll be all right. I’m not the kind of woman who needs to have one man for her entire life, and he’s the kind of man who will have no trouble attracting that kind of woman. We’ll both move on and be happy.
Just not together.
Curt arrives, and when he sees me standing in front of him, my right leg slightly forward to reveal the slit, his eyes widen in appreciation, but behind the appreciation, I see understanding and sadness, and though he doesn’t say it aloud, I think he realizes that this is the last night we’ll ever have together.
He shuts the door behind him and comes to me wordlessly. He gathers me in his arms and presses his lips to me, and when he does, I am able to forget for a moment that this is the last time I’ll ever feel him the way I feel him now.
But deep down, I can’t escape the knowledge that this will be our last kiss, our last embrace. It's almost as if Curt knows, too, because he's holding onto me tighter than ever before. As we kiss, I can feel his love for me pouring out of him, and I'm filled with sadness and regret for what I know I have to do.
He moves inside me, and though his movements are every bit as commanding and powerful as they always are, there’s a romance to them, a tenderness that makes the physical sensations a thousand times more intense and the emotional sensations a thousand times more potent. When I cum, my orgasms are like supernovas, but in their brilliance, I can’t help but see the destruction they represent. When he fills me, I cling to him, desperate to keep him there, but as the aftershocks of our coupling fade, I feel him slipping through my fingers, becoming inexorably a part of my past, no longer my future.
When we break apart, I can barely look at him. I know that if I do, I'll break down and weep. I don’t want our last memory together to be one of grief. Instead, I try to memorize every detail about him. The way his green eyes sparkle in the dim light of the room. The sound of his deep voice when he whispers sweet nothings into my ear. The feel of his strong arms wrapped around me.
I can’t wait. I can’t wait until he sleeps. I need to leave now, or I won’t have the strength.
