I wasn’t even surprised, for some reason, when I realized that Adelaide was in love with me. Perhaps I intuitively knew it, but accepting something like that consciously isn’t easy. But now nothing mattered except her; her hands, lips, and tongue. She drove me crazy, plunging me into an orgasm of such intensity that I hadn’t even suspected its existence. Her boldness and uninhibitedness in sex were an example for me.
And I tried to please her with reciprocal caresses. Now I understand that she had considerable experience in such relationships. And maybe that’s why she’s still alone, without a boyfriend or even a husband. I, on the other hand, was surprised at myself: where did such passion come from in me? I wasn’t ashamed. I felt good, no, fabulous, fantastic, amazing!
Adelaide responded to my touches with her whole body, arching, trembling, moaning, crying out, and whispering something downright shamelessly obscene. I would never have thought that swearing in bed could sound so erotic!
We finally calmed down only towards morning. Exhausted, we lay side by side on the pillows, happy and content, rejoicing that everything was so great between us. I really wanted to share my emotions, which were still swirling in my soul.
“You know, I didn’t have anyone besides my husband. We met in our first year of college, and I was only eighteen. I got pregnant with him, we got married, and I thought I would spend my whole life with him. And then suddenly everything turned upside down. And then there’s you. I never imagined that something like this could happen. I heard somewhere that if something leaves your life, then something else will come. Like you need to make room for something new. You know, my friend, who told me about Dominic’s infidelity—the one who is practically the culprit of our breakup—is the one who introduced us. Isn’t that funny? I’m grateful to her now, but back then she irritated me so much,” I said.
“And when I first saw you, I felt like I was struck by lightning. I also didn’t think it was possible to fall in love with someone you don’t know. Of course, they write about it in books, but I always considered it fiction. I had a girlfriend with whom I got along quite well. Almost two years together. And then there’s you. I was afraid to give myself away in front of you—what if I lost what I had—your friendship, your trust? At first, I held back, trying to distract myself from you. But one day, during an orgasm, I called her Elizabeth. We argued. And I confessed to her that I was head over heels in love. She left. And I didn’t try to stop her. And now you can’t imagine how happy I am that I was able to show you my love. And that you’re here, that you weren’tafraid, that you didn’t push me away.”
We were silent for a while, each lost in our own thoughts.
“And what will happen to us now?” I asked.
“What will happen? What is already happening: we are loving each other. You love me, don’t you?” She propped herself up on her elbow, looking into my eyes.
I paused, checking myself.
“I think so,” I answered after a minute, more to myself than to her.
“And that’s the most important thing. Everything else is just trivialities, believe me. Together, we will overcome any troubles. I will be there. I know myself. As long as you want it, I will be with you. Because I love you.” She leaned back against the pillows with a sigh of relief.
I suddenly felt that very wall behind which I sometimes so desperately wanted to hide from the outside world.
Adelaide is my support. My beloved. Incredible! My God! Mysterious your ways!I sighed with relief, snuggled against Adelaide’s warm side, and blissfully drifted off to sleep.
My other life was beginning.
Another love.
And that’s the most important thing.
Ubehebe by Gregory A. Kompes
Troy turned, glanced up from his computer screen. “You’re back.”
“Yes,” said Hank from the home office doorway, hair tussled, cheeks ruddy. Sweat ringed his collar, formed aVon his chest.
“How was your run?” Troy tuned out as Hank recounted his journey, step-by-step, from the front door, around the neighborhood, and back—just as he did every morning.
They’d been together forever. They’d joked from their first date that they’d always been together, forever. That’s how it was, at first, and now. Then as a playful, light idea, now a comfortable, grounding weight.
“Did you hear me? Hello?” Hank’s tone lifted that last word into a sing-song. “Where did you go?”
“Sorry. I was thinking about Cleo’s.”
“In New York?”
“Yes.”
Hank’s eyes lit up, sparkled, danced in that same old way; those eyes that first drew Troy to him, that reminded him always of that expensive dinner date at the candlelit French place in the Village he could never remember the name of.
“The Lamplight,” said Hank, as if he’d read Troy’s thoughts.
A smile crept from Troy’s cheeks to his eyes. “Yes, that’s the place.”
The two enjoyed a silent memory: that time, those places, now 2,500 miles and decades away. Memory like a prayer, offered in silence, but shared with a congregation of two.
