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It’s driving me crazy.
I have no doubt at all in my mind that I’m in love with Carl. I mean, I don’t doubt that at all. But how can I secure that love when sex is the only consistent in the relationship. How can the love translate into more when there’s nothing about our activities that develops the relationship past the feel for me of his cock inside one of my holes and the feel for him of whichever ofthe holes he’s in? I’m not intentionally being vulgar here but it’s hard not to think that way.
Don’t get me wrong. We don’t just fuck. In fact, I don’t think we fuck at all. It feels like we’re making love romantically and sweetly even if the activity is intense. He hasn’t pulled my hair and slapped my ass while he slammed into me from behind and called me his slut but I’m telling you if that happens, it will still feel to me like romantic and sweet lovemaking.
I guess what I’m saying is that the sex is beautiful, perfect, and right. However, if the two of us went on a gameshow where we had to answer questions about each other, we’d both fail! I want so much more than the sex life, and I’m certain that Carl does, too. How in the world is that going to happen when I can’t control myself and I use up all our time together getting him naked and then doing something about his nakedness?
“What in the world is going through your head?” Kennedy asks.
I kind of jump and then start giggling.
“You totally forgot you were at the office,” she says with a laugh. “You just zoned out thinking about Carl. You never see me mooning over my boyfriend.” She can’t say that last part without cracking up. If there’s one thing she does constantly, it’s mooning over Joshua.
I finally sigh and say, “I don’t know if he’s my boyfriend.”
“What are you talking about? You guys are together all the time.”
“Yeah,” I say, “but we’re not official or anything and…”
“I’ve seen how he looks at you. It might not be official but it is.”
Her words give me encouragement and another few months of constant sex go by. I can’t believe how desperately I love this man. I can’t believe how much he affects me so that I can’t get myself to work on the relationship in any way.
One of these days we’re going to realize we have nothing in common.
One of these days we’re going to realize that the sex is all we have and it’s an addiction and not a relationship.
On the anniversary of our eighth month, I just can’t handle it anymore. He texts me asking about plans for the night. I type a lengthy email explaining how our relationship makes no sense, explaining that I don’t even know what his favorite color or most important memory is and that the only thing I can describe about him is how incredible he is at sex. I essentially say that no matter how much it hurts, I can’t do it anymore.
I respond to his text and tell him to check his email.
Then, I go and cry on Kennedy’s shoulder for a while. I don’t let her convince me to change my mind. It’s Friday and I leave early. I get home and cry. I cry all day Saturday. I keep my phone off precisely because I know I need to cry alone.
On Saturday night, there’s a knock at the door. I’m expecting it. It’ll be Kennedy checking on me. I want to ignore it but she’ll knock for hours if I do. I wipe the tears away as much as I can and splash water on my face before I answer.
It isn’t Kennedy.
Chapter Six
“Carl,” I breathe out. His eyes have the same, constant look of arousal they always have when he looks at me but now there’s something else. Dear Lord, he’s angry.
“No,” he says.
He steps in past me and I’m just paralyzed. I turn around and say, “No? No what?”
He says, “No. No, it’s not best if we stop seeing each other. It’s not best if we develop ourselves and grow. It’s not best if we figure out what fulfils us and what makes us tick. It’s not best if we take a break so we can somehow think fucking clearly.”
I can’t breathe, and a large part of that is this is the first time, I think, that I’ve hear any profanity come out of Carl’s mouth. Of course, I find it sexy. I think the man could vomit and I’d find it sexy, and that’s the whole problem.
“But…” I say lamely. I can’t even come up with the next word.
“But nothing,” he says as he glares at me. “I’ve been in love with you from the moment I saw you. I’ve been in love with you and I don’t give a damn if that makes no sense. I don’t give a damn that you don’t know my favorite color, which is green by the way. I don’t give a damn that you don’t think I know yourfavorite color is blue or that you’re favorite memory is doing chicken fights at summer camp in the lake with Kennedy on your shoulders because it was a time when Kennedy wasn’t so wrapped up in feeling bad about her weight. I don’t give a damn that you don’t know my hopes and dreams because you are my damned hopes and dreams. I don’t give a damn that we spend all our time naked because when the time comes when we’re both old and sex is the last thing on our minds, I’ll still want to be with you. I’ll still want to have you next to me and you’ll still be the only reason I look forward to the morning.”
I can’t think. I can’t speak.
“Anna, you’re the only thing that matters to me for me. I care about the business because I care about my employees. I care about this town because I care about all the people I grew up with. I care about the forests because I know them. I care about my house because it was my parents’ house and my grandparents before them. I can leave that all behind. I don’t want to but I can. But I can’t leave you behind because I don’t care about you for all of those reasons. I care about you because without you everything else is empty, just fucking empty. I don’t need to be on a damned quiz show to know that’s a hell of a lot stronger of a foundation for a life together than me knowing your first dog’s name was Shadow King because your little brother got to name him and was into some video game!”
I think I’m going to hyperventilate. I stare at him and finally whisper, “You love me? You’ve love me since you… and you know about the chicken fights? I…” For fuck’s sake, everything he’s talking about I told him. I remember it all. When the hell did it happen? “But what about… I just…” I can’t come up with any protests. Finally, I just kind of slump and say, “Well, damn it, I love you, too.”
There’s a moment of silence. Finally, I say, “I guess that means we…”
“Stop talking,” he commands, and I swear when he does my nipples turn into bullets and my pussy throbs. Yeah. I know. I’m hopeless. He makes that command and then his mouth is on mine and nothing I might have said matters to me anymore anyway.
What matters to me is that he’s not going to let me think myself out of the best thing that ever happened to me. Go ahead and shout, “Timber!” because my lumberjack has cut down any resistance I might have forever.
