Eden

He has rented a car to collect me from the airport. I take a mental note that not even my parents have collected me from an airport before, so I am immediately impressed by the effort. 

This helps to offset some of the more negative thoughts I’ve been having about this plan. He has been explicit in his intention to remain single, and he is not open to anything resembling a relationship. The repeated communication of this does little to make this visit seem less seedy. I am prideful and have trouble admitting to myself that I’ve had fantasies about him most days since we last saw one another. He occupies my thoughts more frequently than I care to admit. I debase myself with my lack of self restraint. This only ends in heartbreak for me, I know that already.

Our first night in the apartment is jittery. I am talking too fast, drinking too much. I smoke in front of him and I know he is disgusted. My nervous system is in overdrive and I am leaning on every social crutch and vice I own. He is at ease, cooking and chatting. I am climbing the walls. There are just the two of us rattling around this apartment. I find it difficult to feel anything besides the weight of expectation, nervousness and hesitation. I feel he is watching me and dissecting my behavior. I hear myself talking unintelligent gossip. I beg myself to shut up.

He begins to make dinner. He chops cabbage and aubergine. My eye falls on the jars of homemade sauces and dressings—he has prepared these before my arrival. Another indication of anticipation. Is he trying to impress me? I want him so badly to feel nervous, too. Maybe he is simply better at hiding it than I am. 

Dinner is served to me in a low bowl. Miso aubergine with sesame seeds, sticky rice and Chinese cabbage salad. The aubergine melts in my mouth. The rice is fluffy, it tastes almost nutty. The salad is acidic, sour, and crunchy. A small spoonful of questionable orange mass sits apart from the rest of the food. It is homemade kimchi. He assures me I don’t have to try it if I don’t want to, but I do. I survey the plate, he wasn’t exaggerating, he really is a talented cook. It smells amazing. My mind scrutinizes the catalog of rubbish dinners I’ve been served by exes, I can’t help it. This feels more like my lane. I ask him how he made it. Chopsticks rest at the side of my plate, propped up by a little clay Chinese koi fish, painted gold. Stolen from somewhere, he tells me. He pours the wine, and I begin to eat. I do my best, but the butterflies in my stomach put a premature end to my meal. 

He directs me to the couch after dinner. 

Apprehension seizes me. I am uneasy, in this strange apartment overlooking a city in darkness that I don’t know. I am isolated, I realize. I am worried the feeling of comfort won’t return. I reassure myself this is not someone to be afraid of. He continues to notice my restlessness.

He breaks the physical barrier between us by touching my hand. He speaks softly and slowly to me. His demeanor instructs me to be calm. He is so kind. The anxiety begins to dissipate, and my heart rate finally begins to slow. He is tracing his fingers across my palm, onto my forearms. I begin to look at him while he speaks. I realize I’ve been unable to make eye contact until now. 

He leads our interactions, and I follow. He calms me, and then picks up storytelling again. He makes drinks, he touches me and I touch him back. I settle into my role as a passenger. I turn my internal dialogue off.

~~~

It is the mid afternoon of the following day, and we enjoy a pause and have a coffee. I’ve been thoroughly enjoying my private tour of this unremarkable city. I am continually amused by his enthusiasm for it. I fall into his step as we walk, locked in conversation. We are strolling and eating. When we walk, I reach for his hand. When we sit, my head finds his shoulder, my feet find his legs. It is as if someone has dropped me into my own body, and I feel deeply human for the first time in forever. 

I listen to him talk about his life, and I begin to worry that my own is not enough. He is challenging me. He is asking me questions about my future. Here, I begin to feel the age gap a little. He knows so clearly what he wants, and I so clearly don’t. I plan to enter a chapter of discovery when I depart, but this only adds to my melancholy—we are so clearly separated by more than miles.

~~~

The weekend continues. The next day, we run and we sauna. It’s a portable sauna, tucked away in an urban garden. I cannot take my eyes off him. His body is magnetic. I want us to be touching, even in this 85 degree sweat box. I sit with my legs up on the wooden bench and rest my cheek on his strong shoulder. Sweat drips from his nose and rolls down his broad muscled chest. I feel each small movement of the ropes of muscles through my cheek. I want to crawl into his lap, but I don’t. I unstick myself from him as he gets up to pour water on the heating element and I watch the sweating mass of muscles pouring water and fanning steam around the sauna. He is divine. 

We cold plunge, and sauna, and cold plunge, and sauna again. We finish up, get dressed, and head home. I wonder if anyone else in this city really exists at all besides me and him. It becomes less and less real the more time passes by. I feel high and entirely spaced-out. He gently holds my hand the whole way home. He walks, but I am floating for sure. 

~~~

I lie face down on the bed. He kneads fingers into my back. He prods and probes at lumps and knots. His hands are sure. I have bated breath. I am not a massage person, but he insisted. I say that it seems like a lot of effort. He ensures me he will “thoroughly enjoy” rubbing every inch of my body. I smile into the bed sheets. He makes some comments about knots or tightness or looseness. I make a noise of agreement against the sheets, I am trying not to laugh. It feels wonderful, he has strong hands. He finds my inner thigh, and the laughter bubbles out of me. It’s ticklish. I hold my breath as he continues. I laugh again. This time the it’s deeper and accompanied by a twitch of the leg. It’s involuntary. My head snaps around, I see him smiling, breathing amusement. I resume my position and hold my breath once more.

He finds a solution to the involuntary laughter: pain. He holds my lower leg in his arm and digs in. My calf aches in protest, punching back against his prying fingers. My whole body is tense now, I am squeezing the pillow. He pushes the muscle from behind my ankle, all the way up, finishing behind my knee. I almost scream. He tells me my calves are tight, and I hear amusement in his voice. He is enjoying watching me go quickly from pleasure to pain. He does it again. It’s slow, and it hurts. I am making some muffled groans into the bedsheets. He moves to the next leg and it starts again.

The pain is over and he is touching me softly.

He asks me if I want to turn over. I say yes.

He is massaging my chest, and I can see him getting hard. Fuck. 

I want to touch him, so I do. 

His lips find mine, I feel so relaxed. I can feel his touch lingering over every inch of my skin. We are so close, I am pressed into him. His teeth bite my bottom lip and my hands roam his head. I feel him relax into my embrace, his lips do not leave my skin.

He is biting and sucking my nipples. I can no longer stand for his face to be so far away from mine. I pull him to me and we are sharing breaths and tongues. I can feel him hard against my stomach. There is some fumbling. Then he pushes into me, swearing softly. It is slow and deep. His lips are next to my ear, and a moan escapes them. He holds me, and moves agonizingly slowly against me. I can feel a throb inside me, his shoulders are tensed and his face is buried in my neck. I take a moment to watch him fight the urge to move faster. He is always in control. I am so impatient for him, and I wait for his hands to grab my hips and give me more of what I want. 

He is unusually slow, and he exhales amusement at my hastiness. I realize he’s teasing me. I move against him, and my body is begging him. My hands pull impatiently on the hair at the base of his head. I press my forehead to his. My breathing is quicker than his. I feel the tension in my body build as I anticipate his movement. My body begs him once more. He gives it to me, but slowly. So slowly. My toes clench, and my hands grab at his hair. My teeth find his shoulder. I can feel him smiling. 

His teeth and tongue are again in my ear. Listening to him groan softly as he pushes into me again nearly sends me over the edge. I swear in between swelling breaths. Tremors start in my core, and my breath shortens, falling into rhythm with his movements. He stops and it’s cruel. 

He is still now, our foreheads are pressed together, he is watching my breath, and seeing me start to shake. “You are not allowed to come,” he says, “until I say so.” He is pressing into me so hard and so deep. He is looking into my eyes, “you are not allowed to come. If you come, you are getting spanked.” The tremors continue, and I am on the edge. I cannot hold his gaze. My breath is short and quick, my body is pressing onto his, my hands are grabbing his neck, pulling him into me. It’s degrading, but I want this so badly. He moves deeply into me again and I go over the edge. I am struck by the first wave, I pulse with him inside me, and he knows. My eyes are squeezed shut. I am holding him so tightly, as wave after wave rolls down, and slams against our bodies, crashing at the point where he is inside me.  The wave breaks and I feel pleasure surge, like a tide lapping at him. My gaze flickers up momentarily, and he is watching his work. He feels me shake in his arms and looks at every detail of my changing face. He touches my hair softly and says, “Naughty girl.”

We have a traffic light system. I am allowed to say “no” and “stop” when we play. It’s part of the game.

“I told you not to…” He is devilish. The tenderness between us seems further away all of a sudden, and I find myself hoping he will make good on his threat.

He pulls out of me too fast and flips me around.  “NO-“ I begin to yell. The first blow lands before I finish. He is using a short leather flogger. The sting radiates across my buttcheck. I scream into the pillow. The next blow is harder, he makes a better connection. I do not scream this time. My muscles tense. “Color?” He checks, I tell him Green, so he hits me again, harder. I whimper into the pillow. The pain flares, and I can feel my pussy flood after my orgasm. My skin is burning. I hear the crack of the leather against my skin again and my head is reeling. The endorphins are hitting hard. I feel the wetness between my legs, I want him to touch it. He touches the impact area lightly with his hand in between blows. I expect stinging leather and I receive a soft brush of fingers. I expect a caress and am met with the burning pain of the flogger. I look at his eyes and they are roaring, and I know he wants to be inside me again now. 

He has decided I am enjoying this too much. He gently pulls me to the side of the bed. He’s thrown a pillow on the ground, he waits until it’s clear I’ve understood what is about to happen. He tells me he wants me to give him head. I want to please him. I kneel on the pillow, he takes me by the hair, he is guiding me. My mouth is full, I breathe only between his gentle pushes against my head. He is moaning and swearing. He is going faster now. My eyes are watering, there are strings of spit down my chin. He is going deeper, I try not to resist, but it’s difficult. I keep pulling away to take a breath. This only results in more drool. I want him to humiliate me, to use all of me up. I am so hungry for all of this man. He looks down at me, and I see how much pleasure he is in. I make a sound of approval and of pleasure while he is in my mouth, and he pushes in again deeper. He is getting impatient now too. I am thrown on the bed.

I am lying on my stomach, with my arms reaching out in front. He is hungrily kissing my bright red buttcheeks, they are on fire. He works his way up until he is right at my ear. He is whispering to me, telling me, I must ask him nicely if I want to come. I refuse. I will not do as he says, I am craving more punishment. He is still whispering to me, telling me what a bad girl I am. He tells me to beg him for it. I want to so badly, I am dripping, but I will not. I put my face in the pillow and beg him not to - I am pretending of course. He knows the game I want to play.

“No?” He slams into me before he is finished speaking. He leans over me, he holds one of my hands while his face hovers close to my ear, as he uses my body to please himself without restraint. He knows I want us to be close now, I want us to feel the emotions each other moves through. I am whimpering, I beg him not to, I beg him to stop. I shake in glorious pain again, it shoots across my face. He can see. He tells me how good I am, how good I feel and that I am taking it so well, he calls me baby… I am melting.

I don’t feel like a person anymore, I am only a body. I feel inside out, he has devoured me. I can feel myself beginning to orgasm again from sheer impact. His hands and his body are tense, he is joining me this time. His hands are trying to find purchase on my skin, I can feel the sweat rolling off of him. One of his hands closes around my neck, soft but secure. I imagine this is how birds feel when held in someone’s grasp. 

I am flipped again, so I get to look at him. He is exhausted, sweating, so close. His arms are holding onto me for dear life. He is tensed. I cannot hold back, and I begin to pulse and constrict around him, softening in his arms. My pulsing tightness sets him off. He is slowing and I am trapped in his iron embrace. I hold his face in my hands, his forehead rests on mine. He shudders to a halt. I watch his face intently, so as to not miss one single expression. This is my favorite part. I am grateful my body satisfies him this way, watching it is incredible. I can feel the pulse inside me and his sweating forehead hits my neck. He groans.

He releases all of his muscles one by one, and I begin to feel his full weight on top of me. Sweat springs from him, I run my hands through his hair, it’s wet now. I cradle him, he is breathing heavily. So am I. My head is flooded. I am weightless. We just hold each other, until our breaths become even again. 

We part from our embrace slightly, only moving far enough away to properly see one another’s face on the pillow. His eyes move from mine, to my lips, to my hair, to my nose, and back to my eyes. I similarly drink in his expression. We don’t speak, our eyes linger over one another. I want time to stop here. There is something sad about this moment. I scream all the things in my head I want to say to him, but can’t. “I want this all the time! I wish everyday were like this! I want us to be together! I think you’re perfect! I think I love you!” 

I see a deep thought in his eyes too, but it grows smaller. I can only guess what it’s about. I am doubtful my secret feelings are requited. I am doubtful my feelings are secret at all. How can he look in my eyes and not see how deeply I am in this now. I fight the urge to cry. I sigh, my lips are pressed in a line.

~~~

We clean up and brush our teeth. My back and calves ache. I feel like I’ve ran miles. We remake the bed and climb in. We lie in spoons, his lips are resting on the back of my neck. I can feel the tide of his breath, it is slow and his body is heavy. My shoulders creak as I shuffle to a comfortable position. When I am curled up comfortably in his embrace, I am plunged into sleep. 

He wakes before me. We exchange touches. I snooze, he traces his fingers on my face, shoulders and hair. I will not pull myself from my slumber, my body tells me to rest. He begins his day eventually, leaving me alone in the bed. Within minutes I grow tired of solitude.

I am on the couch, still in the disarray of sleep. He has clothes on and is showered. I stare at his back while he moves about the kitchen. I rest my chin on the arm of the couch. I am silent and watchful like a cat. I lounge in a patch of sun and watch curiously at what food my owner prepares for me. 

First I am served some cold water. Alertness creeps back to me slowly. Next I am served a short glass of homemade kombucha with ice. It’s bitter, funky, and delicious. I drink it slowly, with sups of water in between. He tells me how to make it and about all the times he’s fucked up making it. I am nodding and making noises in agreement. I continue to stare. The increasing number of cooking apparatuses appearing on the worktop is impressive. I see a plunger over a cup, and something frothing in a pot. A cup of coffee makes its way over to me. He knows my coffee order. I taste my oat latte and I smile. My eyes are glassy and tired. He asks me to compare this coffee and the one he served me yesterday. I make some small comment about their niceness. I am more focused on taking in his energy–his eyes are sparkling. He returns to his work.

The kitchen worktop looks like a small lab. I hang on tightly to the silence and bathe in the sounds of the kitchen. The sunlight heats my skin gently. The smell of the coffee mixes with delicious scents from the frying pan. This is surely heaven. 

He invites me to sit at the table. He serves me breakfast. 

The plate is pale blue ceramic with speckles of brown, and meets the table softly as it’s placed in front of me. On the plate there is nutty rye bread, toasted. On the bread, there is a layer of creamed avocado, topped with tofu scramble. Extra tofu scramble is bundled on the side, next to fried mushrooms and tomatoes. They are charred and oozing. There are thin streaks of hot sauce over the scramble. The entire dish is garnished with cress. I bite into the toast and taste the lime from the avocado mix. It’s balancing the salt in the tofu. The bread is dense, chewy, and nutty. The hot sauce delivers a sweet and sharp punch. Our eyes meet as I chew. I cover my mouth, I tell him how good it is in between chews. I repeat myself, again after I take a second bite. We enjoy it in mostly silence. The atmosphere is comfortable, I see yellow and green almost everywhere. The apartment is sunlit and the rays hit the plants, the plate, and the avocado and “eggs”. 

I am picking up the crumbs of tofu with my finger tip, and my plate is clean. My coffee is empty, the glasses drained. My face feels rosy and my skin feels warm. I lean on my elbows at the table, my head slopes against my palm. He is not satisfied, and returns to the kitchen. He toasts some homemade banana bread. A cup of tea now arrives in front of me. The banana bread follows quickly, and I see the chocolate chunks have melted and smeared the plate. My finger mops the mess immediately and is sucked clean in my mouth. Oh my God. The crust has caramelized in the toaster and is almost chewy. The middle is soft and moist. The chocolate is melted. It is so sweet. I crunch into a walnut. Oh My God. It is gone too soon. I should have savored it more. My fingers become a little oily and chocolatey from picking it apart, so I savor them instead. I thoroughly suck them clean. I take a drink of the tea. No, this is surely heaven.

~~~

We are naked again, this time on the couch. We are all chat and smiles. He is touching me everywhere, gently brushing his fingertips all over my skin. He gazes at me now, he touches my cheek. We are so close our noses are almost touching. I am conscious of the time slowly slipping away from us. By the second, I feel this Eden begin to retreat farther and farther away. I watch some tiny emotions play across his face; I see longing and loss. I wonder who it is for. His jaw sets, and he tells me I look beautiful. His thoughts seem distant. He asks me if it is a good time to talk about what happens next. 

He begins, and his words would be reasonable to the rationally minded. Unfortunately, I have not been living in reality this weekend. I fall backwards out of my fantasy, I tip over into an ice bath. I am now too conscious of the fact I sit naked on the couch of his apartment. I am suddenly feeling cold. I now think of my flight home, the approaching work week. He is reiterating again his desire to stay single, it stings. We agree to keep in touch. He says that this is all lovely, just so long as we both are not catching any serious feelings for one another. My inner self explodes with laughter at the comment, I make no audible reply.

We walk to the rental car through the rain in silence. We sit in the car, he passes some small comments about traffic, Bluetooth, and google maps. I reply suitably. The atmosphere is more awkward now. We start to drive. I am connected to the speaker and I fuss over what music to put on. It’s lashing, I’m leaving, I feel terrible. 

We hug, and I don’t drag the interaction out for any longer than necessary. I look back before I join the line for security, he is still there, he waves. If he had just turned his back and left, it would have profoundly hurt me. He stays until we lose sight of one another, this way I know he is still holding on to our interaction for as long as he can, too. 

I don’t want our story to end.

Photo by Gerhard Lipold