Sarah squinted her eyes as she typed. It was almost three in the morning, but she couldn't stop herself from pouring her words out onto her screen.
***********************************
I love you Mike. I can't help it, I always will.
I think about us together all the time. Bodies wound up together, touching, longing. Touching your face, sliding my hands all over your body, being held in your arms. In the daze that is alcohol and lust, I'm covering you with my body and fulfilling a desire that's been waiting for far too long.
In the dark, I slide my hands along your muscular arms, along your waist, down your legs; prolonging my trip down to the inevitable. I lick my lips in anticiMikeion of wrapping them around your hard cock, making you groan and lie back as I use my lips and hands to massage your dick and balls. I anxiously look forward until the moment when you'll be inside of me.
For years I've waited, waited until you give me the only thing I want. Music and sex swirl around me as I try to articulate my need for you. I can feel the lust building inside of me, but it's more than that. My thoughts spin around and around, waiting for you to make some sense of them. Your hands, your lips, your touch. I need your body to come close to mine, and pull it into a vortex of lust and love.
There could never be lust without love; not when I'm with you. Nothing will make me forget how much I love you, and there is no amount of time that will pass that makes me forget that. Holding you so close,
Closing my eyes, it's just our bodies. It's a million moments; frozen in time. A kiss, a touch, a caress, a kiss, a kiss, a deep kiss.
Love never meant anything until I met you. It was abstract, like an untouchable painting in a museum. To be seen, then passed by and only momentarily remembered in the context of something similar.
You are not a painting, or sculpture to be admired from afar. Flesh, blood, feelings and heart. You need love, attention, and sex.
I cry when I think of you. Body bending to fit mine, accommodating of my needs and wants. Lips so soft, anticiMikeing my thoughts. Hard and ready, prepared to meet my lust and match it with your own. Hips bending slowly, positioning themselves to fit your own body; turning one into two, turning you and I into us.
Us. You and I were an us. Fluidity, without question. Silent, inevitable, demanding. Heavy breathing, tight embraces and liquid pleasure exchanged between us. No fantasy too big, no demand too small. Every type of happiness was shared between us. Us. There was an Us. We existed together as one entity, that did not sexually function without the other.
I love you Mike. I love you, I love you, I love you You are my one and only.
"I love you, I loved you all along...
I wanted you to stay. I needed, need to hear you say....."
**************************************************************************************************************
She sat back from her computer and gently shut the laptop closed. Her eye were sore from staring at the computer screen for so long. Helping write out her thoughts and feelings was very cathartic, albeit very infrequently. She had dreams; frustrating and realistic dreams that she couldn't share with anyone except a close friend. She often woke up next to her partner, sometimes in the middle of the night, feeling lost and angry and sad. The dreams usually ended the same way, her searching and searching for someone that was always just out of reach.
She wasn't just searching for anybody, she was searching for him. Him.
After five years of marriage, Sarah was almost completely happy with her life. Her current partner was wonderful and she couldn't ask for much more. Yet still, the dreams continued to persist, making her more confused about things than ever. She often cursed at herself for being unable to stop the dreams, their realism, and they way they upset her once she awoke. Her friends knew of her dreams, and often laughed it off, or told her they were just habit and not a reflection of her true feelings. But why, why couldn't she escape them?
The man Sarah was thinking of was Mike. Her Mike. No matter how many years passed, many of which she had never seen or spoken to him, every time they briefly made contact, it felt like no time had passed at all. Mike was happily married, and still living in the same town they had met. She heard through friends he was doing well, which pleased her. He deserved someone amazing, and which meant the very opposite from her, she would joke to her closest friends. Sarah genuinely did feel happy for the satisfaction that he deserved.
Nevertheless, the dreams persisted. The only dreams worse than the endless searching were the dreams where she found him. Hard kisses, hands everywhere, sweat and moaning and pure pleasure. His strong arms holding her, protecting her, promising to love her forever. It wasn't just the lust she dreamt of, it was the memories of making love to him. The urgent whispers or even loud cries of love, the hot burning from deep within to have him penetrate her, feeling tears in the corners of her eyes as he held her tightly and thrust deeply into her, again and again and again. She would climax in her dream, and waking up covered in sweat, guiltily satisfied but torn and confused.
Trying to shake off the growing feeling between her legs as she thought of him, she stood up and went to change for a run. The last thing she needed was to sit there and fantasize. What I need is a lobotomy, she thought to herself. Once on the pavement, feeling the concrete unforgivingly beneath her, the thoughts finally subsided.
**
Two weeks later, Sarah was sitting again at her computer, searching for some recipes online. A message popped up in her email, and to her utter shock, it was Mike. Biting her lower lip, she opened the email to find a brief, friendly note from him, saying he had bumped into one of her friends recently, which had made him think of her. Shoving any feelings aside, she replied just as briefly. Click, send. Sarah sighed. See, that was easy, she congratulated herself.
**
A week later, Sarah received another email. It was just as short as the first, but Sarah's heart jumped as she read the last few lines.
"Not sure if you have any time this week, but give me a call. 555-9876. Would be great to chat."
Okay...no big deal. She could do that. She could "chat".
**
It was a Thursday evening, and Sarah was about to flip off her computer for the night. Her second glass of white wine was almost done, and it had made her slightly fuzzy-headed. Mike's email suddenly jumped to mind, and she suddenly felt gripped by bravery.
"I can call him, this is not a big deal" she said aloud, attempting to reassure herself.
Slightly hesitantly, she picked up the phone and dialed his number.
"Hello?" he answered quickly.
"Hi, Mike. It's me, Sarah" she said, forcing herself to sound casual.
"Hey, hi! Good to hear your voice. How have you been?"
Sarah and Mike made small talk, and she went to the fridge to pour herself another glass of wine. She sat back down on the couch as they talked about their lives and jobs.
"Sarah, I bumped into your friend Andrea the other day. We went out to the bar for a drink, and when I asked about you, she told me some...unusual stuff" he said, sounding slightly uncomfortable.
"Oh shit, really? Well you know Andrea, always out to cause trouble for people" Sarah choked, trying to muster up a laugh. "What did she say?"
"Well, essentially she said you never really got over our relationship."
Sarah sat there, speechless. She was going to murder Andrea. Absolutely, positively murder her.
