ten years

It’s been four years since I’ve seen him and ten since we’ve been allowed to explore each other’s bodies.   Life got in the way, I would be in a relationship- or he would. Then his deployment, my move down south, the few people I had told about him all got the same story. If I believed in reincarnation (and I wasn’t sure what I believed, if anything at all) then we had been soulmates in another life. How else could I explain the decade of dreams about him, even when I was in seemingly stable relationships? He was more than my first heartbreak, more than my first time. He was... my fantasy. Maybe that’s why I’m so nervous. Fantasies are healthy as long as they stay in dreamland. And here I am, having lied to almost everyone about my destination, driving into a new city- his city, at 10 pm on a Sunday. When I had agreed to this (asked for this, really) I had imagined that we would go to a bar, have a few drinks. I imagined that by the time we were alone we would be safely buzzed and all my fears would melt into the alcohol. I didn’t imagine it would be a Sunday night with the whole world quiet around us, as if waiting to see if we would really go through with it. We had talked about boundaries, safe words, triggers- but still this doesn’t feel real.  I haven’t yet allowed it to move into the part of my brain where I could believe in it.
I pull onto the street my phone directs me to and call him as instructed. My hands are shaking, I clench them in my lap. Trying to sound casual when he answers, just another Sunday night.
“I’m here- I think” Before I can register anything but the click of his phone, my passenger door is open and he’s beside me in the car, kissing me like so strongly that for a second I forget to kiss him back. I’m melting, and he’s still kissing me and it’s all I can do to remember that I haven’t even put the car in park.
He stops and surveys me for a minute, I self consciously smooth my dress I’ve my knees.  Was this dress too much? He’s drinking me in but I can’t tell if he’s going to laugh at my overdressed state or kiss me again.
“Drive, this way.” I obey, already willing to do whatever he asks.
***
His apartment is clean and modern but cozy. I realize that I’m jealous of his appliances of all things. I guess that’s the difference between 19 and 30.  I’m still shaking, trying to push my nervous energy away- not sure what to call him, how to talk to him. I’ve been thinking about this moment for months but in my imagination I’m smooth and sophisticated and in reality I’m awkwardly wondering if putting my things in his bedroom was too forward. We both know what this weekend is about, but I’m not sure if we’re acknowledging it. A friend gifted me a bouquet of flowers before leaving home, not knowing how far out of town I was going- and me unable to turn them down I had put them in my passengers seat and now they sit, dejectedly wilting on his counter.
“I’ll put these in water if you have a vase- do you have kitchen shears?”
“Here, I’ll find something to put them in.” He hands me scissors and I begin cutting the stems, one by one. All of a sudden his arms encircle my waist and he is behind me, I can feel his stubble brush my neck as he breaths light kisses down to my shoulder. My dress seems ready to comply, it’s already falling down my shoulders when the kisses abruptly stop.
“Babe, don’t stop with the flowers!” He’s smirking, I can hear it in his voice. I want to turn and kiss him full on the mouth but the need to keep following his orders is too strong. It’s always been this way, since before I even know what kink was- I’ve wanted to do what he asked. I take another stem in my hand and as I close the scissors over it, his lips return to my neck and I moan without thought.  I can feel him smile into my neck.
“What was that for? I’m not doing anything.”  Each snip of the scissors is punctuated by another caress, I’m trying to focus on the flowers but my body isn’t listening; I’m arching my back into him and feeling every dormant sense awaken as his hands wander up my waist and dip down the front of my dress, skimming into my bra and over my nipples.
“Babe, what are you doing? Arrange your flowers!” Just like that his hands are gone and I’m left, shaking and breathing deeply. Trying to make the world right itself.
“Wine?” My vision clears as he take out two glasses. I realize vaguely that I haven’t eaten anything all day, maybe that’s a good thing. I’m already drunk on adrenaline, why not add wine into the mix?  He pours and we clink, and then before I can think he is behind me pushing me forward over the island counter. He tugs my dress down around my bra and his hand is  pulling at my nipples, while the other slips over my ass. The wine in my mouth makes the whole action taste as much as feel, and I can tell already that I’ve soaked through my new lace thong.  Seconds later and he’s gone again, laughing as he steps away- knowing how much he is teasing me and understanding that I’m enjoying every second of it.
“What happened to you? Fix your dress!”  He steps closer again, knowing I’m sure that I still can’t think coherent thoughts. “You know, we better get you cleaned up after your drive. I’ll meet you in the shower- bring your wine.”
***
His bathroom is warm and as I go to take my dress over my head I realize, this is the first time in a decade he’s seen me naked. Probably if I wasn’t already wine drunk I would stop and try to hide the extra fat on my thighs, my stomach. Probably I would wait until the last minute and then race into the shower out of self conscious anxiety.  Instead, I let him drink me in as I unclip my bra and let it fall to the floor. Tonight I can be his fantasy as much as he can be mine.