Vitamin Supplement · Part 1 (1/2)
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I put the finishing touches on the display in the booth. "Anything else I can do?", I ask. Kathleen stops, checks a few things off on her notepad, and then responds, "Yeah. It's a big favor. We have a rep flying in from the head office this afternoon. It would be nice if someone was there to meet him at the airport, show him around a bit, give him a ride to his hotel, you know? Would you be able to do that for me? I still have too much to finish up here." "Sure", I reply, anxiety creeping into my voice, "Anyone I know?" Kathleen looks up. "I think you might remember him from the Denver Home show last year…." And she says his name. My knees go weak.
I'd been hoping against hope…and now I am not sure… "When does his flight get in?", I am trying to sound calm, composed. My cheeks feel hot, and I can feel the heat spreading down my neck. I tell myself to take slow, gentle breaths. Kathleen is too preoccupied to notice. "In about an hour, you'd better hurry." She tears off a piece of paper with his flight information on it and hands it to me.
I rush off to my hotel room, wash, apply a very subtle perfume to the back of my neck, and just below the breasts. I dig out some lingerie. The satin and lace push-up bra, and matching panties. Deep purple satin. Black Lace. I flirt with the idea of wearing the slinky red dress, but think better of it. That would be overkill. And too obvious. Jeans. Tight jeans, and a loose-fitting cotton sweater. The pretty blue one that highlights my breasts so nicely. I run my hand through my hair. Give it a tossle. I look in the mirror, and stop. Why am I doing this? Do I really want anything to happen? Will he? Am I over what he put me through? If pain can be sweet, then he was honey laced with heroin to me. An addiction. I realize that no matter what, I have to see him. If for nothing else, than to resolve my feelings. My mind made up, I slip on my shoes, and dash out the door.
At the airport, I scan the monitors. Flight 1703, arriving at gate 14. My heart is pounding, and I almost feel dizzy. The anticipation is nearly overwhelming. My god, I think, if I am this bad just waiting, what will it be like when I actually see him? Passengers start to stream out of the doors. I scan the human flow for that face. The one indelibly stamped in my memories. And there he is. Shouldering a backpack, unwittingly walking towards me. Not expecting to see me, I don't think he recognizes me. My hair is now very short, quite different from before. My shape is much more lean, firmer – I have been working out at the gym, and I have lost weight since the last time we saw each other.
I swallow, summon my courage, and walk towards him. The crowd seems to melt away. My ears are ringing. I have to mentally remind myself to breathe again. When we are about 10 feet apart, he sees me. His pack drops to the floor. His mouth drops slightly agape. I can tell that he is shocked and nervous. Not sure what to do. I can relate. I feel like a kid on her first date. Then the lunacy of it all strikes me and I have to smile.
"Hi." It's all I can muster, but it seems to break his trance and he walks towards me, his pack forgotton on the floor. We stand there, not speaking, just looking at each other. The seconds we stand there frozen seem like hours, but then we are hugging and holding each other, as if either one of us might fall at any moment.
"My God.", he whispers, "I thought you'd never want to see me again. I thought I'd never get a chance to see YOU again." I stop the flow of words with a tender, wet kiss. He is surprised, but instantly responds. My tongue leaves a hint of remembering on his lips. Mine are tingling, I can feel my nipples becoming erect. I can tell, by the way he is pressing close to me, that the chemistry is still there. When I pull away, I realize he is in soft focus. Are the tears in my eyes ones of joy, or of pain remembered? It doesn't matter. He is here. I am here. I squeeze my eyes shut, and banish the tears. Perhaps, for a short time at least, we can lose ourselves in the fire that seemed to consume us from the very first.
"I'm supposed to 'meet' you and give you ride." That evil grin of his surfaces. I respond with a wistful smile of my own. "To the hotel, I mean." He exhibits a mock expression of disappointment. I turn it around, "But you'll have to repay me. A ride for a ride?" His eyes sparkle, and he squeezes me tight. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks. I know what he means. "Are YOU sure?", my response. "After all, YOU were the one who broke it off. Said you couldn't handle it." At that moment, the baggage carousel starts up. I defer the inevitable by saying, "Grab your bags, and we'll talk in the car."
His luggage in one hand, he reaches for me with his other. At first touch, our hands are cold, from nerves. But they warm from the contact as we walk to the car. In the car, we just sit. Not starting it, not moving, just looking at each other. Finally, I tell him, "I really need another hug." And to myself, I've needed one from you for so long now… He doesn't need anymore prompting than that. It is awkward, leaning across the stick-shift, but it feels so good. I long to just stay like this, but I need more than a hug, I need some answers.
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming to this trade show?" "Because I was afraid that you might tell me you WEREN'T coming to it.", he says, eyes downcast. I'm confused. "I don't get it." "Well, if I had told you I was coming, and you had said you couldn't make it, I'd have been really depressed. So I decided to leave it to chance, or fate. Better not knowing, than knowing bad news." I never could understand that kind of logic, so, I reply with a smile, "You're weird." "Yeah? So what exactly are you trying to say?", his standard retort, when I state the obvious. Then he looks sad again. "More than anything, I really wasn't sure if you wanted to see me or not. I know I hurt you.
I thought you might just tell me to fuck off. I didn't think I could handle that." I want to bounce off into my usual sardonic style, put on my best Mae West accent and say "Well let me tell ya sweetheart, the thought DID cross mah mind…", but I can't. This is dredging up too many old feelings. Things that went unsaid before, now have to be spoken.
I can't look at him and think clearly. I look at the steering wheel, the dashboard, anything but him, and try to concentrate my thoughts. I have rolled it over in my head so many times – the things I was going to say to him. For so long now, I have had it resolved in my mind. Where did all the rationality go? Now that he is here, all the carefully rehearsed lines have disappeared. My words seem to come out a jumbled mess.
"I'll be honest. There were times… I wasn't sure either. You DID hurt me. You could have talked to me right from the start, and told me you were messed up. I think I could have helped. But by being diffident and aloof, it was like lying to me. Not being truthful. I felt betrayed. By the time you DID explain things, you pretty much had yourself convinced to end it, and *I* was really messed up. I just couldn't understand this 'breaking it off now, because someday we might HAVE to break it off'. I think things could have gone differently if you had been open from the start. I wanted to contact you, but I held off. I had told you to call anytime, and you never did.
I took that as an indication that you didn't want to reopen old wounds. Sometimes, I thought it was because you just didn't care, or because there was really somebody else. But you know, I just couldn't get you out of my mind. Some days I'd say 'Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you for lying! Fuck you for hurting me!', and other days, I'd just ache for your touch and the sound of your voice. I'd ache for your laugh and your smile. I wrote sad, tormented letters full of anger and pain, and never sent them. Other times, I'd be in the middle of doing something and I'd flash back to a time we'd spent together, and before I knew it, a soft moan would escape my throat.
I'd look around furtively, to see if anyone could have heard…." The tears are back in my eyes, and spilling over onto my cheeks. "Before I met you I never even knew there was anything missing. Then you were there and I realized how long I had been starving. When you left, you took part of me with you." I rub at one eye with the heel of my palm. "I don't know why I'm getting all emotional like this…. I stopped hurting for you a long time ago. I decided to just focus on the good memories, and hope that someday we could be friends again." Or something more, my heart says.
He is uncertain how to respond. "I wanted to… I was just so fucked up. I felt like you were an addiction. I felt guilty that I might be making decisions based on my feelings for you, and neglect what was important for my family. I had so much going on in my head… When I realized I might not ever see you again, well, it hurt so much I couldn't deal with it. I know it's hard to understand. I still don't understand it all myself. Do you still hate me for it?" I take his face in my hands, kiss his lips softly, and lean my forehead against his. "You know I could never hate you.
It might have made it easier if I could, God knows, I tried, but the hate just wouldn't come." "I'm SO sorry.", he says, "You know I never wanted to hurt you. I thought if I called you again, it would just make matters worse. I thought it best for both of us to try and get on with our lives. But damn! I missed you." His fingers brush the tears from my face, and our lips join again in bittersweet, salty kisses. Then his kisses turn into something deeper, more passionate. His tongue circles my lips, probes the deeper in my mouth. His hand is on the back of my neck, pulling me close to him, and I am lost. I feel all fire and ice at the same time. But there is something more I have to know.
"What about now? How do you feel about me now?" I ask. "I think I have my shit a little more together now. I haven't really let myself mentally explore any possibilities, because I didn't know how you would feel about seeing me again. Or if I'd ever see you again." he pauses, takes in a deep breath. He looks into my eyes, "I guess I feel the way I did when I first saw you and you sat down beside me." And his voice becomes hushed, "I didn't want you to leave." I'm a sucker. I'm falling hard and fast, but I don't care. I lean forward to kiss him again, and he moves and whispers in my ear, "You were forewarned you know. I TOLD you I was an asshole." That mischievous look is back in his eyes.
"Lucky for you I didn't believe you!", and I start tickling him. We break off into giggles and little grabbing kisses and hugs and unintelligible words. All the pain and the hurt melts away in the intensity of our play. I feel that same high I did when I first met him. The kind you get when you connect -really connect- with someone.
The air around us is electric, and at last he practically shouts, "Let's get to the damn hotel! Before I take you right here in the parking lot!" "Promises promises", my retort. A challenge, but I don't give him a chance to pursue it. Perhaps if the car were bigger… But no. Right now, I want privacy and intimacy. I start the car.
On the drive to the hotel, he is amazingly restrained, he barely touches me. Every time I look over at him, I see his eyes fixed on me. Not leering, no, almost caressing me. A look of both adoration and lust. Once again, I feel school-girlish. Occasionally, his hand reaches out and brushes the hair from my cheek, but that is all. And that is enough. I can feel that familiar ache and my panties are starting to get wet already. Just from the proximity.
"What are you wearing under that?", he asks. I hear the anticipation in his voice. I tease him. I know what turns him on. "Mmmmm. Something special. I think you'll like it." I smile and seductively run one hand over my breast and down the length of my body. God. I hope I don't soak right through these jeans before we get there! I laugh at the thought. "What's so funny?" "If we don't get to the hotel soon, I'm going to look like I've peed myself…". I squirm in the seat. A self-satisfied smile appears on his face. "Ahhh, exactly the response I was aiming for." His obvious delight turns me on all the more.
"You seem to have that affect on me." My nipples are hard, almost throbbing, and I long to feel his incredible tongue on them, but that will have to wait. I curse the rush-hour traffic, and make small talk to calm us down. We talk about his kid, our spouses, jobs, our lives. But neither of us is really listening to the words. Everything is body language and sexual cues and it doesn't matter WHAT he says, even the sound of his voice turns me on… And I wonder again, why it is that this all turns to sex. There is so much more to what I feel for him than that. Perhaps those are the moments I feel closest to another person? Then again, why am I psycho-analyzing?
Maybe it's just kismet, and everything about him turns me on. And I want to make him feel incredibly good. This is something I KNOW I can do. I am a sensual being. I love getting and giving pleasure. Yeah. That's it…. By the time we get to the hotel, I am so excited that just the feel of my thighs brushing together, as I walk through the lobby, is driving me insane.
As he registers at the front desk, I look anxiously around. Oh please. Please. Please. Don't let anyone we know notice him (or me) here. Otherwise we will never get a chance to…. We practically run to the elevator, and jump inside. He pushes the button for the 16th floor. We are alone. "Hey", he says, pressing close, "Don't you have fantasies about elevators?" Now I am the one with the wicked smile. "Yes, but I'd need to be wearing a dress. And no underwear…. ". I reach my hand down, and stroke him. I can fe
Vitamin Supplement · Part 1 (1/2)
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