I watched him from where I sat on my red antique couch, all six feet, four inches of him, naked except for the pair of white socks that made me smile. He was sprawled on my bed in the dimly lit room snoring, though moments before I was mounted on his cock grinding like a go-go dancer. Hands locked upon my gyrating hips, he thrust his shaft inside me with such hunger, he devoured us both and I had no choice but to follow him into surrender. He crushed me to him and growled between my breasts until all that remained of us was trembling and moaning.
He locked gaze with me still mounted on his partially hard cock. Against my barely five-two frame, he seemed like a giant. “How do you do what you do to me?” he asked. I answered his question with a satisfied smile.
Clark is a mystery to me. We've been sleeping together these last few months, but he is a man in need of much healing. He reminds me of a bird with both wings broken. He is still hurting from his second failed marriage and consumed by what he calls his bad choices. He believes that if he takes the time to plan things, they should turn out the way he planned them. I learned long ago that life takes unexpected turns that we will never see coming, and love is not immune.
“I wish I’d met you at a different time in my life,” he said one-day placing kisses on my exposed butt-cheeks.
“You met me at the perfect time,” I said.
“How do your know that, Ms. Philosophical?”
“Wasn't it heartbreak that brought you to my doorstep?” I asked.
“And do you regret your moments in my arms?”
“No,” he assured me. “I forget all my hurt and pain when we’re together. You terrify me,”
His terror is crippling. Sweet as my kisses are, Clark does not trust them, and safe as my arms feel - he worries that I will break his heart, armed with the same careful strokes with which I make him come.
“I find wounded people and I bring them home, and try to heal them,” I one day tried to explain him to Tyson.
“You were once a broken bird that Kenny picked up and brought home and gave new life,” he said holding my gaze. Tyson does not believe in accidents or mistakes, just choices and outcomes and that whatever the choices and the outcomes, life unfolds as it should.
“Are you saying that I should continue seeing this giant who is afraid of little me?”
He laughed. “What does your intuition tells you, Kitten? Not your head, not even your heart – your little Kitten self?”
I smiled. Unlike some of my friends, Tyson does not think me at all strange to name my intuition, little Kitten.
“You’re getting it,” he said, the day I told him that I have identified the source of my strength and healing - that my insights – the voice that makes me feel and see the world in all its colors and schemes comes from the little girl within me who I have come to believe is my intuition. "I think that when we lock the child away, we clip the wings we need to fly," I said. We were sitting on a bench in his backyard on a hot summer day sipping lemonade.
“What does she tell you about Clark?” he asked again.
“She tells me to hold on," I said. "That he is worth it,"
"That's it then. It cannot turn out good or bad, Kitten. It can only turn out.”
"But that's not logical,"
"It doesn't have to be," he said.
Still, at least once a month, when I am PMSing, logic takes over and I try to break up with Clark. I want someone who knows who he is and what he wants. Clark talks about finding himself and he's in his mid-forties. I want a man who is ready to throw his hat in the ring and take a chance on me knowing that love is a risk, and I may drive an arrow through his heart, but he takes it anyway. Clark talks of never allowing himself to love again. The man I want must know what moves me - that whenever I disappear inside my head to sit in the silence of my mind and write the stories that find me, this cannot be seen as a negative - but one of the things he absolutely loves about me. He must be passionate about not just my sex – me – in all my colors, complexities, and mystery – he must see me. I want a good communicator – someone who asks for what he wants, when, how and why he wants it. Clark hides from me and we miss a lot of our moments. He is trapped in his past; I've taken the lessons from mine to live without reservations.
Yet, all of my attempts to break up with him has failed. Whenever I tell him that we should stop seeing each other, he acts as if I am the woman he cannot live without, and seduces me right back into his arms and onto his cock, and we continue on a path without a road.
I don’t know what I feel for him. I know only that I had a moment one night watching him in my living room talking about being hurt, and I wanted to take care of him.
After Clark left that night, I thought about the story of us that Kenny told over the years. He said that he could pinpoint the moment when he knew that I would be a long chapter in his life story. I had stumbled into his world severely wounded as if I’d wandered off a battlefield. I was so screwed up, he called me a bird with broken wings - the kind you find half-dead in the bushes and had to poke with a stick to make sure it was still breathing.
"You were not the woman I asked the universe to bring me, but you were the one who showed up," He always said. "I watched you sleep one night trying to figure out how to break up with you. Loving you was painful, Kitten. You were stubborn and rebellious and you kept running away. You gave me pussy, but that's all you gave - your heart and trust were kept safely out of my reach. Yet every time I tried to break up with you, something told me, hold on - she's worth it. And the closer I looked, the more I realized that you were made of pure gold - just covered in scars,"
Maya Angelou said, “I believe that the most important single thing, beyond discipline and creativity, is daring to dare.”
I have always dared to dare. My life stands on building blocks of daring to take chances and make mistakes. My friends have asked, Kitten will you ever just take a safe road? I have found there is no such road. I feel compelled to listen to little Kitten when she tells me that Clark is worth it. So what if nothing becomes of us? Many times, her intention is to help me find another missing piece of my puzzle.
I watched Clark from my perch on my red antique couch, wearing white socks and snoring. I giggled.
“What are you doing so far away?” he mumbled.
I climbed into bed and he wrapped himself around me placing kisses on the back of my neck. “You need to stop trying to break up with me,”
I curled my body against him and fed on his warmth, settled in the crook of his arms and fell asleep on this road-less path I find myself. It cannot turn out good or bad. I thought. It can only turn out.
"If we listened to our intellect, we’d never have a love affair. We’d never have a friendship. We’d never go into business because we’d be too cynical. Well, that’s nonsense. You've got to jump off cliffs all the time and build your wings on the way down."
~ Annie Dillard~