by Jess Kolbe
HIM | Twenty-eight
Lying in bed, half snoozing while thoroughly enjoying this very sexy and very naked woman in my arms softly running her fingertips over me, I feel happy. It’s been so long since I’ve felt content with my lot in life, till right now in this bed with Evie. I don’t know if I have ever felt this happy and, well, ever this connected to anyone before. I have this overwhelming need to take care of her, to protect her, shower her with kindness, while carving to be inside her, pleasuring her. In such a short time this woman has made a massive difference in my life, and I am grateful for that. It is sort of strange, like in the shower this morning I wanted to wash her, touch her, savour all of her and she let me. Looking at the curves of her body, tucked under my arm on her side, she feels so vulnerable and intoxicating. I want to prevent the world from coming in. I feel a pang of guilt. How am I able to be so happy during one of the hardest times in my life? How can I have this amazing thing happen to me, right when the most terrible loss of my life has happened?
I’m starting to figure out that when I have vulnerable times, I bring Dad up because life is moving forward without him. I take a deep breath and swallow this painful realisation. I want my thoughts to stop. Focusing on Evie, like this and we can both just stay here in bed. As much as I try, my thoughts begin to cascade, of losing Dad and then the thought of losing Evie, now, of what if. Fuck! I get it. I move and watch her body move in tune with me.
Then it hits me, the bath, the fucking bath! Evie’s face is priceless when I drag her out to the back deck to show her what I had made for her. Then she just stands there and it is instantly awkward, fuck. I just focus on getting the bath set up for her, well, moving around her while she is, I think, a little shocked at the gesture. Perhaps feeling like it’s too much? It’s just a fucking bath, I am confused. I busy myself with getting it ready and testing the heat. Its ready, although perhaps on the boiling side. I kneel down to check the water and it is as I suspected, near boiling. I glance up and Evie has finally moved from her shock and is standing in front of me with her arms up in the air, looking bewildered, prompting me to remove the shirt, eyes red with silent tears. I have never experienced such raw beauty. I’m stunned by her purity, this natural emotional beauty floors me.
I remove her shirt and hold her hand while she slips into the bath, not completely knowing what to do with myself, nor what is truly happening with her, it feels like I have walked in on a private moment, like I shouldn’t be here. I step away when I see Evie, fighting with her hair, thankfully giving me an out. I’ll go grab her bathroom bag for her hair. Fuck, I didn’t mean to upset her, noticing her silent tears have now turned to sobs. I go inside searching for her bathroom bag, completely terrified I’ve broken her. It was meant to be special a way of thanks, I thought she would have loved it. I take a few deep breaths and return to Evie. She is caught in something big; she has her hand over her heart and is sobbing. I’m beginning to feel overwhelmed by her outwardly expressed pain and not wanting to interrupt her nor having any idea what to do. Feeling helpless, while mesmerised by her beauty in vulnerability, her expression of pain. I see her sink further into the bath, as she slows herself and submerges herself briefly. The tempo of her breathing slows, she sighs loudly and suddenly, she is aware of me creeping behind her. I raise her bag and suggest washing her hair. She’s exhausted and I need to do something.
I want to help in some way, I feel useless. Evie sits forward and I attempt to wash her hair. It feels unexpectedly intimate. I try my best to be gentle and nurture her. Our closeness; the warm water, running down her body, the way she puts her head back for me; the silkiness of her hair, the aromas of sweet fruits against the bush smells of my land; it’s all intoxicating. I rub her neck, shoulders, comforting her how I know to, to show her kindness. I may not understand but I can do this, reassuring myself. I strangely love washing her hair, the feel of her hair, her body, her surrender to my touch. It helps to relieve the feelings of inadequacy. There is not a lot of words spoken, our bodies are doing the talking. Evie obviously has a deeper story, one that I know is going to be hard for me to deal with. I already care so much about her and there is so much I don’t know. She’s is kind and very affectionate, she’s vulnerable and freely shares her emotions and has a burning fire inside of her. A resolve, that I think has helped her to overcome what ever happened to her. I know she knows pain. It scares me to think of the pain she’s known. What she has endured. I lean back and admire my clumsy effort on Evie’s hair. She moves forward, and I take that as an invitation. I want to hold her and I feel relieved at being able to comfort her. Even in the bath together I feel her tears on my arm, and I just hold her. She tells me it’s been a big emotional rollercoaster and I make her feel safe, safe to feel whatever she needs to. Relief pours into me at her words.
HER | Twenty-nine
Reality dawns on me, with my body quickly following suit. Fear attempts to set up residence as my adrenaline comes down, more of a crash landing from the weekend. I’m awake. It’s early morning. I have reached for him and he’s not there, the bed is empty. I try to adjust - the fire is stoked, and then I hear the shower going. Empty, it all feels empty… Reality and I’m scared. It’s normal, Evie, needing reassurance. The morning is trying to be stock standard, I’m uneasy, perhaps a little confused. Sam is all business, talking about his workday and all that he needs to do. I’m still hooked into my emotions, so I panic, scull my coffee and announce its time for me to leave. I want to abandon this pretend normalcy, both politely imitating Mr and Mrs fucking Brady bunch.
The bath. I should have been more composed, less emotional, what was I thinking? I couldn’t stop the tears. He carries my bag and is all gentlemen like. A kiss, passionless from us both, and he is in my rear vision mirror. I’m a fucking mess. My fears screaming at me ‘it’s over’ and a little soft voice of ‘what was that?’
Hang on, I was just as weird as he was, after releasing some of the pent-up emotion and knowing that I felt it from him too. Did we quietly panic into operation be normal again? He felt far away from me, and I wanted connection. I had a weekend of pure connection.
I’m arguing with myself while crying out my little heart, finally acknowledging that I loved hard this weekend, that I felt so much, this freak out and feelings deserve to be felt and kindly ask myself to sit in my emotion and not fight or deny myself. They are emotionally accurate, aren’t they? When I’ve run out of tears, for now, and wash off all the emotions from the weekend, my mind begins its tsunami of questions. My brain attempts to problem solve them all and, from somewhere, my reasoned self appears, taking command and forcing the crazy to sulk in the back seat, thankfully.
I have the time on the drive to go through all of the emotions and assess everything logically. This is my emotional process, it just feels awful, and I think it should feel different, thinking my feelings again. I know it was strange. The weekend was like a love bubble and I think we both shed emotions and skin in coming together in the way we did, exposed. I think it was full on for both of us. I need to ebb and flow with our moments, trying not to read into things. The pit of my stomach is heavy, churning with emotion and hormones. Crazy takes the wheel for the second coming and it is flowing out of me. I allow it and stop arguing with myself, stop blaming myself, stop judging myself and just let my crazy run freely out of me. Thankfully, I pull the car before it became too much and I was able to scream a few times, a release. The cascade of fear, of emotions and judgement run through my mind like a show as negative thoughts torment me, but I know they are lying to me. The ones that dig deep and twist in the knife have half-truths, these old fears on rerun: ‘you were too emotional.’
Then sadness grips me, I’m in the middle of nowhere and I walk straight into a paddock, falling to my knees screaming to the world, a healthy side of ugly crying pouring out, and out of me. I comfort myself, tucking my hand under my armpit searching for my heart, I feel it pounding in pain, crossing my other arm over myself in a so
rt of hug. Cuddling my pained heart, reminding her that this is beautiful, a beautiful mess of feeling to be encouraged and accepted, fear expressed. I’m aware nothing really is going to calm me down, and I need to listen to my emotions and feel, allow them out, break free of the cage and the ability to do this with grace does not fucking exist. However, I will ride this wave and allow it to pass with a healthy side of release rather than holding my breath. Attempting to fucking mindfully breathe in the depths of my darkness is a tactic that has never fucking ever worked for me. In the darkness of my emotional meltdown, I know the path of least resistance is the way to go, so I don’t fight my own emotional expression. I try to attune to my feelings understand my wave, I embrace, allow and scream the fucking house down as I need to meet the intensity of my darkness. Not attempt to pacify it or shut off, but embrace my monsters and love them, set them free, and then I am free, since my demons are real. This is how I tame them. This is how I have learnt to control them and not have them control me. I’m aware that I’ve been triggered a few times with Sam and that’s okay. I know that I trusted, and that when he felt my body go rigid, he focused on me and somehow knew that, well, I don’t know what he thinks, but I know he responded, and I felt safe. I breathe, and my inner warrior comes through the darkness.
“Evie, you don’t need to define it.”
I feel the wave subsiding and it comes to me, like that, that this is a lot of shedding. This is not just him, this is years of pain, of hurt, of all those unlovable beliefs, of my demons controlling me, it’s all washing out of me. I’m no longer bound to my hurts, to those who hurt me. I’m free, I let love in. They didn’t fucking win. I’m not damaged, I am loveable. The battle scaring me. No matter what happens between Sam and I, I am so very grateful, to have felt the love of a true man, of a man who’s far from perfect, a man who I see feels so much and is not scared to feel with meaning. My God, we opened so much this weekend, and we both need time to process it.
Sam is comfortable in his skin and knows how to read the skin of a woman, can take his time to learn her body and understand her heart. A man who is not afraid to nurture and care for. A man who seeks out connected intimacy, a man who showed me passionate love this weekend, in heart, mind and body. At times, his sexual intensity was too much for me, but he didn’t battle with me. I lead, and he let me push away the connection if I needed to. Sam didn’t try to fix me when I was emotional nor did he ignore me, he was there, in the background, letting me do what I needed too. Whether he was completely aware of supporting me doesn’t matter, it is that he did it anyway. This last wave of emotion reverberates around my body, tingling and thumping into the corners of myself as it dissipates, tears silently expressing the sadness and joy of my revelations.
I stay in the dirt for a while, feeling the earth underneath me, as the sun on my face dries my tears and my mind quietens. I just allow the space to be, without judgement, before returning to the car to head home. My hands are shaking with aftershocks of my emotions and I know I need to get out of the car again. I stop in a small town to find something to eat. While I’m waiting, I walk around and shake off my hormones, with a purposeful walk and some jazz hands to take the edge off.
It works and I’m back on the road feeling strong albeit not sure about the reality of us and grappling with it being okay not knowing the future. He did feel so very different this morning - disconnected. I must remember to keep my feet on the ground and stand in my warrior self. We are just seeing what we feel like, to follow the flow. Basically, begging myself to stop picturing us married on that back deck. To remember that we both have stories and if I am feeling this amount of emotion, he will be to a degree also. Equally understanding that the last time he felt different, he disappeared, so I am coaching myself through that fear, believing it is different. We are different. Reaching down in the depths of me and dragging hope out, while holding my heart and breathing into her softness. I start the car, smashing out some music with a healthy side of back up singing and some shoulder dancing. My mind is slowly accepting reality, exhausted with an emotional hangover. I don’t care either way really, it’s just silent, from accepting the uncomfortably uncertainty. I focus on being grounded and not thinking, playing it cool with a side of wanting him to know that I want this, him, whatever we are, I am all in.
As he’s at the farm for a few more days, I can throw myself into my work and the energy that pours out of me is amazing. I manage my thoughts well - they are crazy - so I’m reverting to thinking about them like TV commercials. They’re on in the background and I’m not paying any attention to them. I’m also upping the ante on my physical efforts to burn the stress and emotion hormones while fighting with the unknown of us.
I am choosing to not allow those fears to set up house in my head. Every day, I’m having moments where my body trembles at a sensory memory of him, or the prospect of what I want him to do to me. I feel him whispering into my ear, as my body yearns for him. I find my hips are dancing, seeking out the memory of his touch, the rhythm I have inside me is bursting to get out, to be expressed.
It feels fantastic, I feel fantastic.
I’ve surrendered to the fears and they are on in the background, but not running my show, which feels a new sense of good, but shaky. I’m trying to enjoy the sensations of him. Each day I have felt the need to stretch out my body, to expose her to the sun, to feel the slightest breeze on my skin. Savouring my energy, the pleasure, the moans that creep out of me, my senses are alive and wanting and I am not trying to stop them, nor judge my bodily expression of felt love. Every bend, every tingle, completely aroused and at his mercy, despite the distance. We’ve talked and texted a few times, which reassured me. He got back last night and is coming over after work today. Will our energy be electric, will he want me still? Have the flames fizzled, or is this love? Did our weekend together freak us both out? Overexpose both of us? It feels like careful small talk now. I’m not sure if that is based on how exposed we both have been and now we are a little unsure of what to do with ourselves. Wondering how to peel back or move forward, like our intensity our emotionality has made us retreat in hesitation. We fucking thought too much and fear took hold. I know it, Evie, fear… like now…
Self-talk rises to attempt to calm my thinking and return hope. Those feelings are okay, just don’t let them control you. It could be the sharing of fears that has us locked in this strange space, we both have histories, Evie. Well, fuck, everyone does. Remember that you both fought demons and both are so awkward at times. You know it is about coming together in that space and showing up, in the emotion of us, in our hesitation too. Remember hesitation is the way your brain says ‘hey, this is important! Pay attention!’ In fear, it’s a green light for ‘this is significant.’ The hesitation makes you feel the magnitude of it and allows you to chase it. The warrior self concludes my pep talk and I feel somewhat relaxed. I don’t need to fix it or him, I just need to feel it for me and let it evolve, don’t force it. Breath into the uncomfortable space and be you in your want for this man, be your truth. We will only know when we are standing in front of each other, and that is tonight.
He’s running late.
I’m going all out with a roast lamb and I’m so nervous. God knows he probably feels the same, attempting to reassure myself, and scared that he might not even turn up. My hands have been trembling most of the day. I’m relishing the anticipation and embracing the anxiety to a degree, but now trying to compose myself, I’m not succeeding as much, as I hoped. I try to shake it off, and my entire body feels like its shaking on the inside. I attempt to encourage my body to shake more, and it helps take the edge off, thank god. Right now, I am so grateful for that little anxiety hack. I’m so scared of rejection or not being loved and in, that morning we had on the farm, I felt rejected. Even though I know, deep in my heart, that was not his intention at all, the rejection still set up camp in my heart. My thoughts begin the rerun of my personal horrors and reminding me why I’m so damaged.
We are coming at this with different timing. Remember Evie, balance. The right timing for waves to hit the shoreline means that a flow has to be established and wrestled with, you’re in that part, before the breakers, breathe and keep your strokes steady.
I bring out the big guns, some old school Otis Redding and dance around the kitchen. It helps me get out of my head and back into my body. I allow my hips and body to get lost in the swing of the music that plays around the house, eager to be caught by Sam, and physically being caught by him at the same time, as he has found his way right into the kitchen. He is staring at my body, eyes alive with desire. I feel hunted, wanted. He just keeps staring at my body, my hips, so I keep moving them to the music and he encourages me with a quick glance at my face before returning his eyes to my body, lingering on my hips. They are calling him over, as I allow him to watch and savour my body. My God, he is sexy. I walk towards him and our eyes lock instantly. I can see he’s emotional. I show him how I missed him, so he feels it, deeply. He’s so responsive and hard. His hands explore his favourite parts of me, as he pulls my head back, his wanting written all over his face. He seeks permission and finds it in my eyes, taking control immediately and showing me how he missed me as I savour all of him.