by Melody Anne
Without realizing it’s happening, tears fall from my eyes as I make my way to the bedroom. I sit on the bed and let go, crying out all my frustrations. Mason never comes to me. I sit alone.
He doesn’t hear me. To be fair, I don’t hear him either. We are strangers . . . ghosts sharing a home, not a life. I weep some more.
Chapter Nine
Then
I’ll never forget the night Mason and I made love for the first time. It connected us in a way that made him go from being my boyfriend to being my everything. It’s odd that something so common and messy can bond two people for a lifetime.
Maybe it’s because I waited until I was with someone I truly loved, or maybe it was because I was told it was a special act. I’m not sure what it was about having sex with Mason that deepened our bond, but that night has always stayed with me. That night had good and bad moments. But one thing it had was staying power. It was a night I’ll never forget.
It’s odd how memories fade. There are events in life we think we’ll never forget, but years go by and they fade. But the first time you make love to someone is an unforgettable experience, whether it was a good one or not.
I was sixteen years old. I look back now and realize I was too young to be sharing something so intimate with another person. But at that time it felt right. While I might have been too young, I have no regrets. It had to be Mason . . . it had to be us together.
Mason and I had known each other for nearly a year, had been dating for about half that time. One night we took a drive to the beach. It wasn’t something we planned, which made it that much more real, that much more special.
We laid out a blanket, the warm summer breeze blowing across our young bodies. I snuggled against him as I looked at the sky, mesmerized by the twinkling lights so far above us. We talked about the vastness of the universe, talked about how small we felt when looking at the millions of twinkling lights.
It didn’t take long for him to turn me so I was flat on my back. My stomach fluttered in anticipation of his kiss. Our kissing had become more urgent over the months, as if we needed to consume one another. He leaned into me, his mouth connecting with mine in a way that felt utterly right.
He leaned over me, his mouth caressing mine, his hands traveling over my body. I held him, loving the smoothness of his skin, the heat pouring from him. Slowly he pulled my shirt off, and I trembled beneath him. My bra went next, and though I was excited I was also self-conscious at being so exposed.
But I didn’t stop him. When his hands slid up my skirt and inside the elastic of my panties I still didn’t stop him. His kisses became more urgent. Normally I called a halt to things at this point. We were getting too heated. We were pushing boundaries.
But I was excited. I loved him. What could be wrong with doing this final act to show each other how much we belonged together? The next half hour was a lot of fumbling. Our clothes came off and there we were, skin to skin, nothing between us. He didn’t ask if I wanted to do it, he just climbed on top of me.
The moon shone bright, but it was still hard to see his face. I was unaware of the outside world. Anyone could have walked up on us, but I only had eyes for Mason. I was scared, but I knew it was time for us to take this next step.
My body wasn’t ready. Yes, I was excited, but we didn’t know what we were doing. We were so young and naïve, a time in life when innocence was real. A time when I hadn’t yet been hardened by the realities of all that was out there.
He reached between our bodies and held himself as he lined up his erection with my sex. Then he pushed forward. All the tingles rushed from me as pain seared my insides. I gasped and he groaned, thinking my sound was one of pleasure.
I hadn’t talked much about sex. Just to girlfriends who only gush about the good. Sure, I had learned the basics at school, but I had no idea of how much it was going to hurt. He sank all the way inside me, and my entire body was rigid. He didn’t seem to be aware. My fingers dug into his back as I tried to catch my breath.
But Mason was moving, his body frantic as he groaned above me. His body arched and he pumped faster and faster, then yelled out as I felt warmth soak my insides. He let out a satisfied groan as he collapsed on top of me.
The pain subsided into a dull ache, and we lay there together, my arms wrapped tightly around him. This part of making love was wonderful. Our bodies were hot and I truly felt we were one.
Neither of us spoke for several moments as his breathing returned to normal. I don’t know how much time passed before he pulled away from me. I suddenly felt empty as our bodies disconnected. He shifted and cradled me in his arms as he lay on his back and held me close.
“That was amazing,” he said, his voice filled with wonder. “Did you like it?”
A nervous giggle escaped me, and he turned and looked at my face. Now on his back, I could see his expression better in the moonlight. I didn’t think to lie.
“It actually hurt. I’m a little sore . . . you know . . . in there,” I admitted.
His eyes widened with concern. “Did I hurt you?” he gasped.
It was our youth. He had no clue that wouldn’t be pleasant for me. He was young and didn’t know how to read a woman’s body. I didn’t exactly have a woman’s body. I was still a girl. I asked a question I never thought to ask before.
“Have you . . .” I paused. My throat tightened, but I needed to know. “Have you done that before?”
There was a long silence as he thought about his answer. I was scared to hear what he had to say. I didn’t want to share him. I had just given him something I could never give another, and I didn’t want that tainted.
“Yeah,” he admitted, sounding afraid. “But she was older and knew what she was doing, and it was . . . different. I didn’t love her.” His words were spoken almost casually at the end.
“So this probably wasn’t good for you,” I said, ready to break into tears.
“No!” he said, his word emphatic. “I love you. What we did was beautiful,” he assured me. His large hand cupped my cheek and I knew I had done the right thing.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m glad we did it.”
Silence greeted those words. The two of us lay there a while longer. He clung a bit tighter as his hand began rubbing my back. We weren’t looking at each other when he spoke.
“Do you want me to . . . um . . . to try to make it feel good for you?”
He sounded nervous. His hardness bumped against my leg. He was ready to have sex again. I didn’t know a whole lot about sex and how it all worked, but I remember talking to friends who said when a guy came he was done for a long time and couldn’t do it again. I felt the ache in my insides and shook my head.
“I think we should wait. I still hurt,” I told him. It wasn’t a stinging pain anymore, but the area was tender. I was slightly embarrassed to have to admit this to him.
“Of course. I’m stupid,” he said, sounding remorseful.
“No, you’re wonderful,” I assured him.
We lay on our blanket for another hour, our hands caressing each other. After we dressed, he drove me home. When I used the bathroom I realized we were foolish. I found a mixture of blood and semen. We didn’t use protection.
Luckily I didn’t get pregnant. And as we made love more and more we got smarter. That night connected us, and we got married three years later. There were times we were more intimate than at others, and it took nearly a year for me to learn my own body, to learn to ask for my pleasure.
I wonder if we would’ve stayed together if we hadn’t begun having sex. For the longest time I did it because I knew it pleased him, not because it brought anything to me. I wonder if he would’ve wanted to be with me if I hadn’t had sex with him. That’s something I’ll never have an answer to.
I hate that something so beautiful turned into something we eventually took for granted. I hate
that something I needed from him, something he always wanted for me, is now something he won’t give me.
I realize a relationship can’t last without sexual compatibility. It’s so important. It connects us all in a way we can’t connect with another person. We have friendships, relationships, and lives outside our marriage. But sex with our partner is something we only give each other. It bonds us. It unites us. When that’s taken away, it leaves us empty, as if we’ve somehow failed. It leaves the relationship vulnerable.
It leaves the door open for someone else to step through . . .
Chapter Ten
Now
I don’t sleep well after the elevator incident. When I finally manage to drift into a dream world, my anxiety rises. I dream of Kaden in the elevator . . . and this time the lights don’t come back on. This time, the doors don’t open.
I’m sweating when I wake, my knees up, my hand between my legs. I’m shocked to find myself wet and needy. I turn toward my husband. I need relief. It was just a dream, but it was a powerful one.
But when I reach for Mason, he isn’t there. I look at the clock. It’s four in the morning. He never stays up this late. I throw back the covers and stumble to the door, my eyes hurting from lack of sleep, my body aching from a desire needing to be quenched.
I find Mason in his studio. The music is off and he’s sitting shirtless in front of his painting, a sweet picture of a dog and two cats frolicking in daisies. I barely glance at it before approaching him.
He truly is a beautiful man. His back muscles ripple and my sex clenches. I’m so hungry, so needy. I step up behind him and wrap my arms around his narrow waist, my fingers resting on the hardness of his abs.
He doesn’t say a word. I lean into him and kiss his neck, letting my tongue slide over the smooth skin as I rub my hand lower, hoping to find him ready for me.
“I’m sorry, Miranda, I really need to get this done,” he tells me.
What’s worse than his words is he doesn’t even harden beneath my touch. There was a time it didn’t take anything to get him hard. He’d walk in the front door, see me, and be ready to haul me into the bedroom. For that matter, he had taken me right on the kitchen counter many times. I’d worn a lot of dresses that first year of our marriage so it was that much easier for him to slide inside of me.
My body aches and my feelings are hurt at his rejection. But I won’t show him these emotions. Maybe I should talk to him. Maybe I should say something. I don’t, though. I just turn and walk away.
There’s no point in trying to go back to sleep. I strip off my jammies and step into our oversized shower. The hot water drifts over my body and the strong spray hits my breasts, making the ache inside of me pulse.
I pull down the shower nozzle, turn it on the jet spray, and slide it over my breasts, a small moan escaping me. I close my eyes and lean against the shower wall, moving the nozzle lower.
It hits my skin, making my stomach quiver. I don’t want the shower. I want a man’s hands on my body. But it seems my husband doesn’t find me desirable anymore. I shake that thought away and can’t help it when Kaden’s face appears in my fantasy.
The nozzle goes lower and the hot spray thrums against my core. Pressure builds in my body. I ache, I shake. I imagine Kaden’s hands sweeping down my body, squeezing my nipples before trailing down my trembling stomach. Then he drops before me.
His mouth is now on my core, his tongue sweeping along my sensitive flesh. I cry out when an orgasm rips through me. My knees shake and my legs give out. The nozzle flops from my hand as I sink down the side of the slick shower wall.
I don’t know how long I’m there, hot water cascading over me as I catch my breath. I finally muster the energy to stand on weak legs. Then I rinse off and walk naked into the bedroom. Mason is coming through the door.
He looks at me, circles beneath his eyes as he begins moving toward me. There’s still a hunger inside me, a need to be filled. Maybe he’s changed his mind. I smile at him as he steps closer.
“I’m going to shower and get some sleep,” he tells me. He leans down, gives me a quick peck on the lips, and then disappears into the bathroom.
I stand shaking as a tear slips from my eye. I can’t remember the last time he saw me naked and simply walked on by. I move to the large mirror by my closet and critically examine my body.
My breasts are large, not so big they sag, but definitely big enough that I have to think twice about what shirts I wear, especially to work. My waist isn’t as tucked in as it was ten years earlier, but I don’t have rolls. My stomach can’t be called flat, but it isn’t sticking out. It just has a natural curve to it.
I turn sideways and continue examining myself. I wouldn’t mind losing an inch or two from my thighs, and I have to be very careful working out because if I even think about doing a squat, my butt grows, making it impossible to fit into a normal pair of jeans.
I take care of myself, work out as much as possible, eat healthy ninety percent of the time, and wash my face regularly. I haven’t let myself go just because I’m married. But that doesn’t seem to matter. My husband has stopped wanting me.
Is it my fault? I truly don’t know. I should talk to him about it, tell him how I’m feeling. But I’m not sure how to do that. We don’t have intimate discussions. Maybe he’s having an affair. I don’t know when he’d have the time. He practically lives in his art studio. But something is wrong.
I can’t stare at myself any longer. I have to get out of this house. It’s only five in the morning. An hour can seem like an eternity when you’re feeling terrible. My body still aches. I don’t put my work clothes on. I carefully fold them into my gym bag and instead dress for the gym.
I apply a light amount of makeup, not willing to go out in public without it, feeling as down as I am. I leave the house within fifteen minutes, needing to run. It’s early enough that I have no problem getting to the office building within twenty minutes. That gives me a full two hours to work out if I want.
I definitely want.
I put my headphones on and climb onto the treadmill. I push myself hard for thirty minutes, not caring if I look like crap. I’m not one of those lucky women who look absolutely adorable after an intense workout. My skin flushes, and I sweat . . . a lot.
I pull up an app on my iPhone and do a weight circuit. This gym has everything a fitness pro would drool over. I work for an hour and a half straight, and when I step into the locker room I feel better. I’m too exhausted to care about the ache that still resides low in my belly. I shower, thinking about the one I had a couple hours earlier. All of that working out seems nil all of the sudden. My body instantly responds to my sexual thoughts with my breasts throbbing and my core tightening.
I want to scream.
But instead I climb from the shower, wrap a towel around me, then dress. Like a robot, I fix my hair and do my makeup, taking my time. I still have about twenty minutes before I’m expected to clock in for work. That’s good.
I step out to get coffee, tired and needy, but I’ll make it through the day. That’s for sure. I’m just not sure I’m going to make it through the night — only time will tell.
Chapter Eleven
Then
Mason and I were normal teenage lovers. Our relationship wasn’t perfect. We had beautiful moments and horrible ones. We fought, broke up, told each other we never wanted to see one another again, then we’d run back to each other and make love with a frenzy.
We were so young.
My high school graduation was a bittersweet moment. I knew by the end of my senior year he was the man I wanted to be with forever. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was because I was from a small town. Maybe I didn’t understand there was a whole other world out there.
I had no idea why, at the tender age of eighteen, I wanted to make a lifelong decision to stay with the same boy I’d been with for
two years. I knew we had problems, the initial infatuation had faded, and there were a lot of things between us that didn’t make sense.
But he was mine, and I was his. Maybe he had some of the same doubts I had. The difference was, he was being more honest about those thoughts.
He’d already graduated.
After his graduation he left for a couple months, first selling his family company to his uncle, deciding the corporate life wasn’t for him. He wanted to be a full-time artist. I thought it was utterly romantic. We talked often on the phone, for hours in the evening — at first.
The calls faded away after a while and I realized I was fine. I went to school, spent more time with my friends, and wondered if he was truly the one I wanted to spend my life with.
But when he came back, all of those feelings I’d once felt so deeply immediately came back as well. We were together again as if we were never apart. But the day of my graduation he told me he was leaving again.
I didn’t go on my graduation trip. Instead I spent the entire night wrapped in his arms, making love, crying, thinking my life was over. This time he was gone for months. We didn’t talk a lot. I tried to go to college, but that didn’t work.
He came back three months later and told me he’d made a decision. I was slightly cold toward him. He’d hurt me so much. I didn’t know what he had done while he was gone. I’d gone on a couple of dates, but I hadn’t felt a spark with anyone. It had been Mason for so long I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.
He proposed to me. It was a beautiful proposal. He took me to the beach and had fake candles set out, since the wind would blow out real ones. He bought me roses and told me he didn’t want to be without me.
I said yes.
We were married less than a year later.
Chapter Twelve
Now
I’m jumpy as my day begins. It’s only day two and if I’m this tense all morning, this job is never going to last. Even if I see Mr. Alexander, it doesn’t matter. He has no idea what I dreamt about last night. He knows nothing about me. I have no reason to be as fidgety as I am.