ConneXions (4 page)

Details become a little sketchy now for a bit as I remember my friend leaving me with Michael, to take off across the road to join a male friend of hers.

I remember how we ended up in bed, but it really did start out quite innocently as the chattering of my teeth from the bone deep cold I felt was driving him insane.  It's not as clear, but I
hear
him shushing me as he took me by the hand and led me through the dark and sleeping house to his room and to his bed.

Michael was an American (go figure!) a year younger than I, and at the time, short and sweet with an unruly mop of dark curls.  He wore glasses and followed me around like a
love sick puppy.  Although I was vaguely aware he perhaps liked me more than I liked
him, I saw him as my friend.  Safe.  I wasn't very bright I guess, in that I never saw the
danger
until it was too late.  I certainly didn't think I was anything special, so when he kissed me, he took me completely by surprise.  He was so gentle, so very sweet and that
first kiss was so achingly tender yet so thoroughly arousing.  I was lost in the moment, and
it was all I could do to just cling madly to him and follow his lead.

He said he wasn't a virgin, and probably thought his birthday and Christmas had come all at once when he finally had me under him, clinging like a limpet.  My only excuse was that I was trying to bleed the heat from his body into mine.  In fact, I'm quite sure that's how it was.

Pathetic!
  I've always been a sucker for a great kisser.  LOL!  And lest it sound like it was all his fault and I had nothing whatsoever to do with it, there came a point when I understood exactly what was about to happen and that if I didn't threaten to beat the crap out of him and get my ass out of there, I was about to take a step that there'd be no going back from.  I remember that moment very clearly.  I remember too, that I was already half in love with a young man whom I would eventually marry two years later, but I was frightened of being intimate with him, and we were not yet in a committed relationship.

My virginity bugged the hell out of me.  I was sick of feeling like a
non-starter-at-a-dive-meet
always poised, ready to take the plunge and then backing out at the last minute.  I convinced myself that I wanted it gone; persuading myself that the rest of my life would
begin, if I could just get past this particular hurdle.

I recall with vivid clarity, what a bombshell it was, seeing him naked, swollen and erect right before he entered my body.  No doubt my eyes were the size of saucers and a part of me that suddenly felt inadequate and extremely small, wanted to rebel.  I would probably have run away screaming given half the chance!  He seemed huge, and he was, I had just assumed he'd be small like the rest of him.  I saw him so clearly right then and it was no boy that smiled
shyly
back.  He might have been a year younger than I, but it was a man, a young man perhaps, who confidently eased away my fears and kept my body exactly where he wanted it.  He was beautiful.  I stared back up at him, as he positioned himself
between my legs, growing calmer and bracing for the inevitable.  With his face flushed,
eyes bright and alive with a look of such need, and hunger that said it was up to me to
quench, I wanted to tell him that I didn't know how; wanted to ask what it was he expected
so I knew what to give, but I was too shy to speak.  I knew what lust was, and it was lust that I saw too, a look that I'd previously run from.  But still I wanted him.  In that moment, I wanted him inside me every bit as much as he needed to be.

My body knew what it wanted too.  It was slick with excitement and we both moaned with
the sheer pleasure of it as his shaft stretched and slid slowly but surely into my body, forcing the muscular passage apart, in a way that defied each and all of my previous imaginings.

Then reality intruded rather nastily, and it all fell apart.

Just when I felt myself begin to relax, thinking that
this wasn't so bad after all
and that maybe I'd torn my hymen myself, using tampons or exercising – he came to a rather abrupt halt as he hit the barrier within.  Instantly the first rivulets of fear – fear of the pain to come and the unknown, trickled like ice water down my spine.  He retreated, only to return swiftly as he thrust in again, hard and deep, filling me completely.  He captured my agonized scream with his mouth and tried to give me time to acclimate by lying still within me.

I was suddenly like a wild thing; old fears and dark memories resurfaced until I was panicked beyond reasoning.  With tears of shock and fright running down my cheeks, I tore my mouth away from his and tried desperately to kick and claw my way free of him.  I had to have him off me and out of my body.  I needed to get out from under him and move away, wanted nothing more than to curl away and hide.  I was desperately ashamed and afraid as old nightmares and fears crashed down on me until it felt like I was drowning in misery.

He was so very brave, and he tried so hard to soothe me with his touch, his kisses, and his voice.  But my mind had already flown far away.  His own inexperience, his distress at my reaction, scared him so badly that he started to cry too, begging my forgiveness and apologizing for hurting me.

And that's what brought me back to him.  That's what calmed me down.  Seems I just can't stand to see someone hurting and will do just about anything to help...

He hadn't moved off my body until that moment, but when he did, he simply sat up between my legs, my thighs spread around him.  His hands loose on my hips, with his head down and his tears falling like a soft rain upon me.  I was immediately contrite and reached for him to take his hands in mine, to pull him back to lie against my body, to
embrace and soothe him in my arms.  We lay quietly holding one another tightly, just like
a couple of kids.  It was then I felt a wetness between my legs and feared I was bleeding.  I
must have said it out loud because the next thing I knew, he was there back between them
once more, reaching for his glasses and checking for damage.  It was all so horrible, it
should have been funny!

On the bright side, his own tears were quickly forgotten in his concern to make sure I wasn't bleeding to death.  I swear, only I could have such an unforgettable deflowering!  It was truly the longest night of my life!!

Poor Michael.  I'm betting he's never forgotten me either as I've no doubt he was just as traumatized by the events as I was.  Probably swore him off virgins for the rest of his life!  I sure hope his next bedding was a lot more fun and that she was sweet and kind to him
and when it was over and he lay in her arms, he felt ten feet tall and wonderful.  The poor
man deserved nothing less after that one awful night spent with me!  How we never woke his parents remains a mystery.

I wish I could say that we tried again or even finished what we'd started; that we made mad passionate love with complete and utter abandon that it was magic because I was brave enough to face my fears and move on.  But I can't, because it didn't happen that way.  I remember him trying for the longest time afterward to coax me into becoming his girlfriend, to let him hold me, to let him into my heart and my body again.  Unfortunately I was terribly embarrassed and wouldn't give in, even though it hurt me to know that I hurt him with my rejection.

I have tried over the years not to dwell on things I cannot change or to have regrets.  I think regrets are such a tragic waste of time and energy.  Yet, I would be lying if I said that I don't have regrets about trying again that night with Michael.  I still doubt we would have had a relationship, even if we'd had sex again, but it might have made us both feel better.

I didn't try sex again, at least with another person, until the Frenchman.  Why it all seemed
so easy with him is anyone’s guess.  I'm sure his experience and the subtle but firm way he took control was most of it.  Maybe it was just time and I was ready.  Maybe, because of what happened with Michael, I was finally able to let go of things from my past, things
that never should have happened to a small child and thus move on.  I do know I'll always be grateful to him because whether he knew it or not, something happened that night that finally set me free.

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5

Date Night

He took me to see Les Misérables in Auckland one night many years ago now, and we dressed to the nines for the occasion.  My cocktail dress was short, with killer heels and a tiny bag with nothing but my lipstick in it and a few dollars.  He loved me in red; we could barely keep our hands to ourselves as we made our way to our seats.  It was my first live theater show and I was so excited, I could hardly breathe.

What I remember most, apart from the outstanding performance, was forgetting to tuck a hanky into the sparkly bag I carried and his words afterward.  Barely ten minutes into the performance, I was sobbing at the drama unfolding on the stage in front of us, gripping his
hand tightly.  Thankfully he had a handkerchief.

Later at the end of the show as he tilted my chin upward with a finger and saw the tear streaks on my cheeks, the make-up a smudged ruin on my face and my red nose nearly glowing in the dim lighting, he asked, with worry in his voice, if I had enjoyed it.

I grinned like a demented person and told him how marvelous it was as he threw back his head and laughed.  He kissed me and said that I was the most beautiful woman in the
world and that he loved me.  It was the first time that he’d said it that night.  Even now, when I hear music from Les Misérables, or see the dress I wore that night tucked into the back of my wardrobe, I smile, and I remember.

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5

Epilogue

Who is this woman that stares back at me with that stupid frozen smile?  Lillian came and
went.  She left me an outfit on the bed and on a different day I might have even noticed.

Even now, though I am ready and dressed, I feel… nothing inside.  All my hopes and dreams are ashes.  The smile is nothing more than a facsimile.  Though his voice is still strong inside me, urging me to “Buck up girl... my beautiful girl... I love you sweetheart, forever and always…”  Fuck.  My mascara.  Why did I put it on?  I never wear this shit!  I cry All... The... Time...  And I HATE to cry.  I would rather scream.  I’ve done too much of that too.  Missed too much already, drugged up on sleeping aids – like that shit is going to help.  Everything is still the same when you wake up.

We know right?  I mean, we all know that life is fleeting, that everything ends.  But no one
can prepare you for the pain.  I don’t understand how I can be functioning at all!  Can
everyone not see the blood that pours freely from me?  Mortally wounded I am.  I want to die.  I want to burn the fucking house down for you are everywhere love.  I can’t bear to be
here and yet I can’t bear to leave this place for a moment.

They tell me it will take time.  Eventually it
WILL
get better.  Think of your sons. 
Remember the good times you shared.  Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!  I’d give it all for just one...

More...

Day!