He returned the massage favor, lavished my every curve with techniques of his own, techniques I’d never experienced before, techniques not taught in Thai massage school. Then we made love on the floor without saying a word. And once again, for a brief time I was in a place where it didn’t hurt. Being with him, making love to him, at so many levels erased all of my pain.
His eyes were inches from mine as I lay contented and euphoric.
“Let’s go to Bodega,” he said.
“Is that a good idea?”
“It’s late, I doubt anyone will know us there, and if we get caught, we can say we happened to run into each other. You’re newly single, so it’s not so unlikely you’d go to a wine bar.” His eyes followed his wandering hands. “Except you’re not single—you’re mine.” He wiggled an arm underneath me and over me, then laid his head on my chest so could run my hands through his hair. He loved it when I ran my hands through his hair.
The sidewalk was wet and the air warm as we strolled to the wine bar, bowing our heads as cars passed. Burgundy and silver neon glowed from an oversized wine glass on top of the roof above the doors. Grant ordered us a bottle of wine, some type of Reserve Cabernet, a delicious ending to Thai and sex. We sat illegally close to one another, flirting and drinking and learning how to make zucchini lasagna from the food network on the television above the bar.
Across the room I noticed a lone couple snuggled on the couch next to a crackling summer fireplace. “I can’t wait until we can do that,” I whispered in his direction, bumping him. He leaned in to me and the bartender glanced up, spying our secret exchange.
“Soon, baby…soon.”
“Grant, would you play a song for us tonight?” The bartender asked as he stuffed a cloth into a wine glass, meticulously drying it to a spot-free shine.
“You should, everyone loves it when you sing.”
“I can do that,” he said.
His warm hand lifted from my thigh, he winked and kissed the air beside me, then walked to the small crescent stage and picked up a guitar.
Silence swept through like a cold front, and the room went still as he started to strum. Porous red brick walls held the rich sounds of his guitar, and his eyes looked through me from the first word to the last as he sang his love song.
He was casually draped over the guitar, his body pulsing with vibration, holding back, waiting for all the right moments to use his gusto. When he was done, the couple on the couch clapped and looked at me not him, she flashed me a warm smile. She was curious, happy for me. I wanted to make her my surrogate friend and tell her everything—how much I loved him and what I had gone through to be with him, and tell her that tonight was the first time we’d been in public together without disguises.
“That was the best acoustic song ever, baby, you’re amazing.” I wanted to leap onto him and kiss him for the gift he had just given me, holding back was difficult and my stomach was tight with emotion.
“Oh quit it, I love singing for you,” he whispered in my ear.
A white coat flashed in my side vision, the couple by the fireplace was walking toward us.
“That was great, thank you so much, what a treat.” The woman said, reaching her hand out to him and cupping his forearm. She looked at me with a knowing smile, then back to Grant.
“We loved the way you were singing to her.”
***
Hi Darling:)
Before I go to bed, I wanted to write you a little email that you can wake up to:)
So here we go…Honey, you are the absolute greatest thing in my life, and I know I say that, or something like that a lot, but it’s the absolute truth. I don’t know what life is like anymore without you; you’ve asked me what I would be doing right now if you were not around, and I don’t know, and can’t really remember what I did to occupy my time before you (B.C.—Before Charmaine:).
I can’t even fathom a life without you now. We’re on such a great adventure together, that words truly cannot describe it (or if they can, I just don’t know what those words are…maybe paragon and veneration get close, but not quite.
Thank you so much for wanting to be a part of my life, and letting me be a part of yours; there isn’t anyone else I would want to spend it with, and I have a feeling you feel the same, and that feels so awesome! I miss you very much right now, and every moment that goes by is occupied by thoughts of you, of us, the future, and the here and now…
I will see you tomorrow! (It’s Tuesday already!)
Love, me…
P.S.—Imagine…you and I, warm bodies close, perfect fit, my steamy exhalation on your neck, your tiny hairs stand up, goose bumps spread across your body, my lips touch yours and we kiss, with tongue, softly…I go lower, it’s perfect; you want me, and I want you. I make my way back, across your stomach, between your breasts, barely touching your skin with my lips…
Chapter 35
Fruit and Wine, Twister night
We started the evening with a healthy dinner then broke out Twister while listening to Kenny Wane Shepherd. I won. Okay, that’s not true, but it was close. We then proceeded to drink some red wine, Renfold’s Merlot to be specific, along w/wine soaked black berries, raspberries and strawberries I had prepared for C.J. in advance. Some of the fruit was eaten directly off of “Sushi Girl”.
We then retreated to my bedroom, where we lay in bed, naked bodies next to one another, embracing…
The next morning, we woke up at 6:30am, only hitting the snooze button a couple of times. Then, of course, our addiction—Coffee! We fueled up on a couple of cups to start off the day. What better start than to wake up next to the girl of my dreams, touch her soft, beautiful skin, pretty hair, then share in conversation of a cup or two of Caribou…
-Grant
Chapter 36
You are a babe, you know! Can’t wait to see you, love sneaking with you, even though I would rather not sneak! But if I had to, you would be the one to sneak with :)
I love you so much, honey…I’m really, really looking forward to our getaway…let’s have fun (there’s no way we couldn’t :)
Soon…
-Grant
Chapter 37
“I AM EXCESSIVELY FOND OF A COTTAGE; THERE IS ALWAYS SO MUCH COMFORT,
SO MUCH ELEGANCE ABOUT THEM. AND I PROTEST, IF I HAD ANY MONEY TO SPARE,
I SHOULD BUY A LITTLE LAND AND BUILD ONE MYSELF.”
—JANE AUSTEN, SENSE AND SENSIBILITY
Fantastic adventures, surreal landscapes and the promise of a future with him lacing us through all of it was unbelievable. The more amazing our life together became the more I feared it was teetering on the brink of extinction. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to puncture this fantasy and I would fall thousands of feet back to a bleak reality, without him. I didn’t know whether it was his initial hot and cold spells that made those feelings linger, or if I sensed something else looming. I didn’t have any actual evidence that such a travesty would occur, but I couldn’t eradicate the notion.
Ob·ses·sion:
The uncontrollable persistence
of an idea in the mind, sometimes
associated with psychiatric disorder.
—Dictionary.com
Yep. I was obsessed.
With him, with losing him, with us and I was withering away. I’d officially begun The Divorce Diet or was it the New Love Diet? I guess it was both.
Did this state of euphoria exist to make me skinny and thus more attractive to my suitor? I wondered.
I lingered in the space between obsessive psychosis and new love euphoria; the place where all other beings in the universe ceased to exist except for me and the object of my desire. Some type of biological gene had turned on causing me to lose all interest in food and hobbies and anything other than the tasks that moved me closer to my goal: permanent procurement of my new mate.
We drove a few hours away from our hometown and into the towering pine and hardwood forests of Northern Minnesot
a for what I hoped would be an unforgettable birthday weekend. Along the Lake Country Byway we meandered through miles of protected wetlands and nature preserves that sprawled out between quaint antiquing towns—each one equipped with its own gourmet chocolate shop and vanilla bean coffee bistro.
The forest trees were a blurry Picasso out my window as we drove holding hands and getting high on gourmet fudge and exquisite coffee. We dreamed out loud about all the places we’d visit in our lifetime. Places like The Museum of The Rockies and the campus at Cal Tec, Kilauea and Krakatoa, Bettie’s Pie’s and Longboards on Kaanapali. We’d visit his high school friend in Japan and indulge in Thai Massage in Chang Mi. At the time, I didn’t actually believe any of it would happen; it was really only just a glorious dream I didn’t mind dreaming.
When we arrived at the ancient moss covered forest, it captivated my senses and entranced me with its organic beauty. A million pine needles concealed the dirt floor and crunched beneath our feet; a thick canopy towered above, shading the sun, creating the perfect environment for lichens and moss to thrive on the goliath trees around us.
Chippewa National Forest. Check.
Grant wrapped his warm thick hand around my wrist and led me through a small opening in the trees. We followed a game trail, ducked under branches and stepped the over rotting trees. Narrow rays of light illuminated the millions of sea foam green and blaze orange lichens covering large swaths of the trees and boulders.
Where the pine forest morphed into a grove of white birch, moss bogs blanketed the ground making a lush, springy carpet. The forest had opened up into an enchanting meadow—a silent alcove, hidden from even the sun. A place where unicorns reveal themselves from behind hidden forest doors. We traversed across a complex network of fallen trees to the center of the wild atrium. It was a mossy meadow preserved in a time, hidden from loggers, and hikers, and real-estate developers.
“This is amazing!” I said. “You are amazing. You’ve kept your promise.”
“What do you mean?” He leapt confidently from one floating bridge to the next.
“You said we would see the world and here we are.”
“Of course we’ll see the world. This is only the beginning.”
“We should sleep outside here sometime,” I said. “It’ll be our secret alcove. We can use the same sleeping bag and make love in this enchanted forest.”
“Yes baby, let’s do that. I’ll save coordinates.”
“Save the coordinates?”
“I brought my GPS so we can start saving the coordinates of all the places we go,” he said, “so we can write them in our journal then come back and visit them someday.”
We explored the mystical forest, saved the coordinates of our secret alcove and of where we would come back and harvest our first Christmas tree. Every moment was dreamlike and romantic beyond my wildest expectations. Just before the trail lead us out, we knelt down near a weathered gray bench that looked over a vast wilderness of tall trees. He pulled me close and warmed my shoulders in his embrace as he positioned us for a panoramic shot overlooking the valley.
“Don’t fall, baby, I would die if I lost you,” Grant said.
***
The directions said: look for an unmarked gravel road a few miles south of Moose Mountain.
I threw my arm across his chest and pointed, “This is it! Turn here!”
Dust filled the air behind us creating a reddish evening glow as he veered left onto an unmarked dirt road. “Honey, this is great. I can’t wait to see where you’re taking us,” he said.
“She’d assured me that we wouldn’t be found—that this place was off the grid.”
It was his birthday surprise. Dozens of private acres overlooking Moose Mountain Lake—and it was all ours for the weekend. The land was owned by a client of mine whom I’d asked a favor of.
We pulled up next to an idyllic log cottage. It was small, but with vaulted ceilings, one bedroom, no windows, and a field stone fireplace you could see from outside. Nestled in the trees overlooking a mostly uninhabited lake, the only view to the inside of the cottage was through a patio door facing the woods. A steep trail lead to a bonfire pit, then to the secluded lake. It was the epitome of lake-country living; the epicenter of the north woods and we were the only humans around for miles.
The evening air was brisk, the wind calm, and the lake eerily still. Vibrant gold, green and blue colors of the woods reflected a mirror image of the trees and sky making a blurred line where reality stopped and the illusion began.
“How did you find this place? It’s amazing! Honey, you are the most wonderful woman in the world. This is the best birthday ever.” He kissed my proud cheek.
“I thought that one birthday of yours that we spent together was the best,” I said.
“That one was good, but I have a feeling this will be better.”
“One of my clients owns the property, I asked her for a favor.”
Grant reached for my hand as we walked down the steep slope to the platter shaped lake to watch the remaining sunset. We walked past the reedy shore where the amphibians were emerging from the cool mud and beginning to croak their happy croaks. At the end of the dock he squished me into him and we swayed in silence taking in another wondrous setting sun.
“How many sunsets do you think we’ll watch together in our lifetime?” I asked.
“Thousands.” He said.
“Wow, that’s a lot. How many time do you think we’ll sleep under the stars?”
“Hundreds,” he said. “We should write them all down in our journal.”
“We should also write down how many countries we think we’ll visit, and how many jobs we’ll have and how many different houses we’ll live in.” I said, “Someday we can look back and see if we guessed right.”
“That’s a great idea,” Grant said. “Let’s also write down how many kids we think we’ll have and grandkids too.”
“You think we’ll have kids and grandkids?” I asked with my heart wide open and needing to hear it again to believe it.
“Of course we will. Hopefully we’ll have lots and lots. Only if you want though. You do want more kids, right?” He said with sincere smile.
“With you? Yes. I would love to have babies with you.”
“You ready to go practice?” He said nudging me and kissing my neck.
Once we were inside Grant knelt in front of the fireplace crumpling old newspaper as I unpacked my secret bag of goodies, lining them up on the kitchen counter. A bottle of Two Vines Merlot, a corkscrew and plastic cups, a book of matches, a massage oil candle, a pre-packaged brownie and one birthday candle. Then I flashed him a quick glimpse of a small red tube with “Kama Sutra” on the label.
***
Just imagine me slipping
ever so slowly inside u
as I kiss ur neck and love
u the way u deserve 2 b
loved.
Chapter 38
“I HAVE TO REMIND MYSELF TO BREATHE—
ALMOST TO REMIND MY HEART TO BEAT.”
―EMILY BRONTË, WUTHERING HEIGHTS
I unwrapped the single fudge brownie and lone birthday candle, then gave a forceful cough to cover the flick of the lighter.
“Happy birthday, baby,” I said as I strode toward him with his birthday brownie.
He didn’t want the brownie; he was hungry for a different kind of dessert. He clasped my hands and pulled me behind him into the bedroom. In the tiny space of the bottom bunk, with only enough width for one body, our two bodies became entangled.
“I bought a candle that melts into massage oil,” I said. “It’s called Into the Woods. I thought it was fitting. And…I bought this…”
I wobbled the little red tube from side to side.
I stopped him from grabbing it, “One thing at a time, we have all weekend to use the trinkets I bought for us. Now put your hands behind your head,” I demanded, and he gladly assumed the position. “Keep your hands there, don’t move,”
I commanded—wanting him to touch me so badly—but wanting even more for him to explode with desire.
“My sexy little vixen,” he said with his eyes fixed on my every move.
I made love to every inch of him with every inch of me.
We barely fit in the scanty space of the single stall shower. I pressed close against his slippery body and laid my head on his round shoulder, absorbing his affection. Our bodies pulsed as one as we stood unmoving until the last drop of hot water ran cold.
“Wine?” He asked, self-assured and unashamed as he towel dried his naked lithe body.
“Do you have to ask?”
I tried to maneuver my towel in such a way that it hid my maternal breasts but also looked like I was drying myself confidently. I had yet to reveal my breasts or let them come out to play. They stayed held up by my hands or by my very supportive and sexy underwire bra, and I had no intentions of letting them come out and fall down tonight. He’d probably never seen the breasts of a woman who had breast fed a child, and I wasn’t about to horrify him with my national geographic style droopy, grumpy breasts.
Droplets of water pooled on his stubbly upper lip and transferred to mine as he kissed me. “I’ll grab a blanket and the wine. Meet me by the fireplace,” he said then squeezed past me and out of the bathroom.
I wiped the dripping mirror with my towel and looked at my reflection through the streaks. My hair was shorter than it had ever been, cut into an edgy, choppy sort of style that stopped blunt just below my chin. My nails were painted glossy black and my eyes were smudged with a smoky charcoal tinge all the way around.
The harder I stared, the more my reflection seemed to retreat into the mirror, and the more I felt like I didn’t know who I was looking at. Nothing felt real, I didn’t feel real and I didn’t recognize the person staring back at me.
Affairytale : A Memoir Page 23
