He had promised He would quit smoking while they were apart. He wasn’t keeping that promise well. He had lost count of how many He had burned since waking at 3am, chain smoking in the 35 degrees of the balcony.
They had been apart for 11 days. It was the longest they had spent away from each other since October when they finally connected, communicated and established their relationship for the long haul.
The plan was for them to be apart for 17 days. She had company, then a conference, then a weekend retreat. They both loved and hated the times apart. They enjoyed the longing. They enjoyed the intensity it bred into their reunions. But they also missed the talk, the laugh, the touch.
He had paced himself. Like a marathon runner He knew if He allowed His mind to dwell on the length of the race, He would have trouble finishing. Longing would become pain. When He found His mind tending to Her, He would quickly distract Himself with work or people. He wanted this to remain the pleasure-pain, the passionate edge.
But Thursday, She had surprised Him. He assumed She would need down time after the hectic weeks She had endured. He was willing to grant Her space whenever She needed it, Her amazing came at the price of Her needing time alone.
She reached out: “Can you come down Sunday evening, after I am home from my retreat?” Days sooner. He was excited they would be together. The thought fired His imagination and His passion.
Last night He allowed Himself an indulgence in anticipation. He took time to dwell on Her. Their shared adventures. Her joy. Her smile. But soon He found His thoughts moving to Her body, their passion. Closing His eyes and feeling Her against Him. Her soft skin beneath His fingertips. Tracing, touching, teasing…
The urge, though willfully suppressed for a week, now burned into full fire. Today He was enjoying the heat of the flame.
He smoked his first of the day on the balcony. It was cold. 7 degrees. The crisp sky was filled with stars and a passing plane.
He woke missing Her today, missing Her body. Hungry. Today marked seven days since He had felt Her next to Him. She had been attentive, calling and texting. Affirming. But calls and texts couldn’t replace tracing Her lines with His finger, feeling Her softness in His arms, the intimacy of two becoming one.
If He were there, He would wake Her gently. She would be on Her side, Her back to His chest. His right arm beneath Her head, hand cradling Her breast. His left would run the length of Her body.
Eventually, She would begin to wake. Moving against Him. His fingers exploring, dancing on favorite places. Her breath quickening. Her body moving rhythmically. His thrusts meeting Hers. Her moans becoming louder, more urgent, until…
After, He would hold Her, safe under covers and filling His arms. The Best Part.
As He finished his cigarette, He looked forward to the weekend.
I have a deal with myself to do at least a 1.5 mi run 3 days per week. This weekend I will be doing a 5K.
Today it was raining. And cold. Did I mention it was raining and cold?
I am trying to be accountable. I have asked Waco to mercilessly bust my balls if I don’t send her a screenshot of my workout. This week, however, I am giving her some space to spend time with her fam while we cultivate missing each other.
I was tempted to use that as an excuse to not run.
So I am posting my run pic here – in fact, I might start doing that on a regular basis so you can give me a hard time if I don’t do the run. If you don’t see me post a run on Wednesday, feel free to fire away. The threat gives me that little bit of extra motivation to go for it again.
She hated pictures of Herself. She had learned to accept He wanted them and took far too many.
They had been having a wonderful time together. He had been spending more time at Her’s than His for the last couple months. But it was time for them to miss each other.
They had said a wonderful good-bye, both travelling for the holidays. They were looking forward to missing each other.
This morning He opened up the “Waco” folder on his computer and paced through pics of Her. Her eyes. Her smile. Her kids. Benz. That pic She made for him on a dare. Her with friends. Ugly Christmas sweaters. Joe Bonamassa. Kayaks. Texas A&M. Troy. Renewed deck furniture. Rain.
Over a year of memories now.
Missing Her this morning felt good. Anticipation. Looking forward to a special event you know can’t come fast enough, but in the anticipation is joy.
He was happy. For Her. For Them. For the pictures.
“What do you want?” she asked him.
“I want this.” he replied, saying nothing.
“What do you want?” she asked again, this time more pleading.
“I want you.” was his frustrating reply.
But now, since The Terrible, he knew.
He wanted The Magic.
The magic of seeing her smile, her eyes.
The magic of imagining her in Texas, in California, in Vegas, in Michigan.
The magic of missing her, knowing when he saw her again, the magic would be stronger.
The magic of the first kiss of the weekend, and the last.
The magic of movies and Dateline and Rain.
The magic of the talking, the laughter, the inappropriate jokes.
The magic of drinking coffee together on the deck.
The magic of a vacation together.
The magic of sharing even the little fears.
The magic of reassurance.
The magic of her warmth next to him.
The magic of her bed, her body.
The magic of truly seeing her and being truly seen.
She had been smarter than him, and more cautious, but the magic was undeniable to either of them.
He knew she wanted The Magic too.