The Apple of My Eye

Apple of My Eye

The meeting I had to attend on Friday went by so fast it felt like it didn't even happen, and, before I knew it, I was out of there and on my way back to the hotel, where Star would be waiting. When I got there and knocked on the door, she must have thought it was housekeeping or something, because I could hear her getting out of bed and changing into something more presentable. When she opened the door and her eyes met mine, her face turned into a broad, bright smile, like she knew it was going to be me all along, yet at the same time did not believe it possible that she was in a hotel room in another city, just waiting for me to wake her up from her slumber. It may sound silly, but I tell you, I had never felt so wanted and welcomed in my life.

I walked into the room and, in the blink of an eye, was back in bed, in the arms of the girl that I adored. We had planned to do some going out, you know, see the sights, catch a movie—none of which we actually did, in the end. We were locked in that hotel room for the better part of the weekend, and very little would prompt us to go out. We did step outside once or twice for food, but we weren't even hungry most of the time to begin with. It's as if our being together nurtured our bodies and our souls, for we felt healthy and strong the whole time, despite the fact that we ate and slept very little those three days and nights.

Star had completed the process of letting herself go around me. The quality of the kisses we now shared put our first kisses to shame—in intensity, stretch, and passion, let it be noted, and never in terms of sentimental significance, oh no, they were all in the same category when it came to that. If Star was not in the least self-conscious about showcasing her goods on our first night, what came to pass on the following nights was even better. Like, way, way better. She was now more open-minded and uninhibited than ever before, even if she still would not cater to my most basic needs. We talked about that matter at length, too. She swore she didn't think me the kind of guy capable of getting her in the sack only to dump her immediately afterwards. Maybe in the beginning, but not anymore. Although, if indeed I was that kind of guy, she would have no way of knowing for sure until it was too late. And I had always been that kind of guy, yes sir, but with Star I wasn't. I did not intend to let her go. That wasn't it, though, she explained. What it was is that she didn't want to come across as too eager to put out, or too easy, or anything as ill-advised—and absolutely wonderful—as that. She wanted me to have something to look forward to, and, frankly, I kind of liked it that she did it this way. It meant she wasn't going to be done with me by Sunday. It meant she planned to spend other nights alone with me. And that was great. And she wasn't exactly playing hard to get, either, mind you. On the contrary. Star knew she looked spectacular, and wasn't at all bashful about displaying her attributes and letting me have my share of fun. She was proud of her body, andher choice of sexy lingerie reflected that. Several times that weekend she sashayed into our bedroom wearing a pair of panties and a bra I hadn't seen before, and asked me, flat-out:

"So, what do you think of these?"

"I think you look delicious in whatever the hell you wear, Star," I wouldn't hesitate to say, even though she might very well have wanted to hear something a little more chivalrous than that. Or maybe she didn't. Maybe she preferred my peremptoriness. She always rolled her eyes impatiently at my replies, but then segued with a sexy grin and a chuckle.

And she did look delicious, I'm not just saying that. Picture the perfect photograph of any perfect girl that comes to mind. Now think of what anyone, especially another girl, would say upon looking at that photograph. It's got to be Photoshop, right? Fine. Now think of a girl who looks that great, and she's standing right in front of you, and you can actually touch her and verify that none of that shit is photoshopped. Now that's pretty remarkable, right? Well, that's exactly what my Star looked like, and that's exactly why I felt like I was the luckiest son of a bitch on the face of the earth.

But much more than a visual picnic, Star actually was delicious. I know. I tasted her. I drank from her Holy Grail. True, we didn't get to go all the way—and I didn't insist (more about that in a second)—but we did get to do a lot of fun stuff. In that respect, our weekend left nothing to be desired. Well, technically, it did, but you get where I'm going with this. I got to clutch and grip and grasp and seize and grab that Venus de Milo with arms like there was no tomorrow. (In a couple of days, when we'd be back where we had started off, there really would be no tomorrow, at least not for a while, so I made sure I made it count.) And this is not your run-of-the-mill, what-are-you-doing-to-me kind of girl we're talking about, either. Star did want to take things slow and refrain from actually doing it, but she was plenty impure. Lord have mercy. There was no stopping this girl, and neither did I try to. Oh no. I encouraged her every step of the way, and I was richly rewarded.

Speaking of encouragement and rewards, though, here's a confession: I was actually glad we didn't get to go all the way, and I'm going to explain why. It's a known fact that the male of our species is a deeply troubled creature, apprehensive about size and performance and all that shit. I was no different, I tell you. Bear with me here for just a minute. Let's all remember who this girl had been sort of married to—and still lived with! This rapper dude, okay? Saying he was a deejay doesn't really make it sound all that intimidating, I know, but saying this motherfucker was a rapper, a hip-hop artist or whatever you call it, even if he wasn't a black rapper, sure puts the fear of appraisal and comparison in you. Plus, he was in his early twenties whereas I was in my late thirties. That's got to make some difference, right? Well, if it did or if it didn't, I don't know. All I know is it did make me insecure. It didn't scare me shitless nor did it leave me totally and permanently incapacitated, but I knew I was somewhat lacking in the confidence department. Therefore, I reckoned I would just as well spend a little more time than usual dedicating myself to making foreplay our main event, and, when Star decided she simply couldn't wait anymore, then I'd make sure she'd be getting what she wanted. It pains me to admit that I was actually looking forward to her taking her time, don't think that it doesn't. Call me disturbed, call me neurotic, but that's the way I felt. It wasn't that I didn't want to have sex—I did, and very badly, too—but everything that was happening between us felt so holy, so sacred, that I didn't mind savoring it for as long as I could. Because we were having such a great time together, and realizing more and more with each passing day how heartwarming and gratifying it felt to be around each other, I could very well do without the sex for the time being. After all, we were just technically not having it. In every other respect, we were. Oh yes. Big time.

Notwithstanding all the excitement we shared in discovering the recondite curves and nuances of each other's bodies and the several games we could play with them, what was happening between me and Star on a more nonphysical level transcended all that. The intimacy and companionship that was fast developing between us was beyond all language and nomenclature. The serene pleasure I felt in her presence, even if she was simply sleeping next to me—which I loved to watch, by the way; it made me feel powerful, go figure—was like nothing I had experienced before. (I say that a lot, I know, but it's all true.) When we talked to each other or even when we simply gazed in each other's eyes, there was such a massive exchange of energy, like everything was happening by some greater design we couldn't really understand. When I was around Star I felt replenished, I felt hale and hearty, I felt whole. Being with Star was not simply like I was in the company of some amazing girl, something that you love doing but can definitely live without, for there are other girls out there who, while they won't make you feel the same way, will at least placate your thirst. With Star there was no thirst, see? There was only satiety. You don't think of thirst when you're satiated, much like you don't have to worry about money when you actually have it. That's more or less how she made me feel. With Star, I didn't feel like I had to say good night at some point and walk away to where I belonged. Instead, I felt like I had to stop whatever I was doing and go be with her. I belonged with Star. Being with her made me feel like everything was finally all right. Like all I had worked for and lived for up until this moment had finally paid off. Like I could stop shopping around. Reached my destination. One of those moments when the important things in life suddenly come into sharp focus. Like "this is it," you know?

Being with Star was like being home. Being home at last.