It happens everywhere. You don’t have to escape or go anywhere.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, then let’s go to a perfect night.

The air is sweet, not altogether wet with rain or mist but ready, moist and humid. It haunts the senses on the other side of a doorway or a window left open for the draft. It doesn’t need be open very far to let in the air, the outside air so sweet and fragrant and full of darkness. You need to be warm and cozy, safe and snug, but you need the contrast lightly fanning your face, suggesting glittering drops on distant limbs and the sway of branches bare or leaf abundant. It will help if you are home and therefore can come to a new place without restraint or fear.

You’re safe. Say it again, “I’m safe,” and know the feeling.

You know the feeling.

Oh yes, there may come a sound in the night, a light scratching sound, some denizen of the wild come to look for food, a bird may call to find the mate for whom he built a nest, but those are animals and you are well controlled. The moonlight makes you wonder.

What would it be like?

What would the feeling be if feelings all were free?

You reach down and allow your hands to slide over the body of your life. Your hands touch your arms. Your fingers intertwine. They roam to breast and stomach. What would it be like to cradle so much life and such passionate dreams that no one could be trusted, even if they sought to reach as you do now below the navel, the soft and warmth as the breeze suggests suddenly, a flash of distant lightning declares the possibility of rain.

Out there, think back out there where limits don’t exist, the moisture of life will fall in torrents, even if it only rains a little, more weight and water than any man can comprehend. So it comes within no law, only within the spirit of holy life.

“Oh,” you moan. No one hears. Is someone there? Is something over there against the wall? Did someone stare in through the window or is it your own vivid imagination playing games with shadows once again? You see him now where no one ever stood before, a stranger not known to you, but well known to your soul. In your heart you know him. In your very willingness to leave the window open just a bit and welcome in the night, you brought him forth.

Welcome him.

Say hello.

“Who are you?”

“You know me.”

“I want to know you.”

“As I know you.”

“Have we ever met?”

“In your dreams. In your lonely places.”

“Who are you?” she repeated.

“The one to fill the void left by all the others.”

“There have been so many promises,” she said, “so many disappointments. I feel awakened from so many dreams I am afraid to dream.”

He extended his hand.

“Invite me,” he said.

“Come in,” she said.

He stepped toward her in the room, out of the cold and dark and now forbidding gloom of all other places into the circle of her warmth, into the place she reserved only for herself.

The dark light and truth of a courtly love came with him into the room. She knew this without being told. She bid him welcome. An antique and priceless notion of fulfillment and revenge filled her heart against all wrongs committed against her soul.

“I’m here for you,” he said, as he placed a gift for her on the table by her bed.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A vortex,” he said, “a whirlpool, a tornado if you will, a captured storm in molten glass. It will keep.”

The present intrigued her, but she clung to her last attempt at resistance.

“I don’t know you,” she demurred.

“No,” he said. “You don’t. Do you think you ever will?”

“No,” she confessed.

Then she reached across the covers and with a delicate pinch of two fingers took the corner of the blanket and drew it back without fear or hesitation from a newfound courage.

“I’ll wait,” she said.

“For the gift?” he asked.

“That too,” she said.

“What else?”

“For knowing who you are.”

His eyes beheld a soft glow from the bed. Her body lay exposed from the disregarded blanket, but still within the thin gauze of her nightgown.

“You are beautiful,” he said.

“Flatterer,” she said.

“I love telling the truth.”

“What is your truth?” she breathed.

“You are my truth.”

He approached the bed. She found her breath coming shallow in anticipation, not coming at all if she admitted the anticipation building within her. Her pulse began to tease the fabric of her nightgown up and down over her breasts.

He knelt by the bed.

“What are you doing?”

He did not answer at once. When he did he spoke words to enrapture her soul.

“Praying to please you,” he said.

Still kneeling, he reached out and across the edge of the bed. He touched her nightgown. He did not touch her, his hand deft and light, as a master thief confronted by some infinitely complex combination of which he had no certain prior knowledge. His hand then unfastened the top button near her throat and without her objection, she could find no words to express her thoughts, they scattered as she tried to think them, he then proceeded to the second and third button. There were more, but why bother? He reached inside her nightgown. Her pulse raced faster.

Yes, her pulse that moments before had merely filled the fabric, now filled the palm and fingers of his right hand.

What incredible luxury is this? What liberty? What secrets lie in store?

The nipples were there, but he didn’t linger. He didn’t play. He had finesse. He kissed her on the lips. That took her by surprise in the darkness. She thought for a moment how vast the pleasures before her. He sealed her mouth with his won, first the light pressure of a pair of lips, then the soft pressure became commanding. She could not breathe. She did not want to breathe. Their tongues met in the long, old timeless way of lovers in the world, making their own world now out of raw materials of what is yet to be, knowing full well only the world they make for themselves is their own. It’s a form of communion, a language for which there is no translation. You must ask the lovers to explain. They will or they won’t. They may be unable. It is their pleasure. They will keep it for themselves as these two kept it now.

Still locked in the kiss through which she felt their souls combine, she now felt his hand reenter the fabric at her throat and proceed across her breasts. This time her nipples firmed in response. His hand withdrew and next she knew proceeded to the hem of her nightgown down there somewhere below here knees and underneath raising it and lifting it as he went he came with his fingers dexterous and swift to the region of her thighs.

Nothing could stop him now.

She would not stop him, although she wished he would wonder a bit even if she tried.

The man had permission to access the secrets of her life.

“Take me,” she spoke. She startled herself saying it. No one had provoked that level of honesty before. She wanted so bad to be someone, to tell anyone to take what she had worked so hard to be seemed wrong, not the taking as permission itself.

“I will,” he said. “You have my word.”

His left hand withdrew from engagement with her to unfasten the buttons of his own shirt. He kept a slight rubbing back and forth on the inside of her thighs. Her legs spread a tantalizing fraction. She helped with the buttons, then pulled the shirt from within his belt which she proceeded to loosen next at the buckle, as if she’d done it a thousand times before with a thousand others. It just seemed right and easy. It just seemed like the next right thing. She managed the snap at the waistband of his pants like a magician snaps a trick and pulled down the zipper of his pants. She found it made quick work and a quick sound. She liked the sound. His right hand found its way another few inches upward between her legs and with a tug she dropped his pants to the level of the bed.

None of this had ever happened before in her life. How could she know what to do? How did this happen to agirl who only wanted to be a good girl all her life?

He didn’t take any questions. She didn’t ask any. He focused on the kiss to her mouth. They rolled with it as their tongues rolled together. Then he kissed her forehead and her cheeks on either side of her mouth and his left hand began to stroke her face like a feather around the polished face of a statue saint in a church.

With a man’s confidence and determination he let his pants go to the floor, quickly abandoned her altogether with his hands but only briefly as he put his thumbs under the elastic of his underwear, pulled down and let them go standing now only in his partially unbuttoned shirt.

“Now,” he said. “let’s see if my word is any good.”

In the annals of men and women there is a gift, a moment of intimacy so exquisite, so coveted it may only come to the truly deserving.

There are those for whom it never comes.

Those to whom it never comes have no faith. They have suffered no loss, experienced no great sorrow which neither time nor any other feeling can ever fully take away.

The people who know life and survive to live it come to a moment when all else is cast aside. They feel themselves swept into a great mystery, a great heat from which they emerge reborn. Perhaps it is recompense for suffering, a fire from which God in His mercy will forge a new heart from their broken pieces.

The man placed himself on the bed between her legs, but he did not descend upon her. He could have fallen like a great bird of prey and she would have welcomed him as a nest receives a falcon, but he remained poised on his knees and spoke.

“Move up,” he told her.

She wiggled higher in the bed. Her head now rested against the head board. He deftly lifted her nightgown with another command.

“Lift your hips.”

She obeyed willingly as a schoolgirl, receiving her lessons from a master. He reached up beside her shoulders, grabbed a pillow and placed it beneath her elevated hips, which she brought down to rest in the comfort of a new thought which brought breathtaking delight to her mind.

“Would he really dare? Would he fulfill such an unspoken commitment? Would he be so forthright and bold?”


She knew he had her now. She lay naked from the waist down. She breathed evenly, but heavy, short rapid gasps. He moved away, far away and from that distance took her left hand in his right hand and her right hand in his left hand and now where he had touched her thighs he kissed her there on the inside of one leg and then the other above her knees which opened more and he proceeded up along the inside of her legs toward the goal. She urged him on by doing nothing, afraid of everything, biting her lower lip unable to speak, unable to relax, not knowing what to do. He couldn’t miss.

He found her soul.

His lips touched the woman. His lips met those feminine lips. His tongue flicked out and licked them, went beyond the moment and portal where she thought she might die if he did but certain she would die if he didn’t.

“Oh my Lord,” she said.

He kissed. He sucked. He licked. He made her fill the night with sighs and groans.

What else is night good for?

What else can fill the darkness and consuming void so successfully?

She let go and tensed in rhythmic alternation to his insistent tongue, his forceful lips his hands so tightly holding her hands. She broke free from his grasp to place her hands on his head and press him even tighter into the place as her legs opened as if in birth.

This man would consume her. This man would enter and be soul mate and lover as no other.

“Yes,” she said. “Oh Jesus yes.”

With a final jab of his tongue, deeper than she believed he could, he withdrew.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

He smiled.

She could see him in the dark.

Her glow had become his own.

He moved up on her body.

Now he had another tool.

She felt it begin where his tongue had taken leave.

It went in like an arrow, all at once, all the way. He didn’t wait. He didn’t ask or say anything, all she knew it touched her there, just touched the lips so recently touched by his own and then as she formed her next idle thought, would have said some endearment or coaxed him just a little bit more it went in to the hilt.

Her eyes went wide.

Her mouth opened in a great big ‘O’, but he didn’t flinch, say anything or allow her to say anything. Inside her now he put her mouth to good use with his own and sealed any exclamation she would have uttered with a kiss. As he did so his tongue, the same tongue he used to make her ready found her own and rolled the sensitive flesh in silent conversation of trust and comprehension.

It seemed impossible for her to be so defenseless, t be so willing in more than one place at a time, but she completely surrendered before his superb attack. He withdrew and advanced, withdrew and advanced the gentle assault deeper now to yet withdraw and advance. It made her head swoon as he relentlessly pursued the goal she gave and wanted him to attain. It seemed she should say something, anything, but she could only groan. She could moan way down in her throat, but nothing aloud as his kiss rendered her mute. She sought ways to tell him. She grasped him with her arms tightly around his back. She scratched him with her fingernails not to hurt. Her legs found their way up and out and gripped him in a charming vice. She really had no choice. He fought and came out, thrust in and came out. Her body made it easy for him, but friction and heat increased. She broke into a sweat and broke away at last from his kiss.

His hands found their way everywhere.

“Oh my love,” she whispered.

She wanted to scream.

“More,” he said.

He kissed her again again again. He went down to her throat her face her lips where he returned to linger.

“Oh yes,” she gave him more.

His right hand began to explore. He used it to press against the bed and find his way underneath her and grip her at the small of her back. The pillow still beneath her hips offered him utter access. He just kept going in and out making the bed and her heart and her thoughts pound in a rhythm she loved like music. His weight came full upon her. He used his free left hand to touch her where he entered and increase the sensation of her complete and utter surrender. She felt safe and with safety came the first and distant stirrings of what must surely be his reward for all the effort.

In and out, in and out, in and out, rightness and drive and power and hunger for the prize.

“Oh my dear God,” she said, thrashing her head from side to side.

“What?” he asked. He didn’t need to ask. He knew. He heard. He understood, but he asked. “You tell me,” he said. “You tell me.”

“I love you,” she breathed racing. “Didn’t you know, didn’t I tell you, oh I waited and you came and I needed you so much to come oh please I’m so,” she continued.

“What?” he demanded.

“I’m oh so now I don’t know I’m just so,” and with a finger to all the more penetrate and make it impossible for her to refuse a swift staggering confusion of energy and spirit erupted from her silent feminine and give him the gift of her secret.

“I,” she said is all she said, all she could say and “I,” again and then came out “I” again with a lunge upward to meet him as he came down to meet her and she came.

She came.

She came.

He wouldn’t let her stop.

She couldn’t.

He wouldn’t stop.