Of course, all we wanted to do at first was fuck. Our energies were hurtling into each other blindly, aggressively and unrelenting and never so clear. A day spent without her was always carried with a sorry pre-occupied urgency just waiting til we next got to go again. And when we went, I never wanted to stop, and when we stopped I just wanted to go again, and so did she, and we went, and went and stopped, and went and over and over until we were so tired we fell asleep in a hot sweaty mass oozing with flesh and heat and wetness not knowing where I began and she ended.
And whenever I had to leave I was always thinking, from the moment I realised I had to go, all through the leaving, 'why do I have to go? Where else could I possibly need to be? life is so clearly here. As I move away from her, there can only be less life, moving back into that strange place where I scratch around, waiting til the next time I see her.' And we texted each other during the day, we sent messages;
'I'm throbbing', 'I can still feel you', 'I can still smell you', 'When can we see each other again?', 'Can I see you tonight?', 'Shall I come over?', 'I want you so much, I wish you were here right now,' 'Come over straight after work,' 'there's so much I want to do to you,' 'I don't ever want to sleep, I just want to be with you, fucking and talking,' 'Oh Yes! Me tooo!!!' 'I can't wait!' 'I can't think about anything else.' 'God, this day is dragging, why they fuck did I have to leave you this morning.' 'Every moment without you is shit.'
And, of course, this is how it goes, and you get suspicious that the intoxicating cloud of lust and physical aching has completely detached you from everything else. All the other crap you do pales in significance. And you get suspicious, and you think about distraction, and you think beyond distraction, and you start not to trust, and you think about madness, and you lose perspective.
