-Maya Angelou
Iwalk over to the window and pull the familiar heavy curtain to the side, just like the first time. Just like so many times since. While looking down at the street below, my mind drifts to that first morning here. That first time together. I was ready to leave him behind, and I almost did. But the way he looked in the waning moonlight made me stay.
It’s twilight again. Just like the first time. The city has barely begun to stir. The overstuffed lounge chairs have long been replaced with newer versions. I settle in one of them, the fabric soft against my skin, and observe the room. The marble floors remain the same. The luxurious dark wood accents still punctuate the space. The king bed still commands the room from the center.
Except this time, the man lying in bed is not a stranger. His hair is longer now. His body is older, but like a fine wine, only appreciating over our years together. Scars, marks, wrinkles mean nothing. They only mark our history together. His face is as striking now in the almost-dawn as it was the first time I saw it.
The sheets are a tangled mess on the floor, and he lays exposed to the room and to me. His generous chest hair tapers down to a treasure trail from his abdomen to his cock. In these early morning hours, he looks like everything I’ve ever wanted.
The evidence of our nightcap is strewn about the coffee table. Glass tumblers, a bottle of gin, Campari, and sweet vermouth. A puddle of water rests where an ice cube was dropped and forgotten. I run my finger through it absentmindedly. I prefer a gin and tonic—he knows that, but this was nice too. He always wants to try something different. It’s one thing I love about him. It’s one reason he took me up to his hotel room that first night, where we fucked long and hard.
A desperate need underscored that first time. A need that built to a fervour which overcame us. That need is now a steady want. A decade on, and we both still choose to want each other, to love each other, to fuck like the first time, but also enjoy a slower, more intimate pace in each other’s arms.
Being with him is easy. Just like the first time. He made it simple for him to be my last one-night stand. Now, he is my partner. My confidant. My lover. Every day, I thank God that I didn’t walk out of the room that night. That my resolve faltered, and I crawled back into the sheets and curled up against his warm body. That he stayed, and I stayed.
Wandering to the bed, I grab the jumbled sheets from the floor and crawl beside him. Delicately, I spread them out, covering my husband. I slip underneath and join him, skin to skin, absorbing the heat radiating from his body. The memories of the first night are still fresh in my mind. He felt much the same then. My limbs wrap around his, forming an intricate knot of body parts. The closeness still makes my heart beat fast.
Just like the first time.
