[Sacred Encounters] Tom’s Story

A Night, Different

Afterwards, when I went back to the room the next day, I noticed that I was looking for something. Something was amiss. I was restless, and I didn’t know why. Then it came to me: she wasn’t there. I missed her, my more-than-a-lover of one night. I needed her back. I still do.

In that evening, nothing was ordinary. Nor was anything leading to it. She asked me to consider meaning and significance, before we ever met. No one has asked me that. I considered her question, and shared with her as best I could as we walked from the hotel to the restaurant.

We spoke of values, fears, desires, of love and connection, of my spirit, of her spirit, which is different from mine and different from most anyone's I’ve ever met.

Words then took a break.

The night turned synesthetic: her body eloquent, her eyes melodic, the scent of her touch spoke in colors of water. We merged, separated, gave, withheld, and her presence was pure womanhood.

Deep, soft, ferocious, generous, needy, writhing in quiet bursts. She lavished desire on my needful passion, and my body now remembers her in ways my mind cannot.

I wish for this special, strange, uncertain dialogue to endure. It may not, and if not, that would be enough. But I do hope, with feathers.