Deflated

The smell of incense floated through the air like the sensual musical notes spilling into the atmosphere.  Candles placed here and there dramatized flickering flames dancing around the walls like silent observers in an environment made for lovers.

Many months had passed since she last shared myself with someone she considered special enough to touch her in the way all women want to be touched when they’ve had too much of the mundane.  It had been six months to be exact.  Six months of not being sinful.  Six months of abstinence.  Six months of wondering if she would ever be sexually free.

She thought she knew what would happen that night.  She always knew what she wanted, when she wanted it, and whom she wanted it from.  Physical attachment and intimacy were never primary needs for her, but when the physical aspect of intimacy surged to the forefront, she knew her body would keep reminding her she was a healthy sexual being.  Just the thought of what it would be like with him encouraged her body to express itself.

His shy pecks turned into kisses then small nips along skin.  His hands finally found her breast and began to caress her in a way that reminded her of her high school sweetheart.  But, she was no girl of sixteen.  She wondered who had taught him how to love a woman.  Obviously it was someone who did not know how to ask for what she wanted.

She didn’t feel like coaching.  Instant gratification, penetration, and nothing more was all she wanted.  His way of making love to her did not make an impression.  She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to stay focused as she thought about the last six months and how focused she had become.

He felt her body as if afraid he would break her.  Like a forty-four year old adolescent engaged in his first sexual encounter he’d fumbled before he’d started.  His bark was worse than his bite and he would not make her feel good about breaking six months of being good.

The music stopped and her disappointment was like the smell of incense… barely noticeable.  For a woman, there is always more than one way to skin a cat.

He explained his failure as over excitement.  He said he had been dreaming of this moment for a long time.  His kisses and caresses were automated, cold, and abortive.

He was pensive as he tried to portray an image of strength.  He “was” strong.  He “was” pensive.  He “was” gentle.  He “was” almost believable.