A stranger’s bed

Letter

How do I tell you I love you without saying the words?

It’s both the easiest and the hardest thing to explain. I search endlessly for the right way to put it, but when it comes to matters of the heart, I fall silent. They say actions speak louder than words—and you, Augustine, prove that to me every day.

Your gaze is enough to unravel me. I feel star-struck when your eyes settle on mine, when you devour my body with a look that no one else in this world ever sees. That wild, dazzling gaze makes butterflies beat against my stomach until I can barely breathe. Your touch is unspeakable, a language of its own, leaving me shivering with goosebumps. When you press me beneath you, when your face hovers so close and your breath mingles with mine, I want nothing more than to stay locked in your eyes forever.

Your body is a masterpiece I’ve memorized. Even if I closed my eyes, I could trace every mole, every curve, every line of muscle as if you were carved into my very skin. I love you in ways only God knows—deep, unspoken, almost forbidden. Every brush of your hand against me makes my n*****s ache, and your deep voice sets my heart racing all the way down my body. I crave you until I tremble, until my body begs you to touch me again and again, until I can’t take it anymore.

I tried to capture those feelings in words one night, typing furiously into my laptop until my hands shook. When I finished, tears streamed down my cheeks. Should I send it to him? Should Augustine know how much I love him? Or would these words scare him away? Five years together, and it still felt unreal—too perfect. No petty fights, no pointless drama. Just passion. Just lovemaking. Just us.

As I sat there, lost in my thoughts, my mind betrayed me and wandered back to the first night we made love. That night lives inside me like a permanent tattoo.

I remember sitting nervously on his small, barely furnished bed. Augustine had only just started building his life, and his room told the story: plain walls, a single table, a bed that creaked if you leaned too hard. Still, I smiled to myself, sipping the drink he had served me. My hands trembled so badly that I spilled half of it on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, mortified. “I don’t even know how it happened.”

But Augustine only smiled, calm as ever. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

His reassurance soothed me, though my heart still thudded against my ribs. Before I could gather myself, he leaned close, his lips brushing my neck. A shock of warmth shot through me. His kisses trailed upward, slow and teasing, each one unraveling my nerves thread by thread. Clothes slipped away piece by piece, and the faint music playing in the background filled the room with an intoxicating rhythm.

At some point, without realizing, I was straddling him, my hands trembling as I explored his body. My lips found his ears, and I licked gently, making him shiver beneath me. When I nipped at his neck, he moaned—a deep, guttural sound that made me wet instantly.

As my hands wandered lower, I felt the coarse hair beneath my fingertips, the roughness of his skin, the heat radiating off him. Every touch felt like art. How could a man be this perfect? His broad shoulders, his flat stomach, his large hands with veins creeping like vines—he was a sculpture come alive.

When he paused to slide on a condom, my breath caught. That was the first time I truly saw him in his full glory. Tall, strong, and beautifully endowed, he looked at me like a lion preparing to devour his prey. My stomach tightened in anticipation.

He raised my legs and pushed into me slowly, inch by inch, until I gasped, my body stretching around him. His eyes pinned me in place.

“Don’t look away,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “Look me in the eye. Are you enjoying it?”

Shy, my lips barely formed the word. “Yes…”

It was unlike anything I had ever felt. Each thrust made me whimper, every shift of his body inside me felt unreal, like I was floating. Time blurred as our moans filled the small room. Thirty minutes passed like seconds until, with a smile, he asked breathlessly, “Can I c*m now?”

That single question sent butterflies tearing through me. No man had ever cared enough to ask. Guilt flickered in me then—I still had a boyfriend. But as Augustine turned me, bent me, spread me into positions I never knew existed, guilt melted into pure ecstasy. His strong hands gripped my breasts completely, his warmth surrounded me, his passion drowned out every other thought.

When it was finally over, he collapsed beside me, panting. His chest rose and fell against mine.

“I enjoyed you,” he said softly. “I want to do this again.”

I could only murmur, dumbfounded, “Okay.”

No guilt. No shame. Just the memory of lying naked on a stranger’s bed for the first time, knowing I wanted more of this forbidden pleasure. I wanted more. I didn't know why. I didn't know this guy but I wanted to stay longer. I wanted to experience him more.

I liked what he did to my body. He did things no one ever did and it drove me insane. I didn't care if he was a play boy or just using me. I wanted to be used. I didn't want to leave. He caressed me and kissed me. He embraced me into his arms and it made me feel good. I wanted to ask for more but I couldn't.