Not Simply Love

Wounded Soldier

Chapter 4

My solace became grasping of lonely moments. The quiet and peace, although on a time limit, were my very source of happiness. I would often get back into bed. Scroll through miles of reels and think to myself. My marriage although started on an enamoring note, I could never actually let go of my past lover. It was simply all I could think of in my moments before drifting off to sleep. I could not let my thoughts float far from the feelings he lent me. We met on a very particular principle. I had known him all my childhood. But the specific time we made our connection was when he had seen me emerge from my destructive self after loosing my first boyfriend to death. It may have been good timing but it was the deepest scar of my youth.

I had been attending a school expo, after months of dawdling depression. I hadn’t come out of my bed for a long time. My food was pot, my words were music and my best friend were the tears I could not stop from falling. One day I got tired of crying. I had been exhausted from being sad. So I simply stopped. Sounds easy but being in the haze of pot numbed my every hurt. That weekend I was honestly seeking sunshine. I was confused about everything. I think the most confusing part was how everyone would look at me. To notice my sadness and so I felt like if I showed happiness, it would seem as though I did not love my dead ex-boyfriend. So I glumly walked around with my friends and did my part as I needed. I noticed the attention but I was under the impression it was judgemental eyes prying on my emotions to fix a story for the next day. To my surprise, the next day brought blessing.

Alton had texted me and that is where it all began.

We instantly connected and got straight to the point. I was in no hurry to get into a relationship or even fall in love again and he loved the idea of having ‘no strings attached’. I quickly jumped to the opportunity. I mean, what could go wrong.

We texted back and forth deciding on what we would be. It was pretty simple. We would meet up, hook up and only text if we were in the mood. It was very simple and very convenient. We connected on a level that was absolutely unlatched. We were truthfully best friends with benefits. Our relationship was a once a week meet up. On a Friday afternoon, Every week. He would come over, disrespect me in the most holy manner and then leave. Followed with a sweet but simple “Thank you for today” text. Every time.

We would text sometimes. But never about anything else but erotic sexting and pictures. I trusted him entirely and he loyally stayed true to my trust in him.

The more we spent time together, the more we realised we had incredible chemistry. Alton was the most passionate lover I had ever known. He moved towards me with all of him. He kissed me with all of himself. In that moment, he focused on just me. He was present and fixed on only me. We started talking more and spending time together doing other stuff besides each other and it was really a good time and we were happy for where it was. Neither of us wanted more or less. It was ideal. We vibed very contently. Spending time with him was never a function of doing the deed. His passion and control were perfectly balanced. He could pleasure me without expecting any indulgence from me. He would always be so passionate. Gentle in an animalistic way. I can’t explain the level of passion and this is the exact reason I could not get him out of my head. I felt so guilty for thinking about Alton. Even after laying next to my husband. The night time would come and I would long to close my eyes so I could endure Alton again. So I could live in the fantasy of the way he touched me exactly where he knows I needed to be touched in a way that says this is how it would feel if I had to touch you again. Lingering and long lasting.

Alton spent long enough figuring out every untapped detail of my body. Every little stroke, scratch, grip, nudge and tease that sent me right to his burning desire. I would watch him get off on simply getting me turned on. He would look at a part of me and I would know exactly what he imagines doing to me. That level of chemistry was something my marriage never bewitched. It was something you only experience once in your life. So I thought. I always compared the passion I felt with Alton to the passion I received from my husband and it was always unmatched. It wasn’t the attachment from being in love. It was the attachment of being in familiarity. I was never in love with Alton. It was just the mere fact that he took time and effort to learn my body, search for what I desired and to provide that satisfaction without me having to ask, want or need it. I would often think to myself that if I had to create the perfect partner for myself. It would be my husband, as he was, with the passion, self control and possession of Alton. That would be my ideal partner and my marriage may have been worth fighting for in the end.

Many of whom I had spoken to about this circumstance said to me, well, you can’t have everything. So I had grown to accept that this is what I have and I must appreciate who my husband is. With the missing passion and the absent effort to learn my desire. My husband was ninety percent. And the ten percent remainder was the passion he was missing. It was bittersweet and I often shamed myself for feeling that way. When my marriage was in ruins, I wondered what there was to fight for and I could not find any other specific reason besides him being the father of my child. It got to a point where being near him actually irked my soul. I felt like he did not deserve me because he could not satisfy me. I internally preserved myself for the fantasy in my mind, with Alton. In some sort of twisted revenge trauma, I wanted my soul untouched to only give myself to Alton because I felt he deserved my body. And so the more my husband irked me, the more I swayed towards the fantasy of Alton.

The years would pass and Alton was in my every thought. I was certain he knew this. Maybe he bit his tongue very often. Or yearned for those hiccups to stop. But deep down, I was hopeful that he knew it was because I could not stop thinking about him. When I woke up in the morning, my urge was always to send him a text. I would have to hold myself back every time. Not in the way you say to yourself, stop, you are married, but in the way you distract yourself so the hours would pass and you could keep yourself busy, away from letting your mind react to the fantasy playing in your head.

“ Lovers to Haters

Our body recites years

For untold history as it unfolds

You’re mine, for I can always hold

But in embrace you turn so cold

We die together and soon fooled

To wake up in a story doomed”

-Wounded Soldier