Consummation

  

I woke up Saturday a nervous wreck.  I got up that morning with the light of day billowing through the diaphanous curtains of my ever serene room; an astonishing sight. It’s been a long time since I woke up and felt that anxious about being intimate with Adrian.  I spent the better part of the morning working diligently at not thinking about what that day could possibly mean for us.  

 

 

I had my morning coffee with table cream and sipped it slowly while listening to the birds and watching the sky while sitting on my back veranda.  I fiddled around with green machine fuzz rock for awhile. I decided I do like Prong for their mild syncopated rhythm and mind blowing guitar waves. I played around with God for awhile and came to the decision that the riding of a bike is a beautiful symbol of faith…and a simple metaphor of the faithfulness of God’s power. Riding a bike brings us a sense of wonder and freedom and exhilaration. It can also bring fear and pain and doubt in us. Just look into the eyes of a child that has just fallen off a bike, and you’ll see what losing faith looks like.

 

 

Around eleven I tip toed back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Adrian woke when he felt the extra weight and sat up looking as saccharine sweet and fit for human consumption as usual. He’s one of those guys that just never looks bad. Regardless of the abstruse fashion alternatives, the time of day, whether he’s shaven or not, he just never looks bad. Always happy and energetic in his laid-back manner, he makes any day just that little bit easier.

 

“Sweetie, it’s time to wake up”, I said in the most encouraging tone I could muster.  Adrian’s beautiful blue eyes fluttered at me as I ran my hands through the hair on his chest.  He still takes my breath away after almost four years of being in relationship with each other, however loosely defined that relationship is.

 

“Is it that time already?” he half mumbled. I responded in the affirmative and added that the tea was on.  Adrian leaned in for his morning kiss. I do so love the way he kisses me; long and slow and lingering. I like the way his lush lips feel pressed firmly against mine. I like the way his tongue feels twirling around my own. I love the taste of his breath.  Only when I thought of us in those terms my stomach knotted  all up. After all, this was the day we decided to …. Nevermind.

 

Let me preface this next statement:   I am a woman  who is what she believes.  I’m always telling other people that when they first hook up in a monogamous situation they should refrain from penetration and telling the other person that they “love” them for at least seven months.  This is what I refer to as “The 7 Month Rule”.  I had preached it many times to Adrian and he had, in turn, heard me preach this philosophy to others.  I couldn’t very well be hypocritical about it so Adrian and I purposely refrained from penetrating or saying the L word and we’re happy in that moment.  Now I have/you are sufficiently prefaced.

 

Somehow while being really happy in that moment seven months magically  turned into some four years where we had not yet consummated our relationship while I was busy  tasting his breath and letting it linger in the prolific spiral breeze. Our love is all around us.  It captured my senses when I least expected it. It made my nipples harden and my lips purse and my head swim with nostalgic idioms.<span style="mso-s

pacerun:yes”>  I held on to that happiness and never wanted it to change.  Until, one day all I wanted was to feel him inside of me. 

 

I took my sweet love to my side and I told him that all I wanted was to be one in our love and he was afraid.  When he was sure I was afraid and back and forth it went until so much time had passed that we knew we couldn’t be anything other than most sure of our love.  We were sure we had more than followed the 7month rule and it was safe to journey on from this point.  A journey that  might possibly begin today.  But I digress.

 

Adrian woke in an unusually good mood. Not that he’s usually miserable but he’s not a morning person and as high strung as any musician can be. Together we ate our toast and tea or coffee with table cream and sipped it slowly while listening to the birds and watching the sky. We  talked about how silly most of the stories in the local free paper could be.  Adrian ran his fingers through his hair and mused about Lamb of God’s latest album and how he was not a die hard fan but the album was really good.  I listened and stared at his presence. Thinking about the taste of his breath. It makes my cheeks flush and my thighs moist.

 

We dressed for the wedding and talked about making the whole process stress free with no added mention as to why they were both making sure that we stayed cool and collected.  I looked great in the slate grey dress with my auburn hair hanging in loose curls around my shoulders. As usual Adrian needed no prompting to compliment me. Adrian pulled his long hair back in a pony tail. I sighed as he did so.  I swim in the heady fragrance. It is the kind of heady scent that inspires you to love. Until your every sense is filled with him. You inhale him. You taste him. You know that your heart has at last found a home. No mention of what lay ahead.   To look at us you would never know that there was an age difference.  We look good together.

 

 

The wedding was bound to be beautiful. Two of the most wholesome people I have ever know where getting married. I was oddly aware of the eyes of our coworkers being on us, watching us, to see if they could catch a knowing look or something that would give away the true details of our relationship. It made me fidget and shift about in the church pew.  It was easy enough to push away when I let the heat inside me grow; even just in tiny increments.  However that started me fidgeting and shifting again in the pew but this time for a different reason; just to relieve some tension.  Adrian knew it and thought it was funny, go figure.

 

 

The wedding was, of course, beautiful.  But what do I know? You work and you work and you work. You meet with people you don’t like, that you don’t know, that you don’t even want to know. And you try to sell them things and they try to sell you things, you go home, you listen to various acquaintances bitch. You get in bed and you turn off the T.V., try to fall asleep, you wake up the next day and you do it all over again. That’s what I know.  Relationships scare the hell out of me.  They scare the hell out of Adrian and it’s a good thing that we both have that in common.  Well, we had that in common until we inadvertently had more that followed the 7month rule and it was safe.

 

“You know, if you keep looking at them like that you’re going to make them suspicious.  Accompa

nying each other to a wedding isn’t enough to give them cause for pause but all your fidgeting is.” I laughed awkwardly as I knew he was right. 

 

The bride shed tears of joy and for a few moments God cried with her as rain tapped lightly against the window over the baptismal font.   As the newly married couple walked back down the aisle of the church the apprehension in me grew.  My senses seemed to jump into hyperspace and everything was louder, more colourful and more redolent than it was only moments ago.  Though we were leaving God behind we were headed somewhere we both wanted to be going. There was no one to demand our course and we journeyed without compass and without remorse.  We were moving from that place of happiness.  I was a nervous wreck.

 

I kept alternating realties in my psyche as some vain attempt to convince myself I had covered all my bases. What if our relationship was held together  by the promise that one day he may find himself inside of me and that if we consummated it then the promise would be null and void?  What if there was some cosmic law of nature I didn’t know about but was going to break imminently? We drove in silence to the reception.  I wondered if Adrian was thinking about the same thing I was.

 

We walked around the terrace of the reception hall talking about the service and how interesting it was that there was no “you may now kiss the bride”.  We laughed at how nervous and ecstatic the groom was.  How wonderful tradition can be if you’re into that sort of thing.  The energy between us was conspicuous.  What were weren’t saying resonated more than what we were.  No mention of what lay ahead.

 

Sometime during dinner and increasing anxiousness I decided that perhaps Adrian was going to back out.  I also decided that I was most sure I would let him.  Dinner was delicious yet room temperature; so typical of wedding fare. One of our closest friends, Allen, drooled over the groom’s sister with his girlfriend right beside him, oblivious.  Another of our friends cried when the DJ played a song that was “their song”; the song that typified the relation she had with her last boyfriend.  The  last boyfriend sat moping at another table complaining about how “hot” Janie was looking these days. It was a typical wedding.  It was a typical reception with all the typical dynamics involved, so it seemed.

 

Once the music had filled my head enough to drown out the apprehension I asked Adrian to dance. He looked me over, used onomatopoeia to compliment me and twirled me around his finger and dipped me.   As I danced in his arms I wondered if a solitary soul born in heaven can split into twin spirits and shoot like falling stars to earth where over oceans and continents their magnetic forces will finally unite them back into one. With all my sensibilities imprisoned I was convinced that there was no other life beneath the sky but ours.  I loved the urgency between us so tangible that it pricked our flesh and blood and drew us to the surface of the night. I loved the way his finger tips felt against my collar bone. I loved the way his breath fluctuated when my hips passed over his.

 

I danced for awhile with our friends while Adrian socialized until a Great Big Sea song came up which is always <span style="color:#3333

33;font-weight:normal”>Adrian’s cue to leave.  All the while knowing deep down that nothing typical might very well take place.  I was continually wringing my fingers and wondering about far too much.  Four years is a long time to deliberate and it hardly seems possible to sum it up now.

 

“Let’s get outta here,” he growled in a deeply growling tone. “ It’s a beautiful night.”

I followed through with his suggestion.  He was right.  The stars were out and the heat had died down and the breeze was lifting the hem of my dress.  The rain was ephemeral and my love was ethereal.

 

We drove home and checked in with each other in an overtly intellectual way.  We debriefed the ceremony and acted pseudo-astonished at all the damn drama in the room as though we haven’t become accustomed to it.  We waxed sentimental about all the left tits Allen willingly, happily sucks and how Little Miss Sunshine is always the most dour at all the parties she attends.  We didn’t mention plans we had made, or expectations we might have.  In fact there was no mention of what may lay ahead.

 

My mind and heart were racing as though I were a virgin and I could barely contain the words “I love you” from tumbling out across my burnished lips.  What will I make of this energy so tangible that it pricks our flesh and blood.  Whatever will be done with his heart this time? What will he do with mine? Where can we run to, where can we hide? What deed will we do that cannot be undone? My mind and heart were racing and I wanted to feel his soul inside me. I craved that idiosyncratic fullness that brings exasperation to my mouth.  My every pore ached to feel our one body.

 

We arrived home to find not a single soul home, awake and partying.  We arrived home to find that our house was actually ours.  I let myself feel how hard my heart would hurt if Adrian was going to back out and I was most sure I would let him back out if he wanted to.  I actually started to relax when I got my head around the idea that I’d be unrequited yet again and set yet another wave of dissatisfaction rippling through our emotional bonds and why couldn’t I just be happy with a promise and let things go at that?

 

I felt otherworldly, my body; a mass of blue sensation.  I showered to wash the footloose dance sweat off my body and to try and bring my thoughts back in from their separate and transcendental journeys to no avail.  I couldn’t bring myself to don a little baby doll nightie. The anxiety inside of me growing like a shadow on the wall at twilight.  I certainly couldn’t roam around the house to look for my silk pajama pants and a shelf shirt.  That would be too presumptuous in light of all that was going on inside my head.

 

I put on my oversized t-shirt complete with a few bleach stains and kitchen wall paint and I crawled in beside Adrian.  I bounced onto the bed the way I do every night and suggested Trailer Park Boys (season 5) was in order.  Ricky’s so stupid.  Bubbles is funny.  I hear Mike Smith is an asshole, though. I felt myself be more cute and quirky than usual and couldn’t gage whether quirky was a good tone setter or not.

 

I propped up my pillows and settled in beside Adrian.  I pretended that I wasn’t on the very of breaking out of my skin.  I pretended as though I wasn’t screaming inside.