Cyber-love Affair (cont'd)
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The flight is quick and uneventful. I begin to think that maybe I am approaching this much too seriously. After all, she has written:
I have taken all our writings and printed them out half-size on my computer, then bound them together with our photos into a small book. This is my present to her. I read through everything we have written several times, reliving the excitement and the fear. I keep looking at writer with cat, the sweet, delicate face I expect to see when I leave the plane and enter the terminal. Her last note to me said:
I am being too ponderous. The plane is not going to fall down. It is just another mundane trip to the coast. The world wasn't coming to a beginning or an end and there were no crows anywhere in the gray, overcast sky. California is experiencing a visit from El Niño and it had been drizzling for days. We bump-land on the black, shiny runway, roll slowly to a stop, the background roar of the engines cease and the plane becomes so quiet I can hear my heart beating. After the aisle clears I take my bag from the overhead compartment, sling it over my shoulder and walk through the tunnel and into the terminal. I do not see her at first and then a woman in the crowd smiles and walks towards me. We stop and stare at each other. I set down my bag and put my hand on her shoulder. "Marci, Marci?" I ask. She just smiles and steps forward into my arms and brings her face very close to mine. We kiss for a long, sweet kiss in the middle of the floor. Then we open our mouths and our tongues meet and I finally taste her. Her body melts right into mine and I feel her breasts through her thin blouse. I grow hard as she presses against me and I feel her thighs rub mine. The air is heavy and lush, so unlike Denver's. Even in the airport building I can smell the plants growing everywhere, as if there was a vast jungle glowering just out of sight. She pulls away and says, "I've found a place we can have some privacy." She takes my hand and leads me to a small alcove behind one of the abandoned ticket counters. I put my bag down and she comes into my arms again, this time more fiercely, biting me gently on my lips and neck, running her hands along my back and over my ass. She makes tiny moans as I kiss her and they excite me even more. I have forgotten where I am. I have forgotten there are people everywhere. I don't hear, only sense, the unintelligible blare from the intercom, the roar of engines outside, the low hum of the crowd. She is delicious. After a while, we break apart, our breathing heavy, my body aching. She takes my hand again. "Come, I'll take you home," she says. In all of this I feel a strange calm. I know now that I have needed to do this, that it would have angered the gods not to come here. Her hand fits in mine just so and I love how her toes peer out from her sandals. Her thin, elegant fingers are clear lacquered and I feel that she is so familiar to me that I have known her all my life. We drive through the Los Angeles rain holding hands. She tells me about the neighborhoods shooting past us, where she lives, about her cats. She keeps looking over at me and giving her head a little shake as if waking up. I feel unreal, as if I can't quite believe that I am actually here with her, riding along the slick, wet freeways towards Hollywood. "Can I see the sign?" I ask. "Yes, darling," she says. We speak about the flight, the weather, the Academy Awards that are coming up. Our words don't matter much to me. I am listening to her tone, feeling her subterranean female sensuality next to me, sensing the vibrations of love and tenderness coming through our hands. We arrive at her house in the Hollywood Hills, just by the Ventura Freeway. It is a lovely cottage, white stucco with an orange tile roof, set up into the hillside. The house is surrounded by lush, verdant growth. Compared to my desert home this is like living in the tropics. I almost expect the huge plants to reach out and caress me, perhaps pull me in, as I walk past. We walk up the wet flagstone stairs and step inside. She had asked me what I liked to eat and had bought me cashews and dried apricots, my favorite snacks. She opens her refrigerator and shows them to me. There they were in two little boxes in an empty fridge. "I don't eat much," she says. "And rarely cook." She makes some tea and we sit on the couch and talk. And talk. And talk. I begin to stroke her arm as we speak and she moves closer to me. Soon we just stop talking and kiss again. This time, alone with her cats, she presses herself into me without restraint. Her mouth opens over mine and I am falling, falling into her, deeply, sweetly. I feel I have just returned from the war to the bride I had married years before. We had both stopped even hoping to ever meet again, and here we are suddenly, unexpectedly, and all our desire and pent-up longing poured out of us. We are caught in a frenzy. I lift her sweater and she wears no bra and her breasts fly into my mouth like a gentle bird. She moans with a sound that sweeps me away. I run my hands over her as if she belongs to me, as if she has always belonged to me. I stroke her body and felt the shocks of pleasure move through her and into me. I lift her up and carry her away, set her down on the bed and look at her. No, I don't just look, I devour her with my eyes. She looks up at me and her body quivers as if I am touching her. Slowly, very, slowly, I remove her sandals, her skirt, her underwear. She lies naked beneath me breathing quickly, as if I had just come upon, her and startled her lying there. I remove my clothes, all the time staring into her eyes. We make love that night and into the dawn. She is so fluid, so expressively passionate, so wild, that I think she will devour me. Whatever I do to her, with her, she enjoys. What she does to me, with me, is beyond my experience. She moans and screams out her pleasure. She howls and barks and spits; kicks and scratches. She throws me to the bed and ravishes me; showers (yes, showers!) me with kisses, takes me into her mouth, makes my body and mind explode, and then gives herself up to me, docile and meek. She touches me in ways no woman ever had and beyond anything I have been able to imagine. As I thrust into her she cries out and whimpers, her hands clawing at the sheets, exulting in her passion, and I see the face of every woman I have ever loved, ever made love to, pass across her face. I feel as if I am making love to all of them at once through her and that she is all of them. I cannot not stop from kissing her, exploring her every secret place. We cannot keep from rousing each other again and again until, finally, we curl into a ball of arms and sweat, the odor of our lovemaking lying thickly in the air as, exhausted, we fall asleep.
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