Have You Ever Been Loved?

How does one know when they are truly loved, and when they aren't?

Title: Have You Ever Been Loved

Word count: 1,685

Author: Tim Wilkinson

 

 

Have You Ever Been Loved

Tim Wilkinson

 

 

 

The first light of dawn shone cheerfully through the half-open shades of the sparsely decorated bedroom, where moving with the sluggishness of an early rise, two scantily clad figures sat side by side on one edge of the bed welcoming the morn. Each looked dreamily about, grinning with smug and secret enjoyment at the scattered trail of discarded clothing extending along the length of the oak-paneled floor and out into the wide and open den.

The air lay heavy and thick with the woody, pine tainted scent of last night's fire, stale, half-finished glasses of fruity red wine and the enticing aroma of a few freshly applied spritzes of expensive, musk and floral-toned perfume.

Cigarette in hand, her thoughtful and alluring face clouded by drifting banks of misty white smoke, the younger of the two figures turned towards the other. Placing one hand softly atop his bare shoulder she drew his attention, and with a firm and determined note evident in the normally light and carefree tone of her voice, she began to speak.

"Charles, have you ever been loved, truly and hopelessly loved?"

"Yes, I believe so, once anyway. Hell, I haven’t thought about her in---minutes,” he added with a laugh. “Honestly, I’m still reeling from that one. But at least I had that.”

“Wow. You sound pretty convinced. Sure you don’t need to think about that a bit.”

“No, not at all. I sound convinced because I am,” he responded wryly, turning to face her more fully, his own features lit and enhanced as much by the fact of her continued presence as by the sight of her small, yet beautifully and perfectly formed breasts.

"Only once?"

"Yes, once only. That's a thing one doesn’t forget, no matter how badly you may want to."

"When was this, this love you can't forget?"

"When I was very young."

"And was it---a long relationship?"

"No, I suppose not, not looking back that is. Five or six years is really nothing when you've seen fifty-five."

"And never again, or since?"

"No, never."

"And how did you know? I mean what made you sure, sure that you were really loved?"

"Isn't that a thing one simply knows, a thing that cannot be seen, measured or proven? As none of us can see another's heart, or feel a passions pulse?"

"Yes, but there must have been something, some hint or clue that made you feel this way."

"Yes, of course. There were many things."

"Can you tell me about those things, the things that made you sure?"

"If you'd like. I can try. But first, can I ask why you want to know?"

"Sure, but it's not likely that I'll tell you."

"Seems a bit one-sided, don't you think?"

"Yes, very. My questions, my rules."

"Okay…Fair enough. Well, it was in her eyes mostly, the way she looked at me, her gaze always fearless and honest. You see, she felt no shyness when we were together, had no reservations, no self-conscious fears or cause for restraint, and that showed in her eyes. And when we made love she didn't turn away or close them, but always sought my own as if she too wanted---no, as if she too needed to see. And when she was angry or hurt she sought them all the more."

"And what did you see in her eyes, when you looked back?"

"In her eyes I found her pride and every day her joy, my every word a poem, my every joke a laugh. In her eyes I was everything, smart, and brave, and strong. When in reality I was none of those things, but only me."

"Can only a look say so much?"

"Yes, indeed it can, and more. You see she had this look, this focused, loving stare, full of every kind, and wondrous thing, every tender emotion and affection with every intimate thought streaming outward like the rays of an ivory-toned moon, illuminating and exposing every shaded corner of my loneliness and doubt like bright and silvery moonbeams skimming across the surface of a blackened, lifeless sea, dissolving every shadow and leaving in its wake only the buttery, warming glow of a gentle and willing love."

 "And when her passions rose, rushing like a crimson tide, those same eyes, eyes that only moments before had filled me with lightness and unspeakable joy, now turned and fed, devouring every vestige of passion and hunger I bore for her with a frenzied, insatiable appetite that left me sated and spent, spent yet filled with an almost reverent sense of awe and good fortune at having found such a love. Oh yes, it was in her eyes. That's how I knew. For with them she had the power to sway and to bind, to hold, and to heal, to love and to steal.

“And a power like that, the loving, consuming intensity of her eyes and look; that isn't a thing easily faked or imitated, but something that can only arise from a well of deep and potent emotion. Although, I will admit that since I've proven often enough just how easily I’m fooled, and find that I can no longer trust my own judgment when it comes to such things. But then---Well, it was never that way with her. No, her look was a kiss, soft, intimate and moist, like the eager caress of a lover's lips, searching, longing, devouring. Her gaze was more like a touch than a look, a feathered, velvety touch that I felt in the deepest, most desolate corner of my soul, drawing me closer and pulling me down. And when I was in her arms her eyes seemed to wrap themselves around my very heart, seeking and possessing my every tender need."

"And that's how I knew. That's how I know that I was loved, truly and thoroughly loved. Her eyes and her look. And the both I can't forget, no matter how I try."

"Wow! That sounds so very beautiful."

"Yes, it was, and so was she."

"But you said that was one reason, there are more?"

"Of course, in love there are always more."

"Tell me more, if you can."

"There are many I suppose, like the sounds she made when I touched her, how she pressed her lips to mine, ever greedy and hungry, yet giving, sweet and pure; The way she shivered as I drew my fingers across the skin of her arms, how her flesh tightened beneath my touch, the music of her sighs and the things she said without a fear; the intensity of her touch and the way she sometimes cried from joy when rapture---when rapture rolled and moved her. I've known no woman before or since to shed a tear in clumsy union with me."

"You made her cry?"

"No, it was never me that caused her tears, but only the love she held inside, the joy of our bond and the knowledge that she too was deeply and utterly loved."

"And what were these things that she said, these magic words that caused you to believe?"

"As I said before, she was the only one, the only woman I've ever been with that looked in my eyes while coiled about me, the only one to whisper, cry, or call my name and say the thing I most wanted to hear; to say I love you so, with our eyes, bodies, and souls, locked in rocking embrace! This she did often and did it well, never denying any of that which she held for me, not in her words, her touch, or her look. No, I love you were words she never spared and I fed on every one, starved and broken, never filled, always full of nothing but an endless need for more."

"But these, these are only words, Charles. I love you is so very easy to say, especially in the frenzied moments of pleasure and sexual joy."

"Yes, that's true. But it was not her words but the eyes behind them that told the tale. For without the look or touch, without the surrendered sighs and whispered moans, without the truth of two, eye to eye, honest and shameless souls---words are meaningless, just as you say. But her eyes were never like that, never false or deceitful, self-serving or selfish, but always a treasure beyond belief, a treasure of value beyond compare. For within them lay everything passionate and fine, every true emotion and every raw and heady need. Because she held nothing back, hid nothing, baring her all to my eyes, my body, and my mind, giving and taking all the while, but never more of one or less of another. Yes, within her eyes lived love and peace, warmth and endless calm, each bound and mixed with passions raw, and the heat of hungered souls."

"Would you like me to look you in the eye and say I love you when we---when we, kiss?"

"Yes, very much."

"But the words would have no truth, and my eyes would only lie."

"If the truth is why she left me here, and lies are why you stay; I'll take the lies and love you now, to hope another day. For hopes and dreams are all we have, as now I truly know. For how better the lie that loves today, than the truest of loves one bears alone, in silence, pain, and woe."

"Wow," she said once more, her sad, deep blue eyes glazed and fixed on his as she drew his lips to hers, whispering. "That's so beautiful! Where do you come up with this s**t?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's a gift I suppose. You either got it---or ya ain't."

"Then give! Give,” she cried, pushing him downward upon the bed while murmuring softly, “I Love you Charles.”

 

 

© 2015, Tim Wilkinson

 

 

Author's Note

Useful and helpful comments and suggestions welcome