I childishly believe in the wheel of fortune, witchcraft, spirits and entities. Hell, (yes, I believe in that too) I even go to church!

Accordingly, I have been tempted to brood over whether we meet people who will affect our life because we are ready to be affected, or just by pure chance. 

What I do know is that I had, like many others, the germ of an ideal lodged somewhere in my mind, as vague as dawn in the darkest winter; the idea of a man who would make my body switch on like a light bulb which will never go out. A man who would also press all the right keys to start that melody in my brain I have never been able to hum, turn me into a piece of music nobody can hear apart from him. 

Intensity has its exclusive drawbacks, of course. Sometimes the music may be too loud for just the one pair of ears. Sometimes I burn for both of us and other times... he does.  I have intelligent fingers, fingers with the idea of something they have never touched before. When they touch his body, they are just tracing back the ancient desire I have lived with from times immemorial. That germ of an ideal, I know of it and yet it is still to be discovered. 

I look up at him; our uneven heights only make it easier for me to lean against his chest; I smell and remember the trace. The discovery of another person's body may well start with that of our own, but not when I cannot tell where my body ends and his begins.

I know he is holding me carefully and tenderly, but his kiss is passionate and meaningful. I shiver under his hands. When did I undress? Where am I? 

He turns me so that my back rests against his chest, then bends a little to call my name in my ear. I had forgotten it. When he pushes me over onto the bed and I oblige, folding my limbs over as I wait for his decision, it briefly occurs to me that I have no control over his body or mine, no way of knowing what is to happen next. I stretch my arms out and rest my head on them; the ancient ideal I have nursed forever loses its vagueness as he puts his hands on my hips. I scream my wants into the pillow and pull at the bedcover underneath me. 

'I want you'. 

What I want is for him to reach into places which were always meant but never understood, to take me hard and yet have me softly. Real orgasms are not a solitary experience and I want, no!  I need the perfect companion for our journey. When he turns me towards him and my body follows obediently, my legs find his waist easily and wrap around it. I arch my back. 

If he listens to my gasps and pulls me closer, he will know what to search for. I feel myself wanting and yet trying to pull away a little because, if I should melt with him inside me, there can never be any turning back. I shall never retrieve all the fragments of my shattered ancient ideal when the real man has just possessed me.