My someone

Two years ago you came to see me very late in the evening, you were tired and distraught, your grandfather had past and you took care of all the arrangements because your father depended on you more than your two older brothers. You hadn’t slept, your hair was disheveled and you were gorgeous. I don’t remember seeing you more beautiful than I had that night, you threw yourself on my sofa in exhaustion and I stretched my body on top of yours my head on your chest listening to your heartbeat, my hair cascading down your arm as you held me tight, I wore a sheer summer dress with a deep neck line, I knew it wasn’t right to make love when you had just buried your grandfather, so we just lay there, holding each other against everything, life, death, fait and consequence, breathing in unison and I remember I was happy, simply happy. I asked you if you were hungry and you said yes,  I got up and went to the kitchen, I broke four eggs into a bowl peppered and salted them and began to whisk while the frying pan heated on the stove, you came up behind me wrapped your strong masculine arms around my waist making me feel small and feminine and buried your face in the nape of my neck, kissing me and mumbling something that sounded like I love you, making me weak, losing control of everything, trying but failing to pour the eggs into the pan, when you let go of me I almost lost balance and fell, still weak in the knees. You helped with the drinks and the plates and we sat and ate together, while we were clearing up I turned around and found you had your back to me, turned on by your perfect gorgeous ass, I quickly let go of the dish I was washing, tiptoed behind you, bent down and bit it hard, you winced and shrieked in pain and shock, then we laughed and laughed, mischievous, careless and enjoying the immense freedom our love offered. I didn’t know it then, but you were my someone. I was lucky, not for long, but I was lucky when I found you.