WARNING: This story includes graphic sexual language. It is intended for mature audiences only.
By Meredith Castle
In my 38 years, I have been laid a lot, mainly because I was willing and eager to please. Almost any man with a hard dick would go for that. I’ve been spanked by a mayor, sucked the balls of a preacher, and made a Muslim, a fire chief and a doctor feel as if they’d died and gone to heaven. None of these men were any different from the factory worker, traveling salesman or guy looking for a job. I was lucky if I remembered their names a week later — that is if I ever knew their names at all.
But the ol’ cowboy was different. He wanted what all the rest did, but he wanted more. Not enough, but more. He wanted kisses, conversation and playfulness. “The girlfriend experience” he called it. He had bought it before, but I was in the habit of giving away what other women sold. And I gave this sexy, gentle man in Wranglers and a Stetson everything he would let me, everything I could.
I knew he was married, that there were other women, that he was old enough to be my father. None of it mattered. I lived for those three hours every two to three weeks when we met at the same roadside hotel to share passionate kisses, intimate thoughts and our creative, insatiable sexual appetites.
It was when we lay naked together, my head on his chest, his fingers in my hair, my hands caressing his body that I found perfect peace with myself and a world filled with chaos. I loved our nakedness — it was how we were, naked and open and peaceful in feelings without words.
That is how I choose to remember my year-long affair with the cowboy. I choose to forget the deep emptiness I felt when he left the hotel room. I choose to forget the obsessive depths of my longing to hear even a hint of praise or elation from him in the days after; how I would sit in front of the computer for hours praying that some message would come, and a sense of disappointment when the message couldn’t match the intensity of my emotions. I choose to ignore the nagging feelings that I was nothing more than a free whore or at the least a charity case. I choose to let go of all those days I felt I never measured up. I choose to …
No, I don’t. I don’t have a choice.
I want this man in my life more than anything I can think of, but it is too much for me — the turmoil I feel when he is a part of my life, but apart from me. The voices that come in between are too loud. The only peace I find from them is in our nakedness.
No one can lie naked forever … not even me.