[MF] (Long Story!) Once in a Lifetime

In a sentimental mood, I guess. Decided to write down my favourite memory. Then decided to share it, just on the off chance someone might enjoy.

…

So, my family moved to the USA from Australia when I was a teenager. I stuck around for university, where I met a brilliant, sweet, adventuous, and generally straight-up interesting girl, a couple years older than myself. I’m going to call her ***. She was my first ever partner, and I was her first serious commitment (not counting a short and poorly-chosen ^(her words, not mine) high school romance).

We hadn’t really meant to start anything, at first. We simply got along a little too well, started finding more excuses to meet up, kept talking later and later into the night. This led to us staying overnight at one anothers’ dormitories on a regular basis, before we finally formally embraced what everybody else had figured out almost half a year earlier. As though making up for this slow start, we then moved recklessly fast ^(the ‘immediately moving into a flat together’ kind of recklessness).

Across personality, interests, hobbies, studies, and more, we had more things in common than not. We were also pretty fit – I’m naturally lean and was fairly well toned after a decade of contact sport, while she was heavily muscled from well over a decade of manual labour in her family business.

Friends knew us as the ‘sweet’ and ‘innocent’ ones. They may have been surprised to learn what we were actually like behind closed doors… or maybe not – I always had a suspicion that the whole ‘innocent’ thing might have been an ironic in-joke or meme.

To be perfectly fair, we actually were pretty innocent for almost two months. Shy, inexperienced, and each scared of pushing the other too far, we gingerly probed at each others’ boundaries day by day. We grew bolder step by careful step, week after week, until one day the dam finally broke and everything changed overnight. Although that’s actually not the story I wanted to tell. ^(Maybe later.)

…

Relevant: *** had been raised in an extremely strict (I’d say abusive) religious household, and although she somehow ended up fairly well-adjusted, it left its imprints on her psyche. Among other things, she couldn’t accept the idea of ever having an abortion herself. Existing bipolar tendencies made hormonal options unwise. We were already struggling for money, so pregnancy would have affected our career ambitions in the way that a stick of butter would be affected by a hurled brick. Therefore, we were committed to strict condom discipline.
^(Added up, the bloody things really ate into what we had left over after rent and food, but what could we say? Necessities.)

…

So! Fast forward a year to summer holidays. We were 20 and 22. *** came out at the end of break to finally meet my family. She turned up at my parent’s house late in the morning, her slightly wavy, upper-back-length, almost-but-not-quite-black hair matted with sweat after a long drive under the desert sun.
At that point, we hadn’t seen each other in two months. My parent, being an all-around star and rather more open-minded than anyone in ***’s family, put two and two together without batting an eyelash.
‘Oh! It’s lovely to finally meet you… although you do look exhausted, to be honest. [Me], go fetch her stuff out of the car. ***, the shower is over there, you might like to cool down and freshen up. Sorry to run, but I need to go do some errands. I’ll be away for at least an hour. We can talk later – see you then’.
Put on a deadline, *** and I teamed up for efficiency; she came along with me to help carry her stuff (there wasn’t actually much, it only took us a single trip), and then I joined her in the shower, where we got enthusiastically reacquainted.
Afterwards, we found something alarming – the condom had slipped halfway off. Maybe the enthusiasm made us sloppy? Maybe I shouldn’t have put it on standing under the water. We were pretty sure it had still done the job, but… no chances. Just in case, we decided to ‘go out for food’ the next day and pick up an emergency pill from the chemist ^(and maybe get some actual food on the way back just to shake things up).

>Side story, that evening: ‘Sorry, [Parent], but… do you have an extra mattress or duvet or anything?’
‘No, why?’
‘Em, well, there are no spare beds and I know [Me] uses the couch when he visits. So… where should I sleep?’
‘Ah! Ah. Well… I kind of assumed with him, honestly’
**stunned silence**
‘If that’s okay, of course… or I guess maybe we could-‘
‘No! No, that’s perfectly fine, thank you.’
‘Hahaha, you’re very welcome’

…

Fast forward to around midnight. Everyone else was long since asleep. *** and I had finally finished catching up ^(properly, with words and stuff), and tension started to set back in – the small talk died away, and we kept the conversation going with our hands. A suppressed, forbidden idea, which had broken free and gotten stuck in my mind during the morning, forced its way to the top. She read me with expertise born of a year’s experience, and put on her best wide-eyed innocent choir girl face. ‘Sooo… is there something on your mind, sweetie?’.
I hesitated, and decided to give honesty a try. ‘Well… I was thinking… maybe it’d be a shame… you know, getting the pill… when, you know… when we’re not even sure if we… if we actually need it or not?’.
Instant regret as soon as the first awkward words left my mouth – really, though, is there a smooth way to tell an intelligent, ambitious, careful young woman at the very start of her career path that you’ve been daydreaming about fucking her bareback?
She stared at me for a second, face deadpan, and then asked in a measured voice: ‘Are you saying that you… wanted to make absolutely certain that we definitely need it?’. Humiliated, and unable to see any graceful way out, I nodded once. She laughed, bit her lip playfully, and broke out in a wicked grin. ‘Ahahahahaaa… oh, I almost thought you weren’t going to ask’. A hungry gleam shone in her hazel-green eyes.

…

Not far away, there was an undeveloped field with some bits of scattered cover. Taking along a couple blankets, we spread one out in a sunken area out of easy view. We undressed one another with practiced and impatient efficiency, tossing our clothes to one side and paying no real attention to where they ended up.
Once we were naked, I pressed *** down onto her back, took up a kneeling position between her legs, and took a second to admire her while she got as comfortable as possible on the hard ground. As soon as she stopped fidgeting, I leaned forward and got to work.

Now, I’ve heard it said that most women appreciate foreplay. For ***, at least, that was more than true.
Leaning over her, I kissed her neck; first one side, then the other, and then back again. I sat up and traced out random patterns with my fingertips across her thighs, along the soft skin on the underside of her arms, around her breasts; I stopped to play with her nipples on the way back up to caress her face, before coming down for another makeout session. Broke off and went back around for another tour, noting with satisfaction how she trembled slightly in the balmy summer air.
Eventually, I lowered a hand between her legs and started working there as well. She was shockingly wet, more than I’d ever felt her before ^(Hm, should have brought something for us to drink. Oh, well). I slipped first one finger down into her, then a second, always making sure to keep a steady motion on her clitoris with my hand.

It didn’t take too long before she came, in her way. First her breath grew shallow and irregular, and suddenly her entire body tensed. She took her breasts in her hands and lifted her back off the ground while the muscles around my fingers tightened and relaxed, tightened and relaxed. And then it was over – she dropped one hand to the ground by her side.
Almost painfully aroused, I withdrew my hand and leaned over her again, expectantly. We typically moved on to missionary after she had come from foreplay, and I meant to ask if she was ready once she’d caught her breath and cleared her head.
*** didn’t feel like answering questions. Her eyes reopened, flickered downward, then locked intently onto mine. Without a word, she sat up on one arm, threw the other around my back, and pulled me down on top of her. That hand moved up behind my head and pressed my mouth to hers, while the other reached down and deftly slipped me inside her. She took a sharp breath that gave way into a sigh, while that hand circled around to press down encouragingly on the small of my back.

I swear, there was no resistance, no friction whatsoever. This violates a law of physics, so I can only say that physics must be wrong. ^(Shame we never documented the evidence. Or repeated the experiment. For science, of course.)
Instinct took over and started up a steady rhythm, using deep thrusts which ended in full hip-to-hip contact. Her sheer slickness meant that even small movements went a long way, and neither of us was in the mood for small movements. ‘Ah, there, there, keep going, mmm… mmm, yes, there, faster’.
I wedged my hands behind her shoulder blades and made use of the added leverage, raising the tempo to match her breathing as it slowly started to quicken. She came again, the arms around my back pressing me down against her, her nipples hard as they brushed my skin, the muscles between her legs tightening as if to say ‘You are mine now’.
To be honest, this was a nice surprise – though we normally started in missionary, we mostly used it as a warmup to help me start a steady rhythm going, focus on my breathing, and generally keep from getting too excited too fast. We were both major fans of girl-on-top, and it was the ‘main event’ that we normally looked forward to and finished in.

Speaking of which, her unexpected orgasm struck me as a perfect natural cue to switch positions. While *** steadied her breathing, I pinned her in place and swiftly flipped us over ^(still the only martial arts skill I’ve ever put to practical use), recentred us on the blanket, rested my hands on her hips. *** took a second to clear her head, pushed herself into an upright kneeling position on top of me, found her centre of gravity, and then took control with an unrestrained fury.

I had never seen anything like this – she was an unstoppable whirlwind of energy. One moment, she was sitting upright, riding up and down, hair whipping as though caught in a windstorm, her hands on my chest and mine fondling her breasts. The next, I was holding her hips in place as she pressed them down onto me, fondling herself as I thrust upward into her. Then she was leaning over me, gripping my shoulders, frantically grinding her hips back and forth as I held on for dear life. A minute later and she was lying directly on top of me, with our tongues in one anothers’ mouths, and the gliding of our sweat-slick chests against one another mirroring the motion between her legs.

It was while sitting upright, my hands around her waist while she gripped my forearms, that *** came once more. I got a full view as she arched her back and tossed her head, gasping for air, moving her hips in sync with the spasms that tightened her around me.

Momentarily unsteady, she came back down for a quick breather, laying her forearms across my pectorals and resting her weight on them. Her head was bowed above mine, and some of her hair fell in my face and got in my mouth. Noticing my attempts to brush it away, she shifted her weight onto one arm, gathered most of it up in her free hand, and flung it back over one shoulder with a couple tosses of her head. As she came back down for another hungry kiss, one of my hands rose up and buried itself in that hair, cupping around the small of her neck.
Breaking off and apparently feeling creative, she tried to some of use my own simple ‘tricks’ against me, kissing the sides of my neck, nibbling at my ear, running the back of her fingertips down my flank; she was a bit clumsy and not especially good at these, having only ever been on the receiving end, but it was cute of her to try.
Probably not getting as much of a reaction as she had been hoping for, she brought her mouth back to mine again. After what could have been seconds or minutes, time having lost all meaning, she wordlessly extracted my hand from her hair, and planted it firmly back on her hip; taking the cue, I grabbed hold of her other hip with my free hand. She flashed a smile, pushed off against my shoulder back into an upright position, and then launched herself into a renewed frenzy.

It was while she was leaning over me again, the heels of her palms pressing down just below my nipples, her dangling hair threatening to get back into my eyes and mouth, and her hips furiously rocking back and forth, that her breathing started to pick up again. She collapsed back down onto her forearms, her head dropped next to mine, and then she was gasping for breath in my ear, contracting around me, shuddering uncontrollably under my hands.

This was almost too much to bear – on any other night, when we weren’t swept away in a fantasy and her body wasn’t breaking natural laws, it would have been too much long before. She once again slowed down for a quick breather, lying on top of me with a hand on one shoulder and her chin on the other. As she slowly rocked her hips, I managed to choke out a ^(semi)coherent warning.
‘Ah, ah, ah… oh, ***, I’m close’. By way of response, she gave a low, trembling moan.
‘May I? Ah, ah!… mmm… you-ah! You sure?’.
This was asked more on principle than anything – at this point, it’s not like I actually expected her to say ‘Yeah nah, changed my mind’ and wander off. But still, this whole crazy idea was a gamble for her and basic decency demanded she have a chance to back out before it was too late.

Although her response wasn’t a ‘no’, she still managed to surprise me. For a moment, she said nothing, just breathing heavily as she slowly rocked her hips. As I called her name and started to ask her again ^(more urgently this time), she spoke up. ‘Turn us over’. In readiness, she hooked her legs under mine, clasped her hands behind the base of my neck, and pressed her forehead to my sternum.

Not about to argue, I did that, landing us more-or-less neatly back into missionary. One of her hands wrapped around the back of my head and pulled it down directly above hers. She briefly raised her head for a quick kiss, broke off and dropped back. She met my gaze, her eyes blazing with intensity, and spoke six words in a voice high and rapid with excitement. The hand between my shoulder blades pressed down hard; she lifted her legs and crossed them over the small of my back; as if to make a point she even began thrusting her hips upwards against mine, sliding up and down around me.

Those six words were ‘Please… as deep as you can’.

Although I’d come down slightly during the time it took to reposition us, it took only a handful of thrusts to return to the edge and fling myself over. My own breath control gave way to panting, I closed my eyes. *** gasped in desire as I started to slow down and throb in the final seconds before release.
‘Ah, ah, ah, ah!… ohhhh yesyesyesyesyes-doit-doit-doit-please-iwantyou’.
Suddenly came a wave of overwhelming white-hot ecstasy, which crashed through every nerve ending and rammed my hips flush with her own. Then came another, and another.
Had figured I’d still be more-or-less empty after that morning, but apparently my body had been busy. The first several pulses each shot another burst of cum at her cervix, although they kept coming long after there was nothing left to pump.
For me at least, duration of orgasm is normally related to length of sex, but our clock was broken and even at the time I couldn’t have said how many waves hit me or for how long.
As I lost control, so did ***. She grabbed hold of me by the hair and dug her other fingers between my shoulders, while her legs pressed down on my lower back with animal strength. Her whole body spasmed, and as she writhed, her vaginal muscles clenched around me again and again. In the heat of the moment, it was almost as though our bodies were working in tandem to wring every last remaining sperm into her.

A quick eternity or two later, entirely too soon, the tide receded, leaving behind an electric tingle that buzzed all the way from my fingertips down to my clenched toes. I opened my eyes, shook my head, blinked to stop the world from spinning. *** came into focus, flushed face surrounded by the tangled black halo of her hair. Her eyes were still closed, her open mouth moving wordlessly.

…

In a reversal from the usual, I rested my full weight on top of her, nestled my face in her hair with the tip of my nose poking her ear.

We lay still for a few moments, greedily gasping the dry desert air, occasionally trembling as we were hit by aftershocks. Lifting my head and looking over, I found ***’s hazel-green eyes staring back into mine. We kissed again, but not in one of the zealous makeout sessions of earlier – this time we were slow, tender, savouring every second. Eventually I started to go soft, and reluctantly broke off. *** groaned in protest as I wrestled her legs down from behind my back, pulled out, and rolled onto my back next to her.

For a moment we just stared into each others’ eyes, giggling and grinning like idiots. After gathering my wits, I started our usual postcoital thing: stroking her from top to bottom, like during foreplay but less fixated on the sensitive areas that got her hot.
Started by stroking her cheek, ran three fingertips along her neck and shoulder, continued down her arm and circled back up again. Traced a figure-eight around her breasts for a while (naturally taking stops to play with each of her nipples), and ran my fingertips along her sternum and down her chest and toward her thighs.
In a haze, it took me a while to notice that my hand had stopped below her belly button, and was repeatedly stroking the area right above her uterus. Shocked, I jerked it away. *** understood. She reached out and caressed my cheek, then gently took placed my hand it back where it had been. ‘Please? I really like that’.

This continued for a long while. *** smiled in absolute contentment, and kept making adorable little noises; I could have happily stayed like that until the end of time. Finally she shifted, reached one hand down and gingerly probed around inside herself, closing her eyes and biting her lip. Eventually her eyes reopened and caught me looking – she laughed and grinned. ‘I asked, and, ahhh, you really did deliver. Mmm… Would you like to feel too?’. Of course.
She took my hand and slowly guided a finger deep inside her. She was still sopping wet, but eventually it was possible to make out the silky-sticky texture of semen against the background of her warmth.

Strangely, I almost felt like a shy, freshly-deflowered virgin all over again. For all we’d done over the past year, this was still completely new. Neither of us had guessed ‘natural’ sex could be so intoxicating, even dangerously addictive; for some time afterwards one or the other or both of us would sometimes ^(especially after a long hike out into the wilderness, or during a playful scrap that began turning into something else) get powerful cravings to try it again, which always left us both flustered and frustrated.

Afterwards, *** snuggled up in the usual way – draped halfway on top of me with her head on my chest – and threw the other blanket over us. I wrapped an arm around her and held her close. We complimented each other and made idle pillow-talk for a while, but the conversation wavered and died as sleep moved in.
Both fading fast, I heard her murmur in a barely-conscious voice ‘Y’know… don’t really mind… if the pill… doesn’t work…’.
My rational mind set off an immediate siren, demanding {*Excuse me? The fuck? Yes you do, we’ve discussed this at length*}.
But for once our rational minds weren’t in charge ^(obviously, or we’d never have staked our futures on anything with such a high failure rate, especially not during a fertile part of her cycle, absolutely not in a public place…). Shortly before passing out, I can remember muttering back ‘Yeah… neither do I’.
And in that one night, that one moment apart from the rest of time, I truly believe that we meant it.

Can’t remember who woke the other, but by then the moon was low in the sky. Regretfully, we decided that we ought to head back inside before dawn arrived. After stretching out (always a nice view) and getting to her feet, *** wiped around the area around her labia with one hand, laughed brightly, flashed me a triumphant grin. ‘Mostly still clean! Nice!’.
It’s almost funny how furtive we were about dressing, as though any local neighbours who had missed the earlier uninhibited maximum-intensity fuckfest were suddenly going to spot us pulling our clothes back on in the dark.
The night remained still as we made our way back to the house, where we passed out again in one anothers’ arms on the living room couch, with nobody any the wiser.
^(Well, that’s probably not true. We slept in long past anyone else, ***’s hair was tangled all to hell, and we were covered in dried sweat. It’s more likely that everybody pretended not to notice.)

…

The pill did work ^(or we were lucky, at least).
It was pretty rough on ***, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt that the best night of my life left her crashing so hard the next day. After straightening up from retching over the restroom sink, she squeezed my hand, and cut off my apology with a laugh and a ^(slightly queasy) smile.
‘Nonono, please. No regrets – especially for you, come on. Trust me, okay? That was totally worth it’.

​

…
SAD ENDING NOW, NO SEXY, MUCH KILLJOY:
(Seriously. The next bit isn’t graphic in the slightest and probably doesn’t belong in this subreddit at all, but it’s how things ended up in real life and so I feel a need to include it. It also feels good to pour this shit out of my head and onto a written page, which is the main reason I’m doing this in the first place.)
>!TURN BACK, HERE THERE BE DRAMA!<

>!I left *** four years later. There was no final fight, no last straw; even after several years you could tally up our major arguments on your fingers, and count our shouting matches on your tail. We didn’t fall out of love, we didn’t even formally break up… but our paths led us in different directions. Deep down we knew they would, even early on – she wanted to settle down near her family ^(for some reason), while I wanted to move back to Oz and maybe travel the world. But the matter had been so far off, so easily ignored. We’d figure out a compromise we both could live with! Eventually. Tomorrow. Next week. Next year. Oh, maybe next year.!<
>!One day, opportunity knocked on my door. I couldn’t refuse, and only one thing held me back.!<
>!I had to be the arsehole. She resisted. She even suggested we could chase our separate dreams on different continents, maybe fly out to visit each other a couple times per year ^(if we could afford it), trade off custody of the kids when that time came, maybe retire together one day. It was desperate. Ridiculous! Tempting… It took real effort to look her in the eyes and speak the truth: that was no way to live. She didn’t argue, much. She knew.!<

>!She wore my shirt to the airport, the one I gave her simply because it looked so much better on her. In the terminal, we kissed just as fiercely as we had on our first day together, albeit while crying. There might have been a bustling crowd around us, the building might have been empty, I don’t remember or care. We shared some final words, wishes, regrets. I begged her to move on, to forget me. She refused, as stubborn and wilful as ever. I suggested she pretend her lover had died on a voyage overseas, just like in the old sad songs we knew. She laughed through the tears. ‘Damn it, that’s even worse! You’re not helping. I don’t want you dead. I want to live out different songs’.!<
>!As I turned to leave, she took my hand in both of hers. ‘I love you. Forever’. I paused, hugged her tight, tried in vain to wipe the tears from her eyes, then my own. ‘I love you too, and I’ll never forget you’. I turned to face the security checkpoint. I put one foot after the other, willing myself not to let the sound of her sobs draw me back again.!<
>!Step. Don’t look back. Step. Don’t look back. Step. Don’t look back.!<

>!I did not look back.!<
>!We never saw each other again.!<

>!To put a very long story short, *** was devastated. Her depressive side took over, and kept her in a very bad place for a very long time. She shut herself away from the world, put on a lot of weight, apparently even contemplated suicide. But in the end, she stabilised, recovered, and did in fact move on, thanks in part to help from a nice local guy. Last I heard, they’re living together near her family ^(Lord help the poor man – though he’s religious too, so maybe they won’t mind him as much), in a small but cosy home that she picked out and decorated herself. She’s come a long way in her career, and isn’t as dirt-poor as she once was. She’s engaged now. Unfortunately but understandably, we haven’t spoken since.
Part of that is my fault, to be fully honest – I’m glad that she’s finally put her life back together, moved on, and found new happiness. But I don’t want to know the details. I fixate on details.!<
>!Anyway, I hope she’s happier now than ever before. Ever before.!<
>!^(I hope she doesn’t regret us.)!<

>!I kept moving, and never stopped. I sort of moved on by default – between continuing my studies, travelling the world, and moving to new countries one after another, I didn’t have many leftover thoughts to spare on the past for over two straight years ^(the ones where she needed support more than ever).!<
>!My life has been pretty awesome ^(so people tell me). I have seen some amazing places, done some unforgettable things, met some incredible people. Some of them have even been single women. Never have gotten seriously involved with anyone else, though. Not certain I even want to – it’s easier this way. Simpler.!<

>!I am certain that nothing like that one night will ever happen to me again. We were young^(er), in our physical prime, passionate and trusting ^(i.e. ‘naive’), ravenously hypersexual and in that sweet spot of being experienced enough to know everything about each others’ bodies but still fresh enough to get carried away, and on top of everything else we had just been unexpectedly given the chance to live out a shared fantasy.!<
>!Should probably feel lucky to have had even one such a moment in my lifetime. Have come to realise that a lot of people, through studiousness or fear of hurt or fear of damnation or bad decisions or simple bad luck, pass their primes without ever forging a similar memory for themselves. Can’t decide whether I envy them or pity them. Perhaps both.!<

>!Again, I’ve mostly moved on. Really! Got plenty of things to do, plenty more to learn, plenty more figurative and literal mountains to climb. But sometimes, ^(mostly when alone, at work, during the small hours of the morning. On a holiday. Plenty of time to be with my thoughts) the little voice that lives buried in the back of my skull breaks free and helpfully chimes in.!<

>!{*Hey mate! Is this what we wanted?*} Well, we didn’t get here by accident. Be quiet. I’m busy.!<
>!{*Right, yes. We’re here by choice. So, we don’t have any regrets at all?*} Of course we do. I said I’m busy. Shut up.!<
>!{*Of course we do. Was it worth the cost?*} Yes… I think so. Hopefully? Fuck you.!<
>!{*Really? We’d seriously be missing dearly beloved Oz? Could have sworn we left it behind easily enough when another opportunity came along – or is that just how you show affection? And all those new places and people you think we’re so interested in? You don’t even like talking to our neighbours. We’d miss the studies, miss work? Miss hearing the hopes and aspirations of people who can’t be saved, learning which parts of our own body we’ve already irreparably damaged and which ones will soon start to decline, knowing how many ways a healthy and happy person can just be snuffed out in an instant without any closure? This is what we’d miss?*} …yes?!<
>!{*All that shit was just a vague dream to us a few years ago, and dreams aren’t real. Blink, and they fade away. Would we even understand what it was we had lost? Would we even care? Because the way things are now, you understand PERFECTLY well what you chose to sacrifice for… all this. Yeah. Great job, mate.*}!<
>!Then it digs out and shuffles randomly through the entire first half of my adult life, when *** and I were together and the fork in our road was still distant enough to cheerfully ignore. Our philosophical debates and scientific discussions, our stupid in-jokes and puns, the secret noises and gestures that had no meaning to anybody else. The way we learned from each other, the way we covered each others’ intellectual blind spots. The lazy mornings, the hyperactive nights ^(and mornings and afternoons and evenings). The mountains we hiked, the songs we sang over the whistling highway wind, the books we read while curled up together on the blue secondhand sofa we had picked up instead of buying a proper bed. The gifts that had value only to us; the piece of cheap jewelry I got her that she wore almost nonstop for years. How we’d wash each other in the shower, not knowing upon starting whether we’d end up cleaner or dirtier. How we’d tirelessly nurse each other back from any sickness or injury, getting frustrated not by the extra chores but by our patient stubbornly trying to do their share. The way she sighed as we fell asleep together even years on down the line. The countless highs we celebrated, the many lows we carried one another through. The ways we’d support each other, how we believed in each other’s abilities, the pride we had in each other, the sheer honest joy we had for each others’ achievements. All the plans we had, the predictions we made, the names we liked and how many of them we thought we’d need.!<
>!{*Nah, mate, you’re right! Maybe it is better this way.*}!<
>!All the little things that annoyed me. The way she left crap everywhere. Our rare but deeply unpleasant religious clashes. Her protectiveness for the family that mistreated her and fucked with her head, and how personally she took my resentment for them. The territorial hostility she showed to every unmarried woman I talked to, the walls she drove between me and my female friends, the way I had to lie about spending time with people I’d known longer than her. The assumption that I’d end up living where she wanted us to, how she shut down any attempt to talk the matter out like adults until after it was too late to change course. The way she’d never just spit out when something was bothering her, the tiny misunderstandings that ended up festering because of it. Her insistence that we catch up in detail literally every day, even with a major time gap, or even when we had urgent business that deserved full attention. The way we both got so carried away by our own personal demons during that rough final year, that we forgot to be there for each other. The things I did and said that hurt her, the times I couldn’t keep a lid on my sarcasm, the sweet little lies I should have told but didn’t. The times I let her down, the times I reflected badly on her. The times she needed my help and I either didn’t notice or just arrogantly decided that she was blowing things out of proportion. My inability to say what we knew she needed to hear after her friend died. The times she asked me to come to bed and I blew her off for unimportant personal crap until she finally fell asleep alone. Her handmade gift that I carelessly threw away and broke. The things I said we’d go and do until they came and went. The look on her face when I turned down her ^(thankfully private) marriage proposal, the ill-fitting ring I still have somewhere in my flat. How she sobbed in despair when I got the non-refundable plane ticket that stamped an official end date on our journey together. All the promises I made that she believed in with absolute faith; I truly never meant to break them, but I will never be able to keep them; there are so many…!<
>!{*Yeah. This was the best option. We’re flying free, just like you wanted. And she’s happy. Just like you wanted. Sounds perfect.*}!<
>!And every time – always the same every fucking time – she’s gazing over at me as I caress her abdomen, the sweat cooling on our skin in the dry desert air as we lie in the moonlight, both of us hoping against hope that the moment will never end. I spend an eternity drinking in her curves, the adoration in her smile, the rapture in her eyes.!<
>!I blink.!<
>!Dreams aren’t real. Blink, and they fade away.!<
>!{*This really is what we’d rather be doing after midnight. Isn’t it?*} I… I guess? That’s not fair.!<
>!{*Fairness! Didn’t know you were big on that.*} Be quiet. Look, little me would be proud, why can’t you be?!<
>!{*How can little you be proud if he never even exists?*} Shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up. Fuck you. You know full well what I meant. You also know full well we’re not the sort of person that gives up on a goal. We had to do this, or we’d have never been able to live with ourself.!<
>!{*So things only have value to us until we obtain them? Noted.*} It’s not like that. It’s not that simple.!<
>!{*Nothing ever is with us. Why is that?*} Shut up. This is what I was meant to do. I would miss this. Definitely. Fuck you.!<
>!Definitely… probably… maybe? The past is past. Why even bring this up? Fuck you.!<
>!{*…?*}!<
>!I don’t know. I don’t know! I don’t fucking know! There. Happy now? Why do you keep doing this? Fuck you.!<
>!…!<
>!Hello? Still there? I said, fuck you.!<
>!…!<
>!…!<
>!Oh, shit, how long has it been? Like half a minute? Good, good. Good. I’m busy.!<

>!(If you read all that, damn, sorry. I know that was a dark turn. It’s not something I meant to include at all, but then it felt wrong to only tell part of the story in order to end on a high note. We didn’t have a happily-ever-after, and I don’t want to play make-believe with our lives. She and I are real people, and the love we shared deserves better than lies.)!<

​

Right! So, that was the story of the one time I ever had completely uninhibited and unprotected sex with anyone.
Hope somebody liked it.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ejjbcd/mf_long_story_once_in_a_lifetime