by Michael Webb
I never slept with her.
She haunts my dreams. She inhabits the long, dirty corners of a boring afternoon, sneaking up on me when I don't expect it. She's there, reminding me of what I carelessly threw away. Young? We were both young. I used to think I could have it all.
Oh, did I want her. She let me see her body once, incredibly shyly and reluctantly. I consumed it visually-her teacup breasts, narrow waist, tiny hips, those legs with hypertrophic calf muscles. Her long, straight brown hair, and eyes that would rarely focus on me. I remember being together, my hand under her dress in the backseat. She was right-if she had let me get into bed with her, I couldn't have controlled myself. She said she would lose control, but that wasn't it. It was me. She was too much-it was too much-her beauty, and her vulnerable nature, stirred deep feelings. I wanted to take her, and I wanted to protect her from being taken.
She danced. She taught dance, and performed it, in a little studio near where I worked at the time. I would walk over there and sit in the tiny office, watching her in the tight dance clothes, watching her flex impossibly, staring at her near nakedness. Her muscles bulged, and tendons stood out like cords in her neck from the unforgiving perfection of performance. The office smelled like women, hot and stuffy and hormonal and achingly real in the back of my throat. It was all for her, waiting for the bonus of driving her home, 30 minutes through the darkness, listening to music, talking softly, smelling her sweat. I loved her smell.
I never slept with her. I touched her, I kissed her, I yearned for her physically and mentally. I worshipped her. Her body was a talisman, a precious object of my desires and affections. I threw her away, cowardly and cavalierly, for someone who eventually took my virginity. She has become, the one who got away, the one who never shared the ultimate prize, the great unanswered question that shadows me. Would a sweaty, fumbling awkward encounter on my bed have bonded us forever? Would it have ruined us?
I don't know. Out of all the women I have ever shared a moment with, she stays with me.
Michael Webb works with chemicals, and some would say they have affected his brain. Evidence pro and con available at www.innocentsaccidentshints.blogspot.com His cliche sexual fantasy is doing it with sisters.