As we walked along the tree-lined road, it was funny, everything was fuzzy yet clear. The woods and the evergreen air were clear, but my thoughts, my feelings, Clark’s handsome face, were all fuzzy. Whether this was a good idea, whether I would actually go through with what we had planned, I couldn’t be sure.

All I knew at that moment, as Clark held my hand and led me to his house, was that I was happy. We didn’t speak, only played with each other’s fingers. We didn’t need to say anything, the forest was saying it all for us with its the quiet calm, broken only by the odd hoot of an owl. No, we didn’t need to say anything because it was all perfect already.

When we finally reached the tall wooden structure of Clark’s home, I was out of breath, though not quite so much that I couldn’t gasp when we saw it. It was the most beautiful house I’d ever seen.

“Don’t expect to see Nala anywhere,” Clark joked. Seeing my awed expression, he took my hand and led me through the door, saying, “you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Inside he led me up a stunning flight of marble stairs, then another flight of stairs, then down a long hallway. At the end, was an empty room. Well, a room that was not quite empty. It did have a broad window, a window Clark brought me to. Grabbing the handle and twisting it, he opened the broad glass pane. There was no screen in it, just like mine. Then, in one fluid motion, he got up and sat on it, balanced on the thick windowsill with his legs dangling down into thin air. Patting the space beside him, he asked, “Will you join me?”

Without a word, I hopped up too, and sat beside him in the same position, my legs dangling down.

I was silent for a minute before, finally, saying “You too?”

Turning to me, Clark smiled. “You too?”

I nodded, glancing away from his intent gaze although I couldn’t as easily escape his sincere voice, sounding into the night.

“Sometimes, I don’t know why, it all seems…too much I guess. So, I sit up here and I don’t really think of much, I just breathe in the air.”

He had taken my hand, but I couldn’t tell if it was because he really felt the strange poignancy of our shared habit or if it was just because that was what you did next when you were trying to sleep with a woman.

“Doesn’t it ever make you feel—sitting up here, I mean,” I started to say, “I don’t know…lonely and hopeful and sad all at once?”

Clark’s answer was bullet-fast and sharp. “No.”

Silence, and then, haltingly, he said, “Maybe. I don’t know what it makes me feel.”

Another silence, and then he said, “But tonight—will you look at that—the view, it’s gorgeous.”

And then, all the way up there, our hands clasping once more, we took in the Sacramento cityscape miles below.

“Gorgeous” was too weak a word for what we saw, for the symphony of little lights laid out before us. Hauntingly, heartbreakingly beautiful might have been more accurate. Maybe. Because the sight before us, the cool wisp of wind, the forest-fresh air, the warm hand of the man beside me—all of it was enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Sitting there, the view somehow reminded me of the past few days, and all the crazy things that had happened. Me, making a website to change my fate. Me, humiliating myself. Me, getting up after the latest disappointment and trying again. And, the craziest thing of all, the man beside me, the man I had once thought ruined my life—Clark Denton, the conceited jerk, the uncaring bastard—proving himself to be a sensitive, considerate man who maybe, just maybe, I could sleep with after all.

“You’re crying,” Clark whispered, his lips at my ear. “Are you sad?” he asked, pausing, his dark eyes scanning my face, looking downcast himself.

I only shook my head, and whispered, “Right now, I’m happy.”

And then his lips touched mine, and I forgot what I felt, I forgot who I was, I forgot everything. Everything except those soft lips pressing against mine, and that equally soft tongue, licking and flicking and sliding around mine, into my mouth, ever so gently.

Mouths locked, we hopped off the windowsill onto the floor, made our way down another hallway. The next thing I knew we were in a bedroom with a bed with white silk sheets and we were on it, in it, in those white silk sheets. Clark’s hands were sliding all over my body, my arms, my legs, and my face. My body was giving in to him entirely; everything was a relaxed following of what came before, was only natural. My white dress joined the white sheets, and now Clark was covering me with kisses, soft sucking kisses. My whole body was trembling, but he had only just begun.

Yes, now he was running his fingers through my hair, undoing my bra, slipping his hands where the cups had been. His fingers were so gentle on my breasts. Massaging them in long confident strokes, it seemed like he could feel them forever. Then, his hands were sliding down, were around my panties and I knew it was time.

This was it. This was when I made the choice, whether to do what everything had been building towards, what would decide it all.

And yet, as his hands slid over and under my panties, as they slipped them off ever so gently, only then did I understand. That this was a natural following of what came before. That the choice had already been made the moment I agreed to a date with Clark, the moment his lips had met mine. That this had been inevitable from the first moment we had laid eyes on each other.

Because, with his light, sweet touches, it was clear. For all his bravado, this was a man with a kind, caring heart. A kind heart that cared for me, too.

And so, now that my white lace panties had merged with the flow of white sheets and dress, the next thing was for Clark to slip in a finger between my legs, then another. He smiled at the wetness between my legs, pressed his mouth to mine and we swirled our tongues together.

His finger was just as gentle, just as gradual as his other touches. The slowest of slow ins then outs, ins then outs. And it felt wonderful, warm, fuzzy, but my moans were probably telling Clark that already. And when his pace accelerated, when his finger inside of me transitioned from a stroking to a pumping, when warm hot pleasure started spreading through me, what followed it was what had to follow.

Gently, Clark slipped out his finger and, his whole face flushed with arousal, his eyes under heavy lids, he asked me “Kristin, are you sure?”

But this question wasn’t for my mind, not even for my mouth. It was for my body, my more-than-ready body, which pressed itself to him for its answer.

Next he was pressing himself to me, inside of me, and we had done it. We were one. We were one pulsing, sliding, moaning, wonderfully perfect body. We were the in and out, we were the lovers, the feeling. We were free.

He built his pace gently, kissing and kissing me, until he was sliding into me with force, ramming the pleasure deep within me, and I was moaning, and my whole body was screaming, shaking with a scream of pleasure of its own. Clark’s pleasure flowed into me and then we both collapsed back, into the silky white sheets, spent, whole, and free.

We lay there, in the dark, cool, beautiful room, still joined, still free. He wrapped me in his arms and my last thought before drifting off, was how perfectly this had all gone, how very lucky I was.