I had never known love. Although I was quite certain both of my parents loved me, I had very little recollection of them being in my life. Most of what I believed I remembered was more than likely false memories manufactured by my mind in an effort to prove to me they existed at some point and time in my life.

The remaining portion of my childhood was filled with children, adults, and confusion, but not love. As I reached adolescence, I was curious about women, relationships, and sex; but for many reasons I never acted on any of the ideas my curiosity presented.

When I finally reached a point I felt I was able to be in a relationship and possibly provide a woman with the care, affection, and love a relationship required, the fear of failure far outweighed what I believed the possible gains might be. Time seemed to pass all too quickly once I reached adulthood. The constant searching for whatever it is that we as adults seek, the striving to succeed, and the filling our days with events to reassure us we’re accomplishing exactly what it is we’re supposed to seemed to consume me. And, one day I looked in the mirror, and the failure I feared I may become looked back at me.

I then chose to tattoo myself heavily, making me seem repulsive to others on the surface, hoping all along that the tattoos would cause rejection by all who exposed only to what their eyes were able to see. It seemed to work, and my life of solitude which followed was confirmation of me being distasteful to those who exposed themselves to me.  

Loneliness followed hand in hand with my life of isolation, so my mind developed a world of fantasy in which I was able to live without repercussion. 

Without rejection.

Without heartache. 

And without pain.

If I was forced to look at myself with a critical eye, my alcoholism would be the only true fault I felt I possessed, and it was not as much of a fault as it was a disease. I began drinking when I was thirteen, much earlier than most, but I had always felt it wasn’t quite early enough. I found an odd comfort in knowing once I decided to change my life and stop drinking, I met Riley.

At almost the exact time I stopped drinking, she packed her bags and left an abusive relationship. Six months later, we met. Be it by happenstance or by some strange twist of fate I didn’t know, but it really didn’t matter in the least. What did matter was that she was able to easily fit into my life where so many others weren’t.

She stood in the kitchen carving the ends from the strawberries and watching them fall into the sink. Each time she grabbed a strawberry from the container she lifted the knife with the opposite hand, cut off the end, and tossed each respective piece in different directions. The fluid movements of her arms appeared to be mechanized and almost perfect. As her arms moved back and forth with a certain grace, I studied her tattoos. The bold colors seemed to be more prominent in the natural light of the kitchen. I stood at the edge of the doorway leading to the kitchen, behind her and out of her view, and admired the work I had done on her arm.

For the rest of her life she would be marked by my mind’s creations, a piece of artwork unlike anything else, and something unique to her. I never tattooed the same design on two people for many reasons, and I prided myself in the fact I had not. After a few minutes of admiring her grace, beauty, I cleared my throat. 

She glanced over her shoulder.

“Come here,” I said.

She glanced over her shoulder and grinned. “Just a minute.”

There was so much I wanted to say, but didn’t dare. I knew the next day I was going to be headed out of town into a situation that could easily go in an unfavorable direction. Nonetheless, I knew it was something I needed to do, and in the end, Riley and I would both be better as a result after it was all behind me.

I wasn’t only doing it for me; I was doing it for us.

For our growth as a couple. 

I anxiously took the few steps that separated us and wrapped my arms around her, resting my hands at her waist. With my chin resting on her shoulder, I watched as she finished cleaning the strawberries. As she held the strainer under the faucet and ran cold water over the fruit, I reached into the basket and pinched one of the berries between my thumb and forefinger.

Silently, I lifted it to her mouth. She opened her mouth, accepted the fruit, and wrapped her lips around the tips of my fingers. As she sucked the sticky juice from the tips of my fingers, I leaned forward and tilted my head to the side.

She shifted her eyes to meet mine and grinned. I held her gaze and smiled in return.

I blindly reached for the strainer. After fumbling for another piece of fruit, I eventually found one and lifted it to her mouth. Again, her lips parted, wrapped around my fingers, and sucked the juices from my fingertips.

I pressed my hands to her sides, pushed them along the length of her body, and past her hips. As my hands reached the bottom of her shirt, I grasped it in my fingers and slowly pulled it upward. As the shirt slowly revealed the bare skin of her back, she lifted her arms over her head, allowing me to remove it completely.

I pressed my chin against the side of her neck and kissed her under the chin. As my mouth moved along her jaw line, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Gently kissing the soft skin underneath her ear, I reached for her bra and unclasped it. As I continued to kiss along her neck and eventually her shoulder, I slid my hands beneath her dangling bra and cupped her breasts in my palms.

With her head still tilted back and her eyes closed, she moaned as I massaged her flesh in my fingers. I dragged my teeth along the base of her neck and across her shoulder, my tongue darting across every inch of her skin as I did so.

I released her breasts, pushed my hands against her skin, and slowly slid my fingers into the waist of her shorts. Her moaning increased as my fingers followed the crease from her hips to her wet mound.

I curled my middle finger upward and into her wetness. Slowly and gently I worked in and out of her tight wet slit, pressing slightly further each time. Within a few seconds it was buried deep inside of her and the palm of my hands was covered in her satisfaction.

She reached for the waist of her shorts, unfastened them, and pushed them along her thighs. As she continued to fight against the unwilling garment, I turned her to face me and kissed along her neck, past each of her breasts, and onto her stomach. As she playfully kicked her shorts to the side, I knelt in front of her and gripped her bare ass in my hands.

I opened my mouth, extended my tongue, and gazed upward. As our eyes met, I grinned. She spread her stance slightly, stepped forward, and pressed her sweet wet flesh against my mouth. Eagerly, I licked her. With each stroke of my tongue, she pulled away slightly, only to return for taste of what I had to offer her.

After a few minutes of my tongue carefully exploring her every crevice and fold, she reached down and gripped my head in her hands. In perfect rhythm we continued; her pulling my head into her slightly, and me licking with precision. Her moaning acted as the only warning of her body’s intended release.

As she bellowed into the room, I flicked my tongue against the swollen nub at the top of her wetness, forcing her even further into the heavenly cloud her mind had certainly taken her. The few spasmodic thrusts of her hips that followed provided a sense of satisfaction that I had satisfied her as much as I had hoped.

I released her from my grasp and slowly stood. She gazed down and followed my hands as I unbuckled my belt, lowered my jeans, and removed my shorts. As I removed my shirt, she grinned, but did not speak. I placed a hand against her shoulder, turned her around, and directed her to the sink. As I gazed over her shoulder and into the basket of strawberries, I pressed my hand against her back. Without hesitation, she bent at the waist, resting her stomach against the edge of the counter.

I gathered her hair in my hand, held it firmly, and guided myself between her legs. As I felt her warmth encompass my swollen shaft, I pressed my chest against her back and pulled her hair tight with my hand.

As I slowly and predictably worked myself in and out, she grunted softly with each stroke. I sank my teeth into the side of her neck, pulled her hair back further, and pushed myself even deeper.

Her back arched slightly, and her mouth opened. Slowly, as I held myself in place deep within her, her eyes fell closed and she tightened around me. As I felt my love for her release in short bursts of pleasure, I released her hair.

She moaned out into the room.

With our bodies pressed against each other and our skin affixed slightly from the sweat we had created, I held her in my arms. As I kissed along her shoulder and onto her neck, she turned to the side and parted her lips slightly.

I closed my eyes and leaned into her, pressing my lips against hers. A long, slow, sensual kiss followed.

I rested my chin against her shoulder, realizing it was where we had started only a short time before. As I closed my eyes and gave thanks for Riley’s existence, I felt her finger tap lightly against my lips.

With my eyes still closed, I opened my mouth.

A piece of the roughly textured fruit was pushed past my lips and into my mouth. As I bit into the sweet fruit, it acted as a reminder that not all things are as they appear.  

Sometimes the repulsive surface acts as a disguise of what may be the sweetest of life’s offerings.