he and i are no stranger to scandal. we've carefully constructed this reality between ourselves, cultivating our private indulgences far outside the pale of what our friends would accept. instead of running away, killing ourselves over it, we've adopted it as our new reality. i live a double life, carefully building my realities depending on the audience and hoping like hell that the two halves can stay separated long enough to ride out the required delay. he aids and abets me, willingly, gladly shepherding me down this path and guarding all my secrets.
i lay there with him that first night, listening to him assure me that i wasn't crazy. i felt so much relief after that conversation. he'd really talked me down off the ledge; i was totally okay after that. i drifted off next to him in that big hotel bed. not the first time we'd slept next to each other. but the change came when he crossed that line, when he reached out his hands and touched me, just so, on the back of my neck, running his fingers through my hair. i lay there still, my heart racing, as his hands undid all the calm of his words a few short hours earlier. he made himself a liar then and there. i could ignore this. i could stop him...
...or i could bite into that apple and fall from grace once and for all. i drew in breath. this decision would require courage, more courage than i had to rely on. i whispered, "do you know what you're doing?" it would be the closest i'd come to acknowledging his double-edged intentions. he ran his hand over my shoulders and down my back. i drew in breath again, for other reasons.
"i think so." as our lips touched, we sealed our fate. stripping each other down and drinking deeply from one another, we bonded ourselves together in our secrecy, our treachery against my situation and our conspiracy to ourselves. we could never go back. it was changed forever. the only reality we will ever know again will be twined with the feeling of skin against skin, the illicit thrill of indulgence and the breathless danger of breaking rules.
we have always been intellectual rebels, riding the streets of our sleepy hometown with the knowledge that we were different, better, more than what we saw through the windows of his car. with that kiss, the rebellion crystallized, raised to a whole new level of disregard for convention. teenage angst is trite and overdone. a grown man and a grown woman, looking the rules of society in the face and spurning them in pursuit of pleasure, comfort, happiness, damn all the consequences? now that's a bold statement. we joined hands and jumped. we didn't bother to look down. we just fell together, never wondering or even caring what would happen when the clouds parted.
Letter 70: Be Louder
5 days ago