luck?

I remember when I first slept with her.

I remember how she looked sitting on top of me, her flat stomach and proud breasts filling my vision as my erection filled her.

I remember the note she left the next morning, after I had chivalrously left her alone in my flat. A note on an envelope, thanking me for a good time, adorably signed. An impeccably good sport about her philandering host dashing off to honor a previous engagement he had with another lovely lady.

After that, a blur of sex, restaurants, drinks and dates. Her, some others, but increasingly her. I was inexorably drawn into orbit around her fiery curls and glorious body. And she seemed cool, even intrigued, by my womanizing ways. I remember thinking to myself, hopefully; have I found a partner in crime?

Then, suddenly, she was a prude and we were having a relationship. It wasn't just fucking, we were becoming a couple and jealousy and love and claustrophobia took center stage. We broke up, got back together again just to break up some more. And so on.

Finally I fled, hid on a crazy volcanic rock in the north Atlantic.

...

This morning as her mouth gently massaged the head of my cock I marveled at how lucky I am.

Somehow, since I got back and we inevitably got together again, it has all been as effortless as it was complicated before. What used to be good sex has become amazing sex. I ask for a blowjob, she happily obliges. I ask her to come on my face, again I get what I want. She begs me to come on her tits and I return her favours.

We discuss making babies and attending orgies.

Sometime in the future of course, not now, not next week, she's not ready.

Or so it seemed until she started browsing Gumtree.ie this afternoon. Suddenly we have a date and I realize that I had indeed found a partner in crime.

We'll see about that baby thing later.