Primal need story

Primal


“Why are you so quiet tonight?” She asked as we ate dinner at the little Italian restaurant we frequented when we needed a night away from town.

“I’m just thinking,” I said. I poured her another glass of Chianti. I hoped she might let me off with the vague answer. I wanted to spare her being my sounding board for the evening. Not that we didn’t have a relationship based upon communication. Talking was the thing I liked best about us, aside from sex.

I couldn’t reveal myself to her, however.

But I couldn’t fool her, either. She sensed work was bothering me. She had probed me with questions about my workday, about things I had mentioned earlier in the week, on our drive to the restaurant that evening. I had avoided the questions as tactfully as I could. Worse: I felt as if I had avoided her for asking them. It was difficult to tell her how dissatisfied I was with my job, how aimless I thought the position had become. Though I felt every bit the modern man, I still subscribed to the notion that it was my duty to bring a greater share of financial responsibility to our relationship. To admit that I was having a difficult time fulfilling that duty felt like a weakness to me. It was something I could have shared with a brother, not the most important woman in my life.

We quietly finished our meal. I followed her through a single quiet circuit of the mall. We quietly started home.

I drove with the windows down. The air was cool. The sun had all but faded from the sky, leaving only faint wisps of burnt orange clouds amid the purple, gray, and dark blue of twilight. I enjoyed this time of day the most of all the hours. Though most of the world would soon be thinking about sleep, I felt as if I was truly only waking in my day. I felt bad that I was spoiling it with the rat race. I felt bad that I was not enjoying it with the woman I loved.

She watched the world speed by her window, her long brown hair tossing gently in the breeze. She had worn the skirt I had bought her for her last birthday, her 31st, and the red silk blouse I had bought her for Valentine’s Day. From the corner of my eye, I could see a kind of tightness in her face. Concentration. Concern. I hoped my quiet had not given her too much to think about.

Letting a hand drop from the wheel, I reached over and cupped her bare knee. She turned toward me. She smiled in relief. He’s going to say what’s bothering him, her smile said. I wasn’t ready for that yet, but I couldn’t let her be alone any longer while we were together. I let focus upon the road mask the look and smile I should have given her.

My hand, however, sought to give her warmth. My fingers ran slow circles around the inside of her knee. I felt her begin to relax under my touch. In itself, touch was communication. She accepted that. I could give that. Her face softened. She leaned her head back against the headrest.

I felt bad for keeping her secluded from this thing which was not about her and yet was as equally important in her life as it was in mine. Such are the weights of being a man. They tell us we do not share our feelings; it is only because sometimes we cannot.

She was precious to me and deserved more from me.

My hand smoothed up along her thigh in hopes of conveying gratitude I could not otherwise express at the moment. She sighed pleasantly. Her body shifted down in the seat. Her legs opened ever so slightly more to me. It was a very subtle, small move.

I stroked her thigh softly. I petted her. Never once did I look more toward her than with the corner of my eye. Never once did the expression on my face change. What a mystery I must have been to her. Stoic. Then feeling her up.

My fingers found the silk at the junction of her thighs. I had watched her slip into the creamy ivory panties before we left for dinner. Not directly. Through a mirror in the bathroom as I finished my shave. At almost any moment, she would have bared herself for my viewing. Yet sometimes I preferred these voyeuristic moments when I caught her within the mundane, unaware of me, unaware of herself, when I could see her completely.

I felt the silk dampen as I traced along her slit. Her breathing had grown deeper, punctuated with soft mewls.

I signaled a left turn, took the BMW from the highway onto a smaller lane that followed round the northern edge of the lake. Ahead were picnic areas where we often came on Sundays. Another turn took us closer to them. This road was even smaller and more secluded than the last. Spindly southern pines guarded the road on the left. Scrub led toward the inky lake on the right. I’m not sure she had noticed we left the highway. My hand kept her thoughts preoccupied.

I moved my hand long enough to park and shut off the car before returning it to her thigh. She had blinked “awake” when my hand left her silk-covered sex. She took note of our surroundings. She smiled at me, though I had yet to look at her.

As I stroked her thigh, she said, “This is so much better than not talking.”

One thing I may never be able to understand about being a man is our illogic. I do not know why I perceived it so, but something in what she said bothered me. Angered me? It made no sense to me, but I felt it nevertheless.

I took my hand from her. I opened the door and stepped out of the car.

“What’s wrong now?” I heard her ask from within.

“Nothing,” I said. I walked away from the car. It was one of those moments when I expected to hear the engine turn over and the tires squeal away as she gave up on the foolishness I had given her. Instead, I heard her open her door and follow me across the gravel. I did not stop to wait for her, but continued toward the shore through the grass that had grown high after the close of the summer season. I was surprised by the brightness of the rising moon as it broke through the trees and glistened upon the lake. It stopped me.

She stepped in front of me.

“I know something’s bothering you, but you need to decide if it’s more important to you than we are.”

I looked beyond her.

“I won’t put up with this forever,” she said.

She started away from me. I had imagined the car speeding away before; I could feel her leaving me now.

I grabbed her by the arm.

She tried to pull away.

I grabbed her by both arms and pulled her to me. She looked at me angrily.

“You’re more important,” I said. She was. Whatever else concerned me, she was more important. This I understood more than anything.

I kissed her hungrily.

She broke her lips from mine, breathing heavily.

“So you CAN talk?”

I kissed her again.

I let go of her arms and held her to me. I stroked her hair and back. I eased her up against a tree. My fingers tangled in her hair. I pulled her head back and kissed her throat. She groaned as I nibbled at her pulse point. Her hands clutched my back. I felt her nails press into my shirt.

As I kissed the hollow at the base of her throat, I undid the top buttons of her blouse. She gasped as I cupped her breast. I felt her nipple spring against her bra and my palm. With my free hand, I continued to unbutton her blouse. The blood-red silk fell open in the moonlight. Her pale chest and belly glowed like marble in the moonlight. I opened the front clasp of her bra and palmed her bare breast. How warm she felt. How soft she felt. I felt my own arousal begin to stir.

Her hands found the tail of my pullover and walked it up my back. I wrestled the shirt over my shoulders and tossed it with her blouse on the ground.

We kissed as I held her to me.

My fingers found her skirt zipper. I undid it slowly. She wiggled it off her hips, then stepped out of it.

I cupped her behind and held her to me. I looked down into her eyes. I nibbled at her lips.

The world of concrete and steel, of finance and sales, meant nothing compared to the world of flesh I held in my hands. Why had those matters seemed so important before? What were they really but little games to be played between bouts of living? If I felt aimless, it was because I allowed myself to feel aimless. If I felt dissatisfied, it was because I did not seek to please myself. My destiny was mine to take, as was the flesh I held in my hands.

I kissed her throat. I kissed between her breasts. I took her right nipple between my lips, while my hand slid inside her panties.

She groaned as my fingers found her sex. Her hands clutched my back.

I bunched my hand in the cloth of her panties and wrenched it. The seams popped with the first tug. They ripped with the second. The flimsy cloth fell away with the third.

I cupped her sex with my open hand and kneaded her mound. I flicked at her nipple with my tongue. She panted and mewled in my ear. She ground my back and shoulders in her hands.

So wet.

So hot.

So aroused.

I wanted her.

Gently, by her shoulders, I turned her around so that she faced the tree, not me. I took her hands in mine and lifted them over her head. I placed each on the tree. Her fingers clutched at the coarse bark. He back and bottom glowed in the pale moonlight. I patted her bottom lovingly, then took a hip in each hand. I guided her back form the tree one step, then two so that she was bent at a slight angle. A hand between her inner thighs guided her to straddle her legs.

I was rock hard. I undid my belt and pants. I took my cock from my boxers and rubbed it against her left inner thigh. She gasped at the touch. I thumped it against her bottom, then rubbed it against her right inner thigh. Her hips moved of their own control in a swaying circle.

Like an animal she presented herself to me.

Like an animal I took her.

We both groaned as I entered her.

I began to rock against her.

Fucking is one of those moments when you tend to discover the most about yourself. Are you someone who needs the electric flash of getting off quick? Are you someone who needs the slow burn of a long, hard grind? Are you so attuned to your lover that you find yourself becoming a part of them? Do you touch them only until you come? Are they your sole focus? Do you pretend they’re someone else?

Fucking can capture your heart.

Fucking can set you free.

Fucking can make you weak.

Fucking can make you strong.

I felt very strong as I fucked this woman I loved most in the open night.

With my hands clutching her hips and my cock deep within her, I felt more in control of my life than I had in weeks. I wanted nothing more than to come in her, to bathe her in my power, to claim her with it.

I thrust deeper and harder. Her hips rocked back to meet mine. She panted and grunted. Her fingers clawed at the tree bark. Her head lifted and fell, her long hair fanning out around her. Her body grew hot.

I came in waves. She moaned with each, her sex clutching and clutching my cock in her own orgasm.

I withdrew and held her to me, caressing her, hugging her. She turned to kiss me on the lips, then the shoulders. Her hands smoothed along my back. She nuzzled her cheek against my chest. She knelt and cleaned me with her tongue and lips. I stroked her hair and petted her lovingly.

I kissed her in gratitude when she was done.

I put on my shirt. I draped her blouse around her shoulders and guided her back to the car in my arms. I covered her with a blanket we kept for picnics or winter emergencies. She cuddled up against me as I began to drive home. She slept.

In the most peaceful moment I had known in weeks, with the most treasured person at my side, inspiration flared within my mind. Yes. Yes… The solution to my troubles was really that simple.