No rhyme or reason, no logic. Under normal circumstances they quite possibly would never have met. But a decision, made by each of them, to give into a moment of spontaneity, and the universe, conspired to make it otherwise. Two souls, each in need of healing, were colliding.

They weren’t at first, second, or even third glance, what you would consider a match. Incompatible on the usual measures, but it didn’t matter. They had, in some way, connected when they met, although neither of them consciously knew what that connection meant.

It didn’t matter that it didn’t make sense; it was there, regardless. But still, she declined that first time he suggested they share a level of intimacy she hadn’t even contemplated with him, needing time to process it, to break down those filters in her mind that said no. And then, when he asked again, she agreed.
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It was not about romance, nor a relationship, but it was to be a union, of sorts. A union to feed each other’s needs, to heal and nourish, a part of each of their souls.

She didn’t know exactly what it was he needed, nor he, she. But they didn’t need to know. Strangely secure in the knowledge that they would still be able to give, and receive, whatever it was, without knowing, and only through surrender.

His arm reached around her waist, sliding under her top, and she felt his warm hand on the bare skin of her midriff, and she melted, into him, naturally. There was a raw hunger, and a simple, pure synergy.

Lips touching, mouths opening, tongues playing, hands roaming, legs entangled, bodies rocking. Loving ministrations.

Clothes discarded. Blocked energy suddenly flowing again, as they began fucking, with mouths, tongues, fingers, cunt, cock; gentle, slow, desperate, passionate, hard; a consuming energy, that pulsed between them, even during the moments of stillness.

They shared in a state of abandon; pillows knocked off the bed, spilt champagne, a lamp crashing to the floor, such was the force of the energy they created together. Nothing else mattered at that moment in time.

Murmurs, moans, expletives and gratitude.

Unashamed gluttony, feeding and being fed. It was fun, it was light, it was passion, it was depth, it was laughter; it was energy, joy and purity; and it was release and healing.

Then they slept.

In the morning, they talked over coffee in her garden; he had a joint, she a cigarette. When he left, they hugged, and kissed briefly, then hugged again, making plans to see each other again soon. But they never did. They didn’t need to.

Namaste

– Judi Reed, 2012