It was a woman!
And as swiftly as she was there, she was gone, and the heavenly scent of almost-rose on her skin gave way to the syrupy stink of near-honeydew. A bad bargain, but it left me with a raging erection.
Though I hadn't seen her, I knew she was beautiful, judging her from the inside out. She was filled with love and goodwill, and her abrupt departure was painful. I needed to know her better. I needed to know her at all.
That was the day. From that point on it was all I could do to live my own life. I thought about her endlessly, wondering who she was, where she lived, what could be the sonnet that was her name. What did she look like?
The next phase was paranoia.
Was she receiving me? Was this sensual exchange a two-way circuit, or merely a party line on which I was invited to listen in? And if she were receiving me, she could see how relentlessly superficially my life had been lived. Before finding her, my deepest thought was the perfection of imitation top sirloin, and I was sure she'd found me out. She must know about the men's magazines that littered my bedroom and bathroom… and in turn be aware of the inordinate amount of time spent with my left hand. Even before the divorce. I suddenly felt very lonely, in the most literal sense of the word, knowing that she deserved better than me.
And so did I.
For the most part, what I received from her were the most beautiful and pure thoughts and feelings that I had ever experienced. They were so good, so generous, so giving that I could but envy her. I threw out the beaver books, dusted and vacuumed the house, and even scrubbed the toilet. I even began to make the bed every morning. You never know…
Perhaps my attempts to impress her through the two-way mirror I imagined existed between us were a little overboard, but I had to be my best for her, and thereby for myself. I wrote checks to wildlife organizations; I began to compose hopelessly romantic poems; I had fresh roses around me at all times; I even went so far as to buy a cat. If she knows, it is worth the sneezing and the watery eyes.
I tried not to consider the more likely possibility: that she was blissfully unaware of my existence. I needed to find her, to see her, to talk to her, to make her a living, breathing soul mate, who would no doubt find me her ideal companion for the rest of our lives. I knew that it had become obsession; I needed her to know it, too. My most fervent hope was that she would transmit while writing the return address on an envelope, or while giving out her phone number. Was that too much to ask? After all, didn't there have to be a reason for our psyches to become entwined in the ether?
She just kept doing little things that drove me more and more madly in love with her. She sang in the mornings! Can you imagine a soul so bright and cheerful that it could start the morning with a song? She laughed a lot. And when she cried, it was for joy. But it broke my heart to feel the wet of her tears. She needed my shoulder.
You'd have fallen in love with her, too. But I was there first.
In bed one night I drifted off to sleep in her bubble bath. The water in her tub was so bubbly and relaxing that I just couldn't keep my eyes open. I hoped she slept as easily as I.
It was only a couple hours later that I bolted awake.
There were hands on my chest. Rough-hewn and horny, they gripped and kneaded our breasts, twisting, massaging, pinching extended nipples, and I felt overpowering heat in my loins. I realized in aroused horror that she was sending again, and this time… it still embarrasses me to even think about it.
I felt our breasts get hard with the rough handling. I felt a hot, wet mouth circle the nipple, the tongue tickling the hardened teat into a miniature tower of flesh. My heart thudded with fear, confusion… and excitement that I hoped I could attribute to her. I didn't know how to react; he was playing rough, but it felt… good.
I could feel wet heat working its way down my body, and before I knew it, I felt penetration! My body had by now completely given way to hers, and I felt things I'd never felt before — nor wanted to! The first stroke was absolutely the most shocking experience I'd ever known. And it kept going.
And then, before taking leave of me, the experience reached its apex, and I experienced my first vaginal and clitoral orgasms. And to complete the set, my rocket launched, making a mess of the newly washed sheets.
After the physical devastation, I just lay there in bed, sweating, feeling guilt and shame, and a curious sense of empathy that no other man can know. I was nauseated with postcoital confusion and didn't sleep the rest of the night.
Sleeping never got any easier. She was constantly on my mind, the thought of her gnawing at me. I needed her as much as I wanted her, and I'd never wanted anything so much in my life. Even though I only received flashes of her for a few minutes total during the course of a week, I felt that I knew her better than any man has known any woman. And for some time, there was no reason to believe that it wasn't true.
Who chooses their soul mate?
Would that it were so simple. To meet all of the available potential partners, and using mind and body, making the most intelligent decision for a life partner. No, love chooses us, not the other way around. And once hooked, there is little turning back. I was in love with a nameless woman I'd never seen, who quite probably had no idea I even existed. Had I known it was hopeless, I might have been able to stop it. And I might not. But I didn't, and I didn't want to. And neither would you.
A few days later she was sending again. I looked down, and we were painting our nails. Her hands were long and tapered, and the polish was a wet, blood red. The polish was applied slowly, gracefully, peacefully, and her thoughts, as ever, were loving and calm. When she finished, my view followed her hand as it grabbed the door of the bathroom medicine cabinet and pulled it open.
That her image whooshing by in the cabinet mirror was so casual and inevitable, it took me a moment to realize that I had actually seen her! Instantly, the transmission fled, freeing my own senses to realize what just happened. The vision settled in, the lightning flash of memory permanently embedded on my cerebellum, and my fury with the brevity of the vision gave way to tides of joy. In my mind, at least, I had grasped the holy grail, if only for a fraction of a second.
She was breathtaking!
That was no surprise, having known her as I did. But she was nothing short of a goddess. Her hair, still damp from the shower, was brown, and fell to her bare, milky shoulders. Her pale green eyes were huge and innocent. And she was naked. Her firm, small breasts acted as proud hosts for her attentive, brown, eraserlike nipples.
She was truly all that a human being could be. And then, she was gone.
It was fully three weeks before I heard from her again: three weeks of the most intense loneliness I'd ever felt. I wanted her so badly that I couldn't eat, which suited my waistline if not my heart. It was the crudest form of impotence I could imagine; I needed her to know that she was the most important thing in my life.
I kept putting in the hours at work, but my heart and mind were far away. I managed to bring the Honeydew Project to a reasonable end, and the Jelly Belly people were happy, but I knew it wasn't perfect. I didn't care; that shit didn't mean anything to me now. I wanted to share my good fortune with her.
I found myself riding an emotional roller coaster, and I was never sure if it was hers, mine, or ours. My spirits would soar to the heights of ecstasy, and in moments plummet to the depths of gut-churning despair. In one moment I'd share a smile with everyone I'd pass, and in another be screaming at the slightest misdemeanor that encountered me. I'd gone from a man whom few had ever seen angry, to a veritable amusement park of emotional frayed ends.