Portland Nights, 1985

The rain hammered against the windows of our old Victorian, each drop a frantic drumbeat against the glass, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my own heart. It had been nearly a decade since 1985, a lifetime in some respects, but the memory of that November trip, the forced separation, and the desperate longing it ignited within me, remained sharp and potent. Paul Young’s “Everytime You Go Away” had become more than just a song; it was a soundtrack to a year of yearning, a constant reminder of the exquisite torture of absence. My husband, Daniel, had been gone for three days, visiting his family in Portland, a pilgrimage he never seemed to relish, but one he felt obligated to undertake. I, on the other hand, had chosen to spend those precious few days with my aging aunt Mildred, a woman whose life had been as full of eccentricities as my own.

The drive back from Portland was a blur of rain-streaked highways and the insistent beat of the radio. Then, as we rounded a bend just outside of town, the familiar strains of “Everytime You Go Away” filled the car. Daniel’s hand tightened on the steering wheel, and he pulled the car over to the side of the road. We stood there, soaked to the bone, lost in the music, and the raw, undeniable pull between us. It felt like a sign, a cosmic validation of the deep connection we shared, a silent promise of reunion.

Back at the house, the scent of rain clung to everything, a damp, earthy fragrance that only intensified my desire. I’d already taken a hot bath, letting the warm water soothe my muscles and wash away the last vestiges of the day. As I stepped out, my skin still damp, Daniel was waiting for me in the bedroom. The room itself was a sanctuary, filled with the comforting clutter of our lives – photographs, books, and well-worn furniture. It felt safe, private, and utterly devoted to our love.

He looked tired, his face etched with the weariness of travel, but his eyes still held the same intense gaze that had captivated me from the moment we met. He moved toward me, slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the anticipation. Reaching out, he took my face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the curve of my cheekbones. Then, he leaned down and kissed me, a slow, lingering kiss that sent shivers down my spine.

"Oh baby," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, "I've missed you. I've missed your tender touch, and the wetness of your ladyplace." His words were both a declaration of love and a blatant expression of his deepest desires. My own breath caught in my throat, and I felt a surge of heat spread through my body. "I missed you too, sweet darling," I replied, my voice barely a whisper. "I missed your sweet kisses and caresses, while feeling you thrust inside me."

Daniel chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, and then he reached for me, his fingers brushing against the lace of my underdress. He gently unfastened the buttons, pulling the fabric down to reveal the delicate curve of my breasts. He then ran his fingers along my body, tracing the contours of my hips and thighs, before descending to my ladyplace. It was a slow, deliberate exploration, a teasing dance of anticipation. As he felt the wetness, his eyes darkened with pleasure, and he let out a low moan.

"Oh yes, I've missed that, too," he said, his voice thick with desire. The words hung in the air, charged with unspoken passion. He pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me against his chest. The scent of his cologne, a blend of sandalwood and musk, filled my senses, intoxicating me further. Then, he began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency, his hands exploring every inch of my body.

I arched my back, surrendering to his touch, lost in the exquisite pleasure of his ministrations. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. I felt myself weakening, my control slipping away as his touch ignited a fire within me. The rain continued to lash against the windows, but it seemed distant, irrelevant, as I focused entirely on the sensations flooding my body.

As he continued his exploration, I realized I wanted more, needed more. I pushed against him, urging him to move faster, deeper. He obliged, responding to my every whim with an eagerness that bordered on desperation. The rhythm of our movements intensified, becoming a frenzied dance of lust and longing.

Finally, he took me into his arms, holding me close as he thrust inside me. The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatened to consume me entirely. I cried out, a primal scream of pure ecstasy, as he continued to penetrate me, his movements relentless and passionate. My muscles clenched, my breath came in ragged gasps, and my body thrashed against his, desperate to reach the ultimate release.

As he reached climax, he jerked inside me, his body shaking with the intensity of the experience. I let out a series of breathless, ecstatic sighs, clinging to him as if afraid to let go. Then, he pulled away, panting heavily, his eyes still locked on mine. He kissed my cheek, a lingering, tender gesture that spoke volumes.

He lay back on the bed, exhausted but content, his body glistening with sweat. I snuggled up to him, burying my face in his chest, savoring the lingering warmth of his touch. The rain continued to fall, but now it sounded like a gentle lullaby, a soothing soundtrack to our shared intimacy. As we drifted off to sleep, intertwined in each other's arms, I knew that even the most distant separation couldn't diminish the power of our love, the enduring flame that burned between us. It was a connection forged in longing, nurtured by desire, and sealed by an undeniable truth: some absences leave an even deeper imprint on the soul.

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