This is the conclusion of the posts on Cassandra’s first visit. If you are a new reader or have forgotten, you can review what has happened here: Sea Waves ; Sea Waves [II]; Sea Waves [III]; Sea Waves [IV]; Sea Waves [V]; Sea Waves [VI]
We headed to the airport after a visit of almost three days. We sped along the highway quickly. Traffic was sparse.
We were very comfortable together, as if nothing had ever changed from all the time we had known each other. But the truth was, so much had changed. For each of us going into this first time together, we had made sure our expectations had been kept in check. We had never met. While we knew we were incredibly close, we also were under no illusions. Our closeness was all virtual, with telephone calls thrown in to heat up the mix. Over our 21 months of contact we had had squabbles. Some had lasted months. But even in the midst of those travails, something always remained. Something was always there. We always would come back. Why? I don’t think either of us knew (or know) why. We just did. We had to. It was never an option not to.
As we drove we talked. We touched. Touching had been so much a part of what we had shared these past three days. So much a part of what we had needed from the other. To be touched and held. So much a part of what bonded us.
There was no sadness attached to the visit’s ending. Quite the contrary. We both were on stratospheric highs. A high induced by the presence of the other. No imminent flight departure could negatively impact that oneness we felt. There would be no Distance that would keep our hearts separated. There was no Other Time.
We arrived at the airport with time to spare. Deciding to sit in my car in the parking garage, we bathed in the emotion that enveloped us. At one time she had sought out a new lover because of her need for passion. She had never connected me to that feeling. I had never understood why not. Now she admitted oh how blind she had been. She had never felt the passion more.
Prior to her coming, there had been trepidation about the sex. There would probably be none. If there were any, there would not be much and it likely would not be that great. I reminded her of a comment she had made while we were on the phone one evening last autumn. A text had just come in from one of her former lovers. The lover where the pure sex had been the greatest of her life. The text had set her mind awhirl, and she quite directly told me in that call to not ever think, should we one day get together, that the sex between us could ever approach what she had had with this man. At the time, that had dramatically saddened me. Cassandra is a highly sexual woman. Sex would always play a heavy role in any relationship with her. I wasn’t sure what to think. What to say. What to do. In the end I decided it could not be a competition; I would have to be myself and trust that would be enough. It was. It is. Cassandra had never been so sexually satisfied. Been so passionate. Been so sensual.
As we sat we knew we would be together a long, long time. A couple. One for the other. Committed. For as long as the waves rolled in.