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Saturday, January 22, 2005

Time to grow up 

When I was 17 I fell in love with my closest friend.

Three years my senior, H and I had known each other since infancy. We were as close as siblings can be, without any of the rivalry normal between brothers and sisters; we loved each other dearly.

Our closeness was always immediate, no matter how much time or geographical distance was between us: when he came to visit, we would be playing together within seconds, running off to have adventures in the park out of the grasp of our parents. H was the one who taught me how to rollerskate and skateboard: he was this effortlessly cool kid who I looked up to and learned from, and to him, I was the sweet younger sister he never had.

So when I lived with him for some months, during my 17th year, we shared a bed together - as we always had - and slept arm in arm, cuddling each other til we fell asleep and it all seemed normal, until one night changed everything.

I awoke to feel H's hand stroking my back. Nothing unusual: I turned towards him and sleepily draped my arm across his chest. We cuddled for a minute. Even when his hand moved down towards my waist I thought nothing of it. It wasn't until his fingers slid underneath my right breast and began slowly caressing my nipple that I became aware that we were crossing a boundary. I felt H lift my breast gently, squeeze it and trace it's outline with his index finger. I was conscious that my nipple was stiffening under his touch, and when he ran his thumb around it, it felt like electricity running through it.

We moved closer to each other, I ran my hand across his chest. I remember hearing his breath quicken as the back of my hand grazed his nipple. We looked at each other dreamily and began to kiss. It was so passionate, so gentle and so innocent. Our eyes were locked into each other, our lips replacing the words that we didn't need to say. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to be doing this, even when H moved closer and I could feel his hard cock against my thigh. Our bodies were in sync, our feelings expressed through this sexual closeness. We were two friends, hungrily searching and exploring each other, discovering the unknown parts of the other, adding to the love we already had.

So, we made love. He was the second person I shared this with, but the first person I was totally in love with. It was amazingly intense, emotionally and physically. I truly loved him in every possible way and the months I spent with him all those years ago is something I recall with fond memories to this day.

And now I find myself staying with him again, writing this on his very computer. A lot of years have passed since I was in love with H, some of them where we didn't get on, some where we didn't get to see each other, our lives are very seperate now.

But now I remember why I fell for him in the first place.

H knows me almost better than I know myself. He says to me whilst we walk down the street:

"Hey, you only tripped up once today, you're doing good so far!", and grabs me, because as if on cue, I stumble once more and am only prevented from falling flat on my face by him catching me.

And H knows what a messy person I am, in every respect, from the clutter in my home, to the spillage of wine on my top. He'll say to me,

"You missed a bit",

and point to my bust, another new dark stain having appeared in the centre, or he'll point out the accumulation of crumbs in my cleavage, and comment that,

"Catch any more in there, you could start baking a cake",

and have me lauging in hysterics as I try to empty the crumbs onto the floor. H knows how to make me laugh. Boy does he know. I have actually wet myself from laughing so hard. He has this knack of being able to rip the hell out of me and have me laugh at myself in the process: no time for self-congratulatory smugness with H, trust me, only the freedom to be able to be fucking stupid and not made to feel dumb in the process.

Plus H knows me so well, he always picks up on when I am trying to show off, or appear intelligent by using long words, or the like. And will mock me speaking, or finish my sentence, or prounounce correctly what I am trying to say, and then dig me in the ribs, as if to say:

"You don't need to pretend with me. I know you, and love you just the same."

And he does. He knows I am a neurotic, overly analytical slightly intense woman. He pulls me up on it all the time, tells me to calm down, stop thinking about things so hard and he says,

"Just be yourself, everyone will love you",

and I try: I do my best to rid myself of the prententious bollocks that makes up some of my defensive facade and just present myself as I am, take it, or leave it. And pray that he's right: I hope I do meet someone that sees through that shit and wants me for who I am, clumsy git, cleavage-crumb-catcher and all.

So now I am staying with H yet again, and loving his company. Feeling close to him once more, having missed his friendship for many years. But now of course, we are no longer kids. He is a man. I am a woman. We have both grown up: he has a wife and a child, I have... well, a different life. But I realised the other day that maybe some things haven't changed between us. Not only the emotional and intellectual connection, the physical as well.

Looking at him now, I can see how attractive he is, he has really grown into his mid-thirties self: no longer a cute boy, now a handsome older man - beautiful laughter lines on his face, grey hairs on his head, podgier in his body - and of course he is more relaxed as a man, happier with himself and lacking the ego of the twenty year old that I knew.

But our last foray into the physical realm ruined our friendship for many years; I am in no rush to destroy it again, nor to be the 'other woman' in a man's life (been there, done that, head-fuck all round). Plus of course, there's the matter of the fact that I know his wife and child - not people whose lives I want to mess up.

So, I am just being me. Friendly, slightly flirtatious, and forever clumsy. Reckon that'll do me for the time being. And I get to keep my friend at the end of my stay here, which, lets face it, is more important than any sex in the whole world.

Right. Off to shop now: a girl's gotta have some fun, after all. It's so cold where I am, your eyes get frostbite if they're not covered properly. Which kinda means girls like me, who like to wear a nice pair of heeled boots and a short skirt, are instead having to wear thermal underwear, thick trousers and snow boots. Mmm, sexy...

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