Soulmates & Twin Flames

2 - How I Wish We Never Stop

The guests are slowly filling the terrace, talking about how bad the movie was under their breaths. Nate and I laugh and raise our drinks. The champagne is flowing. I'm getting tipsier with every sip, but who cares? I like Nate. He is the biggest flirt I've ever met.

His cologne is fresh, salty, and oceanic. His lips are soft and sweet as they move with mine. Are we kissing? God, he is a great kisser. The ground is waving under my heavy feet—feels like I'm surfing. I clench onto Nate's collar and pull him closer.

The rest is a blur, and lots of giggles.

Nate's lips latch onto my neck once we're in a cab, and I know it's a cab because I'm watching the ads I've edited for the Morning Show at the back of the driver's seat.

Then we're on the sidewalk, dashing up the old steps of my building. I shoulder the rusty doors to open. Nate takes my hand and we fly up the stairs.

The first floor smells like Saturday—warm curry. Mechanic sounds of a TV reach us—my upstairs neighbor must be watching the re-runs of a football game. I push my key into the lock and fiddle it around before busting my door open.

Nate throws his jacket on the floor. "You have a nice apart—"

"Shut up." I throw myself into his arms and cover his lips with mine.

The sound of my zipper cuts through the wet noises of our kisses. I groan with relief when my dress' bust finally releases my chest. He is my hero. I scurry out of the green mess around my ankles and kick my boots off. Nate raises his hands above his head in need. It takes me a while to convince his biceps to come out of his shirt.

Then I'm in his arms again.

We are a tangled mess, moving backward down the dark, narrow corridor that leads us to my bedroom. The wind carries the tunes of a romantic song from an open window. I must find out that song's name sometime. Not now, though; I'm too busy making out with this piece of art. I moan into Nate's mouth when he grabs my hips and hops me onto his waist.

My back hits the cold bed, and...

I don't remember the rest.

When I open my eyes in the morning, my bed is empty.

Was it all a dream?

My crinkled sheets and naked body suggest otherwise.

"Nate?" I call with a hoarse voice.

Nobody answers.

Okay, my heart sinks a little—I'm not going to lie. But I can't stop smiling, either.

The drought is over! It's finally over!

Finally! I had sex... I don't remember much, but the way the bedsheets smell, and the used condoms on the floor suggest that I had fun. And not just once—one, two... Fuck! Three times! Oh, wait... four? But the fourth one is clean, so I'm not sure if it counts.

I swing my aching legs out of bed, put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, then start whistling a merry tune. I'm Snow-fucking-White this morning as I blast open my windows and gawk with the seagulls that fly over the old buildings in Tribeca. Though, I should probably take it easy because the world still feels a bit shaky.

After brewing my French press, I pick my clothes off the floor, return to my room and throw my butt to sit in front of my giant computer set up.

Three screens take over my desk, and a plasma TV is mounted on top of them against the wall. All for work... This is where I edit and earn the big bucks. It's where I dive into the thrilling world of filmmaking and make my craft sing. The writer dreams, the director shoots, the producer briefs, and I make it happen. And I make it happen good. I'm the Goddess behind the screens, and I'm the Goddess of sex! Not the Goddess with the strongest memory...but whatever! I'm a happy Goddess this morning.