Sapphic Stories: She Who Was Loved By Me

Sapphic Stories: She Who Was Loved By Me

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The First Kiss:

I told myself I wouldn’t write about you. It’s been a week and I haven’t really written anything. Except this time, I may have to extend a lot of effort to get this emotion out of my chest and offer it to someone, other than you, who could relate to what I’m about to say without judgment or tears. Or perhaps to some other person who wants to while away the time by reading what appears on her Facebook feed. Either way, I am grateful that my words wouldn’t go to waste.

My relationship with you was beautiful. Or at least, it started that way. I loved you even before I lusted over you. But to you, I guess, it was the other way around. It felt like it. It felt like you lusted over me when we had our first kiss by the fire exit outside a friend’s apartment. My first kiss, one of curiosity and anticipation on my part, was an exercise of the sexual tension that was building within you as you waited for me in the evening of our second meeting. You cupping my head as you took a deep breath with eyes intent upon loving my lips was you saying, “You are what I want.” And me looking at you, slightly hesitant yet yielding to the intangible force between us, was me submitting to your desire.

The kiss was quiet. But our hearts were loud. I felt the soft touch of your lust and heard the cry of your passion beating wildly against my chest. I started to open up for you even though we’ve only known each other for a little over a month. And as I did, you greeted me with the velvety feel of your tongue. I willingly drew you in. Your grip on my waist was taut while my hands went limp. And so there we were, two lovers of Sappho creating our own taboo little world in a tight corner by the fire exit.

The minutes ticked by as our heartbeat slowed to an even rhythm. It was as if the passion faded away yet soft remnants remained in lips as red as the apple that Eve and Adam shared. You broke away from the kiss and looked at me, our face mere inches from each other. Silly was I to look back at you with a vacant stare. Pardon my eyes for searching the pretty face later on for a sign of divinity and luck. One corner of your lips moved to offer me a smirk and I blushed. And you asked, “How was it?” And I blushed once more. There were no words that came out. It was as if they were taken away from me at the onslaught of your kiss. You pressed your crotch against mine (I tensed) and traced your thumb from my cheeks ever so softly, moving down my jawline and arrived at the side of my neck where the sudden rapid beating of my heart gave itself away. You smiled at it. And you planted a kiss on that patch of skin that needed loving. And you did make love to it. Your lips lingered and I remained in a trance hypnotized by the feel of your presence on such sensitive part of my body. Would I become a different person after all these? Or have I already become one? I had no care in the world as I hugged you tightly. If to be loved by you means to be different, then my hug is indicative of love.

We hugged for so long that I imagined time stood still. I’ve always told you I love hugs. Hugs are most powerful without malice and the innocent of hugs are given unconditionally. With that, I realized that for the first time in my life, I have done something without asking for a favor in return. And I had been a receiver of such benevolence as well. I sighed on your shoulder and you replied, “It’s been so long since I last felt anything like this.” Indeed, for me it was 23 years. Oh, 23 years of preparing myself for that fateful night when I could finally kiss someone whose thoughts aligned with mine and whose sexuality was compatible with my identity. It was 23 years and then a pretty face with a smart mouth who could wield romance at the tip of her fingers suddenly came along; I willingly submitted. That first kiss, such ardor and yet such quiet burn, was in no way a taste of what is to come rather a vindication of what had been building within me. It was acceptance. I have never been with a woman before. I have never kissed a woman before. And certainly, I have never fallen in love with a woman until you came along. But did you ever make it so difficult? It was fairly easy. It was freefall: a heady feeling of going down a different world with my head wrapped up in cotton. Oh, such bliss.

The night wore on with the two of us hugging, kissing, and giggling by the fire exit. Occasionally, strangers passed by staring at us. And in their heads they thought we were two unfortunately drunk women tasteless enough to make out in a public place. But to whom was that place for? For the two of us, the place was nowhere public. It was our little space of reprieve where we adhere to such reckless abandon even for just that night.

“I want you.” I closed my eyes. My ears savoring the melody of your voice that played out every syllable of every word in what you said and my ears were glad. My heart was glad. And my whole being was aglow cloaked in joyful victory.

My relationship with you was indeed beautiful. And this was how it began: you with lust and me with love.

Source: Musings of Juram

I'm currently working in intensive care, where I handle most cases of post liver transplants and liver disease. Other than that, I like hanging out at the library, just being a total nerd all the time.


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