Love, Red Read online

  I heard his words, how he was trying to make me understand that what we had was unique, but all I could say was, “I’m so sorry. You know making love to you takes my breath away.”

  “Please don’t be sorry. Yes, I do, but I want you to experience what I experience. I want you to have that OMG moment. I want you to let go and get lost in the feelings, but more importantly, I don’t want you to worry about it.”

  In my mind, those were words from a man who cared very deeply about me. “Gwynyth, if it happens, it happens. And if it doesn’t, we’ll just keep working at it. I’m going to do whatever I can to be there for you. And please don’t think that I’m not enjoying what we share just because you haven’t had that OMG that I want you to have.” And then he chuckled and said, “It’s always been a little obvious how much you enjoy making love, Ms. Waterfall.”

  Not having that OMG moment that he wanted me to have was difficult to understand for several reasons. Sexual experiences are such a personal thing. And unfortunately, movies and television are inundated with every sexual encounter ending in an orgasmic explosion equal to the meltdown at Chernobyl, but reality is very different.

  Just check the medical or psychology journals, and the facts speak for themselves. Some of the things I have seen over the years when reading up on the subject are varied. One study says that even women who do achieve vaginal orgasms do so only a third of the time, and another third can only reach it with additional stimulus.

  And then there is the issue of hurting your partner’s ego if it doesn’t happen. One of the greatest scenes in movie history is in When Harry Met Sally. The fake orgasm scene in the diner is classic and had every woman laughing hysterically. And every man going, “My woman has never done that.”

  And there is a big difference between having an orgasm that is brought on by touching the “knob” or “almond” as we referred to it, and having an internal vaginal orgasm. When I was with him, the external orgasms were literally non-stop.

  He would touch me, and my whole body would spasm. He would kiss my breasts, and I was jumping out of my skin. He would run his fingers down my thigh or nibble my ear and every nerve ending in my body would be electrified. I was always exhausted after making love to him, because the intensity of the experience engulfed my whole being the entire time we made love.

  But I am part of that 10 per cent of women who have never experienced a vaginal orgasm – and he knew it. No man has ever been in tune with my body the way he was. It was hard for him to understand how I could enjoy making love to him as much as I did and not have that OMG experience.

  One of the things that made me love him so much was how he paid attention to my reactions. My love letters finally made me understand why I never completely let go. And the more we talked and the more chapters I wrote of Shades of Red, the more I understood.

  I realized as I was writing our history, that because so much time had elapsed between our times together, we had never had the opportunity to explore things the way normal couples do. We were always grateful for the next encounter. But our lovemaking was always reenacting the first time we made love in many ways.

  My writings were extremely explicit sexually, but one of the things Shades of Red gave me permission to do was to explore what might be. The first fantasy that I wrote him was mild compared to future ones. As we would talk about what we planned to do, our minds opened up to many different possibilities. Mostly my mind, but I was getting a lot of encouragement.

  Love Letters – Fantasy #1 – Escaping

  Dear Rune,

  The rain was softly hitting the windows as I started to wake from a peaceful night of sleep. Very different from the storm that we were in the day before. It was such a great idea to get a cabin in the woods and be turned off from all the electronics.

  We had arrived before the storm hit. Just enough time for me to make dinner and you to light a fire before the thunder and lightning started.

  It was nice to sit on the couch and have our hands intertwined. Just enjoying listening to the wind howl through the trees and the quiet unspoken thoughts that were going through my mind and hopefully yours. You finally spoke and said what I had been thinking. Nodding yes, I said, “I’m always ready to make love to you.”

  Before you could get up, I turned and straddled you. I bent my head down and kissed you. Very softly at first, but when your tongue parted my lips, the passion took over. Your hands were moving under my shirt, and your fingers had found their way to the tips of my breasts.

  I had learned that if we weren’t going to be in public, it was much easier to not wear a bra in a situation like this. It was my way of letting you know they were always ready for you to play with them. I moaned, wondering how every time you touched them, it was electrifying.

  I started unbuttoning your shirt and slipped it off your shoulders. Your body so excited me.

  You pulled my shirt off and now had full access to my breasts. I watched as your tongue started to swirl around one nipple and then the other, but when you started to suck them, I was lost in the feeling. I didn’t want to stop you, but I had to. My insides were in full squeeze mode, and I desperately wanted to feel you inside of me.

  I stood up and took off my jeans and panties. Your fingers made contact with the wetness and started to swirl the juices around. You smiled and laughed that half-laugh and said, “Now that’s the waterfall that I know so well. I love how easily your body gets ready to make love to me.”

  It’s hard to admit, but it is embarrassing how easily you turn me on. The only saving grace is that as quickly as I get wet, the bulge in your jeans is telling me how ready you are. I unbutton and unzip your jeans and you lift your butt so that I can take them off.

  I straddle you again and whisper how much I want you and then slowly lower myself onto you. As I move up and down, you start to moan and tell me how good it feels to be wanted so much.

  I’m about to have my first OMG when a clap of thunder literally rocks the cabin. We look at each other and start to laugh. I say, “See, I always told you making love to you rocks my world.”

  I’ll let your imagination finish the story when we are together.

  Sweet dreams, my love,

  Gwynyth

  Chapter 5 –

  Why I Hate Vacations

  It was exhilarating writing the fantasies in between the reality. We were reliving our past, but making way for the future.

  Most of our stories were happy, but one in particular was very difficult to relive. It was recalling our time in Norway that caused my heart to ache.

  It was writing it that brought clarity to why I was always making excuses for not taking vacations. Again, as you chronicle your life in love letters, some things start to become apparent. It took writing our history to understand how the first vacation I took as an adult had tainted my ability to think of them as a way to relax, unwind, and get away from everything.

  The next letter chronicled my trip to visit Rune in Norway. I didn’t have the money, but was desperate to be with him again. Not sure what I expected, but took it as a good sign that he wanted me to visit. Plus the plane ticket was a lot less expensive than the four-hour long distance phone bill that I had several months prior.

  Some things aren’t mentioned in my love letter about my trip to Norway, but are key to understanding my state of mind while I was there. The first night, I met his father.

  “Shall we have dinner on the porch?” said the man from whom Rune obviously got his good looks. Rune was definitely a younger version of the man sitting across from me.

  “That would be nice. It’s so beautiful here. And the weather isn’t anything like New Orleans is in July.” And I loved porches. They had been my favorite place to bond with people ever since I was a little girl.

  I rarely got to see my Dad’s family growing up. My mother wasn’t fond of his “folks” as we say in the south, but some of my fondest memories and the greatest lesson I learned in life came while swinging with my
grandmother on her porch, but more on that later.

  “How did the two of you meet?” he asked, as he dipped his bread into the bowl of soup in front of him.

  “That’s a long story, Dad. Let’s just say we had a mutual friend.” It was one of the first times that I had seen the hint of a blush on Rune’s face.

  I just smiled, because I knew neither of us wanted to admit that we had an affair while I was married. And technically, my divorce from Miguel still wasn’t final.

  “Do you have any kids?”

  The southern manners came out with my reply, “Yes, sir, I have two daughters. Julia is twelve and Marisa is nine. And Rune has two brothers, right? I met Lars when he came to New Orleans, but I haven’t met Gunnar.”

  “You’ll meet Gunnar while you are here. He should be home in a few days. Did you know all three of my sons were born in the US?”

  “No, I didn’t, but I knew Rune was.”

  “Yes, we lived in Florida for a number of years. My job kept us moving quite a bit.”

  We continued the small talk, eating the delicious potato and meatball soup and enjoying the weather. His father was a great conversationalist. He had traveled and lived all over the world. Wonder if that is what made him what I would classify as a very progressive parent.

  “Well, Gwynyth, it was very nice meeting you. I hope you enjoy your stay, and please make yourself at home. Rune, I’m assuming you will take good care of her and make sure she enjoys her trip.”

  He excused himself and said he would let the two of us have some time to ourselves. He wasn’t such a fool to think that this woman would have flown almost 5000 miles just to see a friend. He assumed that Rune and I were lovers and wanted to give us our privacy.

  One of the most interesting things about that evening was the remark Rune made after his Dad walked away. He looked at me with a perplexed expression on his face and said, “I’ve never heard my Dad speak English before.” And here the man was fluent in English, just like his son.

  The story of the trip is detailed in the next love letter, but there was much more to the ten days I spent with him. After he read the following letter, we spent hours reminiscing about my visit.

  It was not your ordinary trip. As a struggling single mom and a tuition-poor college student, neither of us had any extra money. I had maxed out my credit card to make the trip, so there wasn’t room in the budget for hotels.

  His plan was to take a few days off and take me to some of his favorite spots. The rest of the time I was going to spend staying at the family home in Oslo, visiting museums and seeing the sights of the city. He said he hoped I was up for camping because we would be staying in some very remote places.

  I had never been camping in my life. My idea of “roughing it” had been a two-star hotel. But I was looking at this as my first big adventure. Caring less where we stayed, I just wanted to have time to talk to him, make love to him, and laugh again.

  The places we stayed could be broken into different categories. There were the “roughing it” adventures – sleeping in the middle of a field one night and on a bed of rocks on the shore of the North Sea another.

  There was the adrenaline adventure which was the time we spent at an airfield.

  “Hey, everyone, I’d like you to meet my friend Gwynyth. She’s here visiting me from the United States.”

  The “nice to meet you” exchanges followed. I was always impressed as to how as soon as I was part of a group, the language switched to English. We chatted for a while until his friend Anders turned to me and said, “Have you ever been in a glider?”

  “No, I can’t say that I have. Rune and I used to fly some when he lived in New Orleans. Not sure I would be brave enough to get in a plane without a motor.”

  To say I’m a chicken when it comes to pushing the envelope is to put it mildly. I was never a daring child growing up, and in the back of my mind there was always the worry of what would happen to my daughters if I wasn’t around.

  “Well, I’m getting ready to go up, and the glider is meant for two. Why don’t you join me?”

  I think if I had thought about it, I would have said no, but the words that came out of my mouth were, “That would be awesome.”

  Gliding is definitely not like flying. In my book, it was equivalent to the insanity of jumping out of a perfectly good plane. When asked later to describe it, I said it was like a rebirthing experience.

  “Alright then,” Anders said, “Let’s go.”

  “Rune, where are you going to be?” I asked.

  “I’m going to be in the plane that tows you up.” He saw the look on my face and said, “Are you scared?”

  “More than you will ever know, but let’s go for it.”

  Anders buckled me into the passenger seat at the front of the plane. Rune waved to me as he got into the tow plane. There was no turning back now.

  The glider was attached to the towing plane by a very long cord. As the plane took off, there was a whiplash type jerk as the glider was lifted from the ground. The line was fairly taut as we reached our gliding altitude and release point. I remember feeling the momentary fear, but I also remember the rush that went through me as Anders said, “I’m releasing the tow line now.”

  As I saw it drop away, two very conflicting thoughts crowded my mind. The first was, oh Lord, how am I going to get down to the ground again? The second was total euphoria. I was in a plane with no engine, soaring in the clouds. We circled the area many times. Dipping low and then the wind taking us back up again. Forty-five minutes later, the experience of a lifetime ended when we touched down on the runway.

  I was reminded at how friendships are like the tow lines that bind two people. There are times when we are so dependent on another person to get us to where we need to be. But then at some moment, the tie that links us is broken, and we are suddenly on our own to try and figure things out. My friendship with Rune had been like that over the years. Sometimes connected, and other times a yearly email. But I always knew he would be there if I needed him. He proved that many times over the years.

  • • •

  The third category of where we camped can only be described as the serenity adventure. The place was beyond beautiful. It was a secluded spot on a river that was fed by a 20-foot waterfall about 300 yards upstream. The irony escaped neither of us.

  The pictures that I took that day still hang on my wall. There are three of them. One is a zoomed in view of the waterfall. The second is a picture of the hills surrounding the river with the waterfall in the background, but the prize possession of the collection is the picture of Rune standing on some rocks in the middle of the stream, fishing.

  Everyone who has ever seen them says they are prize-winning quality. Because I spent most of my time at work, I initially hung them in my office at the bank. One day, one of my regular customers who was a professional photographer came by to see me.

  “Hi, Gwynyth. How was your trip?”

  “Not exactly what I had hoped it would be, but I had an awesome time. The country is beautiful, and I got to see so many different, unusual, and exceptional things.”

  “Are those pictures from your trip?” he asked.

  “Yes, that’s where we camped the first night of my personal tour of the country,” smiling from the memories.

  “And here I thought you were a banker. You never told me you were a photographer as well. What kind of camera do you have? These pictures are breath-taking.”

  I was shocked by his comment and asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Honestly, the two landscapes are great, but the picture of the young man fishing is award-winning quality. Most photographers strive for years and never get a shot like that. The subject of the picture is centered perfectly, but it’s the juxtaposition of the trees that gives the picture a three-dimensional effect.

  He continued, “You must have one heck of a camera, because only a professional lens like a Hasselblad will give you that kind of quality. They must be pay
ing you well here at the bank, but my real question is — why aren’t you doing this professionally?”

  At this point, I was blushing. “I knew the pictures were good because the camera store on Severn where I had them printed asked if they could enlarge one of the landscapes to a 3x6-foot print and hang it on their wall. They said it would have a large card next to it with my name while it was on display. I hate to disappoint you, but I took those with the 35mm Ricoh automatic that I borrowed from my sister. I don’t even own a camera.”

  “Well, they are phenomenal, and when you get tired of being in the banking industry, you should give photography a chance.”

  So you may be wondering why I would have made the comment, “Not exactly what I had hoped it would be.” I was in a foreign country with the man of my dreams. I had been planning for months and anxiously anticipating being in his arms again, but nothing could have prepared me for what I didn’t know when I got on that plane.

  Love Letters – Life’s Regrets

  Hi sweet friend,

  Sometimes, there are things in life we regret. And when I got to Norway, for a few minutes after I found out that you had a girlfriend, I did regret being there. However, it didn’t take long for me to realize I had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see a country I never thought I would see. But more importantly, I was still going to get to spend time with my friend.

  We were in the kitchen. I was asking you why you didn’t tell me – at least given me the opportunity to back out of coming. You said something about wanting me to visit, but that we wouldn’t be able to make love because you were in a relationship.

  As I got up to walk away, I was close to tears that I didn’t want you to see. You grabbed my arm as I passed by and asked me what did I think would happen if 20 years from then, we were to see each other and were both married. You asked me if I thought we would end up making love or if we would honor our commitments.