She was my piano teacher, Miss Jenson, who later became Jenny to me. I was five years old; she was in her twenties. I was a shy child, but I liked her instantly. She had long, flowing jet black hair: wavy and smelling of jojoba. Her eyes were charcoal, deeply set and quietly shining with intelligence.
When I turned sixteen, and broke up with my puppy-love boyfriend, I was heartbroken, depressed and frantic. Instead of my peers, I sought out Jenny to listen to my rants. That was the first time I stayed over at her place until daybreak. Funny how I never had pajama-parties with friends of my age, but I could talk effortlessly throughout the night with Jenny. She did not ridicule me, even when I was in my sweeping theatrical moods, “But he’s the love of my life! I’m only sixteen, how can I bear the rest of my banal, loveless, futile life without him!”
I can’t recall what Jenny said that night, perhaps she only listened to me, and let my frenzy blow over, but it was that event that made me learn the feeling of gratitude.
In college, I had my initial experiments with girls. It was blissful: the soft, warm skin of females was entirely another world compared with the hard, functional bodies of men. I slowed down, and appreciated the women that entered my heart. I was no longer considered too dramatic: my sensitivities were respected, even understood.
When I visited Jenny during summer that pivotal year, I was hesitant in telling her what had happened. If she judged me, I would be at a loss. It was a groundless fear: she was happy for me. I was encouraged, and so I harped on and on about how good my girlfriend at the time was: about how beautiful she was, how she knew me inside out, and how satisfied she made me. Yet, somehow, I ended by saying, “I just wish she’d be more grown-up though. Sometimes she’s so naive it’s unbelievable! If ever I get fed up with her, I should get myself an older woman, you know?” Jenny smiled wistfully. I was such a dumbass.
The year I graduated, I found myself in and out of jobs, and dallying with a married man. It was his charms and his boyishly melting grin that got me into his bed at first; the false sense of security I glimpsed on his ringed finger kept me clinging onto him in sick obsession.
One afternoon, after having sucked his cock, his phone rang one too many times; he glanced at it, and grumbled, with his head down, “Have to go, sorry, baby–”
“–trouble at home.” I finished the sentence for him.
I threw the pillows at his back; they hit a silent, closed door, and landed stupidly in a muffled thud on the floor. I smashed everything in the room just for the noise. Then, one thought surfaced: Jenny. I picked up my phone, car keys, my jacket, and left. I did not even bother to make up an excuse at work. I arrived at Jenny’s apartment that night, exhausted, but with an inkling of sanity finally beginning to lodge in my mind.
She opened the door in two seconds, wearing a cotton dress that hugged her willowy figure. Seeing her calmness with concern in her eyes triggered something in me. I wept. In a voice choked with confused hurt, I told her everything; down to that last blowjob.
She listened wordlessly, then she leaned over and kissed me. At first, her lips landed only softly on my eyelids, my cheeks and the tip of my nose; but then they found my mouth. The world stopped when I found myself locking lips with her. Something in the universe clicked; my body yielded to her as in a dream long forgotten.
That night was more than sex; it was as if she infused some of herself into me. A peace like no other descended on me. Seeing her lying naked next to me, cradling my sore body felt right. Our sexual rhythms synchronized implicitly; the gratification I felt was not only deep, it continued to incinerate my heart slowly after the orgasm had faded from my body. Magical was an understatement; I felt that I belonged there, with her.
Since then, I have never looked back. Yes, she is eighteen years my senior, but I love her. She makes me safe and complete. I don’t care if it’s a cliche: we are meant to be. We stand side by side against the world, as comrades, as best friends, as lovers, and as one fused soul.