Heaven was this dark room with the big rumbling bed, its soft chocolate-colored sheets, the air condition humming, the mini writing desk with the chair full of washed laundry he’d just shoveled down the bed, my clothes, which he’d neatly stacked on top of them, a small shelf on the wall holding a star-shaped bottle of perfume, a little side table with a standing light that was turned off, yet enough light coming in from the street through the closed blinds. The ‘Golden Rules’ of the place he’d worked for were pinned to the wall behind the desk. This was his room. This was heaven. Masculine. Intimate. Dark and alluring, highly attractive – just like him.

“I want to make love to you every single night,” I heard him say. I want to make love to you every single night. I want to…” He kept repeating this sentence as if it were a mantra. The words didn’t change, but his voice did. It became softer, quieter, almost a whisper: “I want to…”

He was on top of me, and yes, he was inside of me – we moved together, slower, faster, more delicate, tenderly – yet, I began to wonder where he had gone. Was he even speaking to me? I rather felt that he was speaking to himself or praying to a God in heaven that I could not see. Our two bodies were so close to each other, and yet, it was as if now, at this moment, we were in two different worlds in this one bed.

He smelled lovely though, like a good Whiskey: leathery and sweet, with a touch of ocean – tempting. And then he opened his eyes and looked into mine, and once more, I got to see these green, shiny, and soulful eyes that somehow appeared too gentle for this kind of man. They sparkled.

“Say: I want to make love to you every single night,” I heard him say, this time inviting me to chant his mantra. Our eyes locked. “Say: I want to…” his eyes had a teasing yet serious twinkle.

His body was so warm and I just loved touching him. My hands roamed up and down, all over and were as excited as any kid going wild at a zoo. His face was so beautiful. Those green eyes that scintillated from being shy and timid to bold and daring, and then there was this smile… so gentle and at the same time so mischievous. His lips were surprisingly thin but super soft and present, and even more so, they were framed by the softest beard. He had a long and lean neck that sloped down to his shoulders and his chest, and I was eager to follow the curving slope with my mouth, and his chest… yah… his chest… it was cushioned by the most welcoming pillow of fleecy fur. I adored him. I adored being with him – adored every single second. But what he had just said somehow knocked me out of my bliss.

‘Can I just say those words, and do I actually want to make love to him every single night? Really? Can I make such a statement without lying? I’m only going to see him for another 10 days – max! – likely less. I can’t just say it. Wouldn’t that be too much of a promise? I would have to break it, and that would be too unfair. I don’t want to promise him anything I cannot keep, but even more so, I don’t want to hurt him.’

Thought after thought rushed into my head. I did not want to think all those thoughts, but I did, and even more thoughts entered the thinking party. Then, a glimpse of relief entered my mind: Would it actually be a promise?

No! It felt much more like a declaration. Like a wish! A wish for that this here with him, with us, which felt so good, with his warm body, his kisses, us moving in rhythm, that all of this would continue, would continue every single night. A wish… and so my mind came to the conclusion that this wish was true. Besides, no one knew what the future was holding; all I knew was that I wanted to make love to him – with him. That very moment, again in a few hours, hell yeah, every single night indeed.

“I want to make love to you every single night,” I finally whispered into his ear while my hand was caressing his cheek, and soon afterward, my lips covered his’s with kisses that traveled to his ears, where my tongue tenderly licked the tip of it.

He smiled, and I felt his breath touching my skin. I also felt his hands holding onto my breasts. Holding on strongly, not wanting to let go. Holding on so dearly as if he’d crash into an abyss if he would. Woah, boy, suddenly, all of his weight, all of his strength had moved into his hands, which now held on to my breasts. And then, just when I was about to tell him to loosen the grip, that very moment, I realized that I enjoyed his weight, and his strength, and this warm kind of discomfort it made me feel. I would not have minded his grip with less force, but something else made up for it: I enjoyed that I had something he could hold on to.

‘What is making him hold on to something this tightly?’ I wondered. He didn’t seem like the kind of man to hold on to things.