When I dance now it is but an echo of what was. I use to be so carefree, my heart would soar with every leap, my soul expand with every leap.
But now she’s gone all I have a memories, memories that taunt me from afar like the whispered response of my own voice bouncing off walls. We were young, reckless and wild. She loved me and I loved her and no one really understood. They thought we were just very close friends, in our village the idea of two women being in love was just not one that jumped to mind.
Clara and I didn’t mind, though. We used their innocence to our advantage. I was glad that in our dance class there were more women than men and I never raced to partner one of the lads. Their movements were clumsy, their hands invasive. No, I always made sure I ended up in the arms of Clara.
“It’s a shame you weren’t born a man,” Mrs Shaw said on more than one occasion, “because you and Clara work so well together and you are the best man in the room, dear but don’t let the boys hear me say that.”
“You’re better than a man,” My Clara would whisper as we lay together in the cornfield, her finger tickling my breast, “you are softer, gentler, sexier.”
We made love in the same manner we danced. With gay abandon. I don’t think it ever once crossed our minds that what we were doing was, in the eyes of many, wrong. We just did what came naturally to us. And it was natural, we fit together so well, we knew what it took to turn each other on, we spent many an hour searching for orgasms and finding them, lots of them.
We moved in together at twenty one. My Mother passed away and Clara invited me to live with her, for company. I needed her comfort and so agreed without second thought. It was the best decision of my life. We had so much fun in our home together. Fun in every single room, I especially enjoyed the huge bath that we’d share. The added sensuality of water always made me come hard. Cara liked to have me on the dining room table. She had a dominant streak and would love to bend me over, spank me until the sound echoed through the house and my mind.
But echoes are all I have now. Echoes of dances, clothed and unclothed. Echoes of love that keep me warm at night as I cuddle under my blanket and think of her.
She had a good innings, many people told me so, in the days up to her funeral. We had grown old together, we’d promised that we would. We could have grown older but she could not fight the cancer away any longer. She tried, she really tried and I helped her but in the end, she had to give in. Her last words to me were. “I love you.” She passed in her sleep, a mercifully quiet and painless passing. For that, I’m glad.
I’m alone, now, I’ve never been alone before. I don’t like it. I have the memories of my sweetheart to keep me warm, though and I will go on living for her, because of her.
© Victoria Blisse