Why

I never really knew why my wife didn’t like Rachel.  They had never gotten along from the moment they met.  Rachel always said that my wife was obsessed with her, always thinking everything was in reference to her.  My wife, Christine, always referred to Rachel as a whore, a slut, thinking she was sleeping with any man she met because of her upfront and sexual nature.  Obviously Rachel and I being friends would not be thought upon kindly by Christine when she and I decided to start dating.  She would insult Rachel very casually as a ploy to get me to go along with her and try and break us apart, however it never worked which made her even more angry.  In reference to anyone else I would have joined in for a good bash session about a person who couldn’t spell basic words properly or who tried too hard for attention in one way or another, but with Rachel it would never even enter my mind to insult her.  I don’t know if it was because I didn’t care or just didn’t realize when she was doing these things.  Eventually Christine began to question me as to why I never say anything bad about Rachel.  My default answer was always dumbfoundedness.  Christine would then try and turn it into being a victim as if it meant I liked Rachel more because I wouldn’t insult her as a game. 

Thinking about it now, actually, I did notice her flaws.  She wasn’t the most well spoken person or well read.  She didn’t seem to be much above average intelligence.  She had no ambission or drive to do anything special and we didn’t really have a whole lot in common in the grand scale of our interests.  The truth is that I didn’t care.  I saw them, all of her flaws.  Or what would be described as flaws, and they didn’t matter.  In fact, they are what made her attainable.  Everything that Christine had said about her ran through my head and I thought that was probably the only reason she was friends with me because if you took those things away she would be perfect and I wouldn’t even have a chance to talk with her because she would know how perfect she was.

I thought about this while she kissed me and held me against her.  I thought, as I kissed her back with equaled passion and desire, did I actually love Rachel?  I had said that I loved plenty of girls.  Not to try and get them to do something with me but because I actually felt that I loved them the way any young and lonely person does.  I craved the feeling so I threw myself into it so easily and wrecklessly.  After a while I was sure that I didn’t know what love was and had to stop saying it and believing it was so simple to find.  So I never thought I loved Rachel no matter how much I cared for her.  Even Christine, my girlfriend who I had told that I loved out of polite reciprocation, I wasn’t sure if I loved.  I knew I cared for her and had fun with her.  She had everything that Rachel was missing.  She was smart, cunningly smart.  We enjoyed so much of the same.  Movies, music, ideals.  When we weren’t with each other, for whatever reason, we could talk on the phone for hours.  When we were with each other, for whatever reason, we could have those calm, safe silences where neither of us felt the need to talk and weren’t anxious wondering why the other wasn’t talking.  But I wasn’t sure that I loved her either.  There was something missing with both of them.

She was holding me against her.  Her voice was whimpering with need and want.  All I was thinking about was how tightly her chest was pressed against mine and the sweetness of her breath against my face.  My hands clentched her hips and squeezed so hard I felt like my fingers were going to pierce her skin.  I was never good with restraint.  Her teeth bit my neck and it drove my heart to pound so loudly I thought I could hear it.  I wanted to rip the clothes from her body with my barehands and devour her.  Every passing second made me more into an animal and less into a rational human being.  There was no more thinking.  I wanted her and she was pursuing as if she wanted me.

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