The Miracle in July

The way things have been for me lately feels as though
I might never see the light at the end of this tunnel
vision prevents me from seeing the beauty around me and
whether or not I should see you as a threat or a blessing

[Air From a Tiny Hole] by [The Way It Is]

I have embraced the constant, exhausting evocation of this final re-telling of my monolithic love story by repeating this mantra: There is a purpose to this catharsis. I close my eyes when I say it, [whispering at the top of my lungs], and let the strong hands of self-protection held over my eyes loosen their fingers apart. Then I can see the shapes and colors of the devils and angels still battling for their place in my version of the truth. It is a magical elicitation from my faithful muse, and I must let go, let it happen. What else can I do but continue what I started?

Now, as I look back on those first hours spent with Daniel in person, for the first time, my resolution to understand and accept the truth – of things as they are and as they were – urges me to be brutally honest. And so I have to confess what I have been silently mulling all these years: that when the last missing dimension of my Danish lover finally materialized, when that final piece of the puzzle that was Daniel clicked into place there in the airport, where we were sharing the same physical space for the first time – an anti-climatic confusion seeped through a microscopic tear in my heart.

On the escalator to the train platform, waiting for the train, on the train, walking to our hotel, checking in, settling in – throughout all that, Daniel remained quiet and reserved. He did not smile to return my smiles. He was hesitant, unable to move close without prompting, but he also seemed strangely pulled into me. His widened eyes took in everything I did and said, and his glances were frequent and intense. I had assumed we would not be able to take our hands off each other – we had said as much to each other countless times – but instead Daniel hovered above me in the distance like an orbiting, blazing sun. I was painfully aware of this disconnection, and I soaked in a stinging, lukewarm fear. Maybe the vast love and mutual admiration that made up our online relationship was actually a [somewhat naive] and misguided sentiment? In fact, I thought, maybe my expectations were so completely off-base that I had actually, completely on my own, dreamed up this monumental love affair of ours, sustaining space and time. Only spending time with Daniel would tell.

On the train from the [Copenhagen airport station] to our hotel Daniel sat across from me in a disaffected, cocky slump, one long leg bent under his seat, the other extended crosswise through the space between us, tucked under the seat beside me. His elbow dug into the armrest under the weight of his closed fist, which was holding up his handsome, bearded jaw. He looked at me coolly, casually, from the tip of my boots up my legs, lingering on my breasts and finally to my mouth and then to my eyes. As he did this I tried to imagine what lay behind his distance. Maybe, now that I was here, now that he had seen me in the flesh and tasted my lips and held me next to his heart, Daniel didn't want me the way I wanted him. Or maybe it was just some kind of culture shock, and I was misinterpreting this strange limbo of eagerness and removal. All I knew for sure was that I wanted to kiss him again. And he didn't seem the least bit interested in kissing me.

"Come sit next to me," I said and patted the seat next to me. Daniel's eyes narrowed. "Come on, now. Don't be shy. I won't bite. Hard."

Daniel inhaled his lower lip, that lovely bottom lip. I recognized that move from somewhere, but from where I couldn't recall. I saw a small, black freckle in the dark pink skin of his lip before it disappeared in his mouth. It made me wish to see it again, to have it in my mouth, the moment it was out of view. He wavered for several long seconds, then plopped into the spot next to me with an air of having been inconvenienced. This annoyed me, but I held the outward signs of the feeling at bay. He wasn't acting at all like the goofy and romantic man I thought would be greeting me. Where was the enthusiastic man who insisted that the Earth would tremble when we were finally together?

My initial expectations were sinking, so I tried to float on the past words this Dane had written, instead of his present actions. Perhaps he was overwhelmed, I thought. Perhaps he was underwhelmed. Regardless, I was here in good faith; plans and commitments had been made and I expected the same faith from Daniel. I vowed right then that I, at least, would be only myself in real life, just as I had always tried to be in my interactions online with Daniel. And I would take what I had repeatedly been told was mine – until I was told otherwise. If Daniel really was my boyfriend, I would need to figure out how to retrofit his offline life and personality into mine. I had come to consummate the relationship and integrate myself with his friends and family. Fate, blind luck, or something else [beyond my control] had made it possible to finally sit next to the man I loved with all my heart. I owed it to this unseen force to follow my bliss. I also felt entitled to make full use of the promises made between lovers.

I put my arms through Daniel's and kissed his cheek, and then eased him back against the chair from his crouched-forward position. I made fun of the holes in his designer jeans and touched the hairs on his leg through the torn denim, to which he responded in gruff mutters. Then I took his hand in mine and laid my head on his arm. We sat there like that, taking air in and out of our lungs at the same intervals, breathing in time with the clacking train taking us to our hotel and the first bed we'd share together.

In no time at all we reached [our hotel]. It is one of the many beautiful qualities of Denmark: almost everything is [connected by efficient transportation]. You can reach multiple destinations by train, bus, and boat with one ticket. Once we reached the hotel – only minutes from where I am now as I type this in my cozy little house, with the nosy, noisy starlings and their impressive gray mounds of fuzzy shit just outside – I heard Daniel speak in his native language to the blond man checking us in behind [the hotel desk]. Daniel's baritone rumbled in the space, and my nipples hardened with anticipation. I demurely stood behind him, disjointed with scattered emotions. When we were alone, when there were no eyes besides our own, would Daniel reveal his true feelings to me?

After Daniel checked us in we moved to the corridor to wait for the ancient elevator, which I could hear above us, clanging its easing descent to meet us. I hoped it was empty. I wanted something to happen. The elevator was empty, and once we walked aboard and the doors closed, I backed Daniel against its mirrored wall and pressed myself against him. I looked up into his eyes, my lips parted.

"It's a elevator," I breathed.

"Yes, I know." Daniel didn't move a muscle, only stared back down at me.

I reached up behind his head and grabbed a handful of soft, black curls and brought his mouth to mine. I kissed him wet and hard. He responded by letting me do it. My heart sunk with disappointment. Had I made a terrible mistake in believing Daniel wanted to be with me, no matter what? I thought briefly of Jake, sweet Jake, who'd thrown his support behind my bid for love with this Danish man who was now acting as cold as Jake had acted during the weeks before our relationship ended. Was Daniel just not into me, like Jake had become near the end? I thought of my son's father, who cared more about getting pussy and having absolute control than about my feelings or about our child. Did Daniel plan to keep control over his emotions and just let me flounder in his wake? And I was again reminded that perceptions are personal. I had no idea what Daniel was thinking about me, or about us, and I had no previous in-person experience with his normal demeanor to compare anything to, to help me figure out what was now happening.

The elevator doors suddenly opened, and a man stepped into the small space to join us. We'd reached our floor.

Our room was a mere step or two from the elevator, just around the corner, and it was tiny. The "Queen-sized bed" was two twins pushed together, sharing a top sheet and blanket. There was a long table attached to a wall with a mini-fridge underneath, and a narrow yet tall window that flooded in light and had an angled view of more narrow-tall windows. I excused myself and went into [the bathroom]. I looked at myself critically, more critically than usual. I had just traveled for hours with no sleep, anxiously waiting for the moment I could [touch stars] with the love of my life. I was grateful that I hadn't wasted time imagining what our time together might look like; if I had, it wouldn't have looked anything like what had transpired so far. But, I had to admit, I looked good. My eyes were bright, my hair smooth and shiny, my skin rosy and clear. I was fuckable. And what I wanted was to kiss, hold, stroke, and fuck my boyfriend.

I left the bathroom and caught Daniel in mid-pace before the window. He stopped and looked at me – not unlike a shy teenage boy caught in the beam of mature desire. I sat down on [the bed], slowly, lady-like, and crossed my legs in such a way that the point where my knit stocking ended and my skirt began left a good two inches of creamy thigh exposed. As on the train, I patted the space next to me. Daniel stared and shifted his weight slightly. I smiled sweetly, encouragingly, and tilted my head suggestively toward the bed. My dimple caved. Daniel pounced.

Daniel laid on top of me, kissing me lightly, then urgently. His large hand moved up inside my sweater and peeled down the cup of my black lace bra. He pinched my nipples hard, making me wince, making me moan. Then his weight was gone; he was sliding to the floor in front of the bed. He grabbed my thighs, pulling my ass to the edge and my skirt up. Oh, those blue-black eyes, they bore into me as he pulled aside my panties and licked me in slow motion with his long, flat tongue from my asshole to my clit, over and over again. He interspersed this with jabs inside me, fucking me with his tongue. "You're really good at that," I gasped. He didn't stop as he nodded in affirmation. I sat up on my elbows to watch every second, and I saw that he had unbelted his pants to stroke his cock rapidly, then slowly, then fast again. I felt a wave of pleasure as my nipples turned to stones, and my head fell back against the mattress.

Daniel was on top of me again, kissing and licking my lips with his tongue, which tasted like my arousal. Then I felt a sharp, sweet pain as he thrust inside me, his cock far larger than any I'd accommodated before. My wetness soothed me instantly, and he was inside me for only a few seconds before my orgasm rocked my hips into a frenzy. My heart beat between my legs and my sexual muscles grabbed Daniel tight, then released, then tight again. I think I fell asleep for a few delicious minutes, with Daniel at my side holding my hand and stroking my hair. When I woke, my first thoughts were that I was starving for food and thirsting for drink, and that I hoped there would be blood in my underwear. There was.

There was still a bit of daylight when we left our hotel in search of food, walking by the planetarium at the end of Sankt Jørgens Sø (St. George's Lake), a double-basined lake, one of a series of man-made [lakes in Copenhagen]. He crushed me tight against his side, still not smiling, but much more relaxed and engaging. A charming host. Daniel pointed out that in the distance, following an arc, were two other lakes. Peplinge Sø (Peplinge Lake) is a one-basin lake, and Sortedams Sø (Lake of Black Pond) is another two-basin lake with two islands which acted as a sanctuary for birds: Fiskeøen (The Fish Island) and Fugleøen (The Bird Island). Daniel said these Danish words over and over for me to repeat, and as soon as I said them, the way the words felt coming out of my mouth lost itself in the fog rolling in from the nearby sea.

We somehow arrived at an Italian restaurant hidden in plain view behind an unassuming glass-paned door. It wasn't late, but we were the only customers there for dinner at dinnertime. It still seems strange to me that the streets of a normally-bustling Copenhagen were fairly deserted on that Sunday. It was [a world completely of our own]. We ate dinner – I think I had ravioli – drank red wine, and at the end of our meal I remember getting up to use the bathroom and, just as I was turning the corner, disappearing from view, glancing back to find Daniel staring at my ass with a delicious grin. This pleased me greatly. His ice was melting. When I returned to our table I said, "It's time to go home and make love proper, Daniel. You haven't cum yet."

"[Follow me]," he rumbled in low tones, "to our bed."

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The Miracle in July is the work of author Michelle Anderson.