I Returned to Town for the Woman I Never Stopped Loving

“Final call for flight…”

My hands are ice-cold and a shiver runs down my back, as if it were the first time I’d ever boarded a plane. I still remember the day I left my city. It seems impossible that five years have already passed. I missed my dad, my brother, my cousin Lucía, and, hard as it is to believe, even my mom.

The difference between then and now is simple. Back then, instead of the chill I feel now, I was wrapped in her arms in the terminal. I still remember how she passed her warmth on to me, how I wrapped my arms around her back and buried my face in her neck to keep her scent. Now my nose is frozen and no one is with me. Everything is different. I’m not leaving anything behind that truly hurts me: a couple of shirts, some worn-out sneakers, and my old radio.

Fear and anxiety have nothing to do with the plane, or with Toronto’s merciless winter, or even with the trip. It’s the destination that terrifies me. Knowing I’m going to see her again hasn’t let me sleep for days. How am I supposed to look at her without running to kiss her? How am I going to hold myself back?

They announce the “final call” again, and this time it really does sound final, so I gather my things and walk toward the corridor. My legs are shaking, but I have to do it, even if I don’t know whether I’m happier than I am terrified, or the other way around.

When I finally stop thinking and getting lost in memories, I realize the boarding line is almost done. I hurry, settle into my seat, and try to sleep. Hours later, the flight attendant wakes me to tell me we’ve arrived. I’m one step away from my hometown, a few hours away from seeing my family, my friends, and, if I’m lucky, her.

***

Tania.

It had to be quick. It wasn’t the place or the time, and still I was surprised by how eagerly the blonde took off her blouse. Her pink nipples appeared, small, sensitive, erect, perhaps bristling from the cold of my hands. I helped her with her skirt, though I asked her to keep her black stilettos on: it would have been a sin to take them off.

—Oh… kiss me —she begged.

I kissed her like crazy, because making love in the storage room of a restaurant was insane, with a group of people passing less than two meters from the door of that little room.

My tongue tangled with hers. Her lips were candy, and I held her tight while I tipped her head back to expose her neck. I love kissing a woman’s neck. Her scent made me dizzy; I could feel the hair on my legs rising and how wet I was getting. She was stroking my sex over my pants, so I let go with one hand, undid my belt, and guided her fingers to my naked crotch. At first she seemed shy; then she started a very interesting circular motion.

I moved my tongue down from her neck to her breasts. She writhed in desperation, messed up my hair, and panted. I traced her belly gently, circled her navel, kept kissing down to the edge of her sex. Right there I stopped.

—Oh… Tani, don’t stop…

She could barely speak, drowning in moans, but I wanted to take a second to savor her body. Kneeling in front of her, I stroked her thighs and kissed the inside of each one. Her skin was smooth, very soft, with a minimal patch of hair I recognized with my tongue. She lifted her leg onto my shoulder. She was drenched. I stroked her from foot to ass, squeezed her hard, and gave her a few slaps. She moaned louder and I caught fire even more.

She grabbed my face.

—Please, do it already, I want to be yours.

I kissed her between the legs and another moan escaped her. She shoved my head against her, but I smiled and didn’t play along. I touched her as little as possible: I liked making her lose her mind. Her thong was soaked through. As best I could, I pulled it down and saw, in all its glory, her swollen clit, begging to be handled. I barely pressed my lips against it, without moving, and slipped two fingers into her with no effort. She moistened the palm of my hand.

I went in and out with my middle and ring fingers while kissing her clit, and she let out muffled cries, fully aware that we were in a closet with at least ten people nearby. I sped up. She thrashed, and I felt her squeezing my fingers from the inside. I stood up, kissed her hard to leave her own taste in her mouth, she hugged me, and she had an orgasm. It was beautiful.

I touched her breasts, soft, pretty. I squeezed her nipples, stroked them, and she, mischievous, pulled my pants down to my knees. Our sex brushed for the first time and it felt heavenly. I adjusted myself to press against her and we began a hypnotic rocking motion. She kissed my neck while I moved, and a moan slipped out of me.

—Ah…

—So good, do you like it? Do it like you do with your girl, I’m yours…

I felt the blood rush through my veins as if someone had injected me with something. She was mine. I wanted her to feel that she belonged to me. I grabbed her hair, she threw her head back, and the movements intensified. Faster. To hell with being careful not to make noise: I no longer cared about anything except finishing and showing her she was mine. She moaned, the little table we were leaning against could barely hold up anymore, I felt my legs weaken, and at last I came. I kissed her again, squeezed her firm ass, and gave it one last slap. We stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for a few minutes, catching our breath.

***

The hand of an attendant on my shoulder woke me, kindly letting me know we had already landed. I looked out the window and saw, for the first time in years, the sky of my land. A knot formed in my throat. No matter what everyone says, the colors of my city’s sky truly have no comparison: those pink auroras that adorn it, the scent of flowers and coffee drifting down from the countryside.

From the airport to home it’s about fifteen minutes. I would have asked for a taxi, but my brother insisted on picking me up. I called him and could hear the excitement in his voice. My little brother, I missed him terribly too. My adventure partner and my loyal defender. Since Mom left the house, we became closer than ever, accomplices in everything, in kid mischief and not-so-kid mischief. The first time I kissed a girl I ran to tell him. I still remember what he said: “It’s not your fault you feel this way, girls are way too pretty.” And when he met Tania, he nearly gave her an exam before leaving us alone; three days later they were best friends.

I’m also excited to see him and Romina, my sister-in-law. At school the three of us were the Three Musketeers, together all the time, up and down.

I ordered a coffee in the airport restaurant and sat down to wait. For some reason — maybe deep down I know which — I couldn’t get Tania out of my head. I knew I was going to see her again and had no idea how I’d react when I had her in front of me. Just thinking about it made my hands cold. She was my first love and, deep down, I know she’ll be my last, because no matter how much I loved other women, I will never love again the way I loved her.

As soon as I finished school I started studying business administration here, but not long after I got the chance to enter a major university in Toronto. It was a unique opportunity, although it meant being away from my family for at least three years, which ended up being five. An incomparable experience: I came from a small town and, well, this was a huge city.

Back then I had a steady relationship with Tania. We were very young, but we were focused, each on our own thing. She loved the countryside, the earth, the smell of plants in the morning. We saw each other every day, spent hours talking. She was my safe place, the love of my life. I could have a terrible day and, just by hearing her, everything would turn colorful again. Of the many times I fought with my mom, she was my refuge. Ironically, my mom couldn’t stand her; even so, Tania never spoke badly of her or tried to turn me against her. On the contrary, she always mediated so we wouldn’t remain at odds.

Her first time was with me. The first time I had sex was with a guy, but the first time I made love was with her. She was also the first person I ever loved.

We split up because of the distance and, six months later, she came to visit me. It was awful. From that day on I never heard from her again, as if she had erased me from her life. I don’t know how it was so easy for her; I felt like I was being torn apart. Even knowing it was all my fault, she never let me ask for forgiveness, never let me speak to her again. I sent messages, lost count of the emails I wrote begging her for a chance, an explanation, even just her forgiveness. I don’t know whether she read them or deleted them before opening them. I sent handwritten letters and she never received them; I know because I even asked my dad to hand-deliver them to her himself and she wouldn’t accept them. That was when I truly understood I had lost her, over something stupid, over someone who wasn’t worth it.

—Mari, you look great! —a voice I knew by heart pulled me out of my thoughts.

I felt a tight hug from behind. It was Romina. Behind her came my little brother with a bouquet of flowers. Tears fell from my eyes.

—Romi, I’m so happy to see you again —I hugged her tightly.

—Sis! —was all Sebastián managed to say before his voice broke.

Tears escaped me too. I was deeply moved to have him in front of me again after so long.

—There are no flowers prettier than you, you look radiant —he said, smiling—. It must be the air here.

—Yeah, maybe that’s it —I laughed—, the smell of home.

We went out to the parking lot. My brother carried my suitcase and I carried my bouquet of red roses, feeling like I was inside a dream. At last I could see the sky and the horizon of my land again. I’m home again, and somewhere in this town she is waiting, without knowing it, for me to gather the courage to look for her.