When I was eight, my mother said she was taking me to Disney World. The excitement I felt was overwhelming. The night before the trip, I went to bed at nine. When I woke up, I got dressed and went to the living room, ready to hop in the car. My mother walked out in her nightgown and asked what I was doing.

“I’m ready to go to Disney World!”

My mother laughed and said, “Honey, it’s one in the morning.”

Even though my mom put me back in bed, I still couldn’t sleep. My mind was racing with thoughts of soaring through the universe on Space Mountain and stepping back in time with swashbuckling Buccaneers on Pirates of the Caribbean. Most of all, I was looking forward to riding on Dumbo the Flying Elephant because it was pure magic, and also my favorite childhood movie.

When morning came, I piled into the car with my mother, grandmother, and one of my great-aunts. We arrived around nine in the morning and it was already a typical hot Florida summer day.

My grandmother and great-aunt had little desire to do much of anything other than complain, and I was constantly in trouble for being an excited and anxious kid. My mom took me aside and said we had to be patient with them because they were old.

My grandmother only wanted to see the Enchanted Tiki Room, which is an awful show featuring a flock of shrieking animatronic fowl. We waited in line for two hours to witness this unique Central Florida horror disguised as entertainment.

Next, my great-aunt was eager to ride It’s a Small World. In fact, it was all she talked about during the two-hour car ride to the park. Again, we waited in line for hours. The early afternoon heat and humidity were sweltering. The ride was nightmare fuel. When it was finally over, my great-aunt suggested we ride it again.

My mother sensed I was about to cry, so she said, “Let’s do something Nick wants to do.”

The old ladies went into a cafe to get a sandwich while my mother walked with me to Space Mountain. I was too small to ride. Next, she took me to Pirates of the Caribbean but the line was over two hours long.

Consoling me with some ice cream, she said, “We can’t leave your grandmother and aunt for that long. Let’s go ride the Dumbo ride.”

As we approached, I was relieved to see that the line seemed really short. I suddenly felt the same wave of excitement from the night before. When we walked up to the entrance, a sign with a sad-looking Dumbo painted on it read, “Closed for maintenance.”

I remember this day vividly because it was the first time I experienced severe disappointment. But truthfully, my disappointment had nothing to do with Mickey Mouse, my grandmother, or terrifying animatronic Belgian children.

My disappointment was the result of creating unrealistic expectations in my mind.

By the time I arrived home from my business trip, I had imagined my upcoming weekend with Delilah a thousand times. Most of my daydreams revolved around being wrapped in each other’s arms, the feeling of being close to someone willing to provide emotional support. Someone who found me attractive.

There were sexual fantasies too. In my mind, everything would be perfect. Our bodies would fit together like our conversations. Our attraction would be palpable and constant.

My anticipation was so high, it was hard not to think back to Disney World and wonder if I was creating unrealistic expectations.

My wife wanted all of the details about Heather. I told her we made out for a bit but that she was pretty drunk and decided to head back to her room. Not once did I mention that Heather came back to my hotel room the following night, or that I had an open invitation to call on her whenever I visited Miami. It turned out that I was as good at lying as my wife.

Laura felt compelled to reveal the details of her evening with Gary.

“He came over and we fooled around for maybe a half hour,” she said, her forehead wrinkled, “That’s when we took the photo I texted you. I was enjoying the intimacy but Gary was eager to have sex, so I let him fuck me, with a condom, of course. Then he got dressed and left. On top of that, he ghosted me.”

My face didn’t reveal the fact that I was reveling in my wife’s disappointment. It made me feel powerful, which was the only feeling I had to mask the pain she’d caused. While she was fucking Mr. wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, I was getting rave reviews on my foreplay.

Laura continued, “So, I’m done with Gary. But there is someone else.”

Suddenly, my feeling of superiority vanished. Anger quickly filled the space it vacated.

“Someone else? Who?”

“Marty Reynolds.”

I felt a sharp physical pain in my head. Marty Reynolds was a friend of mine. A few times a year we go fishing, and sometimes we get together for a beer.

“Marty fucking Reynolds? Are you fucking kidding me?”

My wife somehow seemed surprised by my reaction. She said, “What’s the problem?”

“Well, for starters, Marty has a girlfriend he’s dated for four years.”

“They broke up a few weeks ago.”

I felt my face turning red with rage. “Marty is my fishing buddy, Laura! How the fuck did this happen?”

“We ran into each other at the grocery store. I invited him over to the house and we drank a bottle of wine.”

“You invited him to the house? What the fuck, Laura?”

“It was last night. I was going to let you know but you weren’t answering my texts.”

It was true that I wasn’t answering texts because heather was in my hotel room. Plus, I’d grown accustomed to ignoring my wife’s messages.

I didn’t want to know but I had to ask, “Did you fool around with Marty?”

“All we did was make out for a while. I also let him finger me. But he stayed over for a while after we fooled around just talking and sharing some intimacy. And that’s all I really want, Nick.”

My composure started to crumble. “You keep saying you only want intimacy but two men have had various body parts in your cunt in less than 48 hours!”

“Don’t be mean!”

“Don’t be mean? Do you want to see what mean looks like?”

Laura started to cry. “I’m sorry! I know I should have told you before we fooled around….”

I wasn’t shouting but my firm yet calm tone was almost worse. “No! You have nothing to be sorry about. Do you know why? Because I FUCKED that woman I met in Miami! Repeatedly! So I guess we’re even, Laura.”

My wife left the room crying. I went for a walk. The following day, we were both too weary to fight. Laura and I made peace as best we could. The tangled web we negotiated was basically starting over with a clean slate.

I agreed Laura could keep seeing Marty and she agreed to allow me some time with Delilah. She had no idea that our relationship had become intimate, or even that we’d talked on the phone.

Laura also demanded I get an STD test. She said we couldn’t have sex until she saw the results of the test, and I almost laughed in her face.

Later that day, Marty had the nerve to text me and ask if he had my permission to “spend time” with my wife. I responded with, “Absolutely! Just don’t talk to me about it,” and that was that.

Delilah lived in Ocala, about a three-hour drive from my house. There happened to be a trade show that weekend, so I told my wife that I was going to attend, make a long weekend out of it, and go out with Delilah on Saturday night. Laura was eager to believe the lie because she was already planning her own long weekend with Marty.

Thursday couldn’t come soon enough. Delilah and I were talking and texting every day. On Wednesday, I sent her over 250 text messages and we spoke for more than two hours on the phone.

It seemed so strange to me that we still hadn’t met face-to-face. Delilah had quickly become the most important person in my life. I cherished every message she sent and every word she spoke. Delilah filled the rapidly expanding void of my former life that seemed to be disintegrating in front of my eyes.

I pulled into her driveway a little after seven on Thursday morning. When I got out of my car, Delilah was already standing in the doorway. She was smiling with pure joy and the living version of everything her photos promised and more. My heart was pounding.

We embraced in the doorway. Delilah whispered in my ear, “Hello, love.” She was pure warmth. It felt like being wrapped in an electric blanket after suffering from exposure and frostbite. Our hearts seemed to beat in unison.

Minutes went by before we forced our bodies apart. We gazed into each other’s eyes. Delilah was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I touched her face and she smiled.

Then we passionately kissed. Any fear I harbored about unrealistic expectations immediately vanished. In fact, the feeling was better than anything I’d ever imagined - like I’d found a part of me that I never realized was missing.

Delilah and I sat on her living room sofa and talked while sipping on a glass of wine. We sat close, so that our bodies were in constant contact. The conversation was natural and light. We laughed and flirted for over an hour.

Unconsciously, our bodies inched closer to each other until our lips were pulled together by something like magnetism. We used our hands to explore each other’s bodies, clothes still on. Then the clothes started coming off.

When Delilah and I were entirely nude, we moved to the bedroom, our mouths still locked together. We fell into the bed, knocking a lamp off the nightstand in the process.

Delilah gently pushed me away and said, “Just so you know, I’m on my period.”

I said, “I’m okay with it if you are.”

She laughed, “Oh, I’m okay with it! Many men aren’t.”

Taking advantage of the pause, I took a moment to soak in the elegant beauty of Delilah’s body. She seemed taller in person than in her photos with long legs and a flat, toned stomach. Her breasts were perky, with dark brown areolas and large nipples. Delilah’s most striking features were her deep blue eyes and silky straight black hair.

I ran my fingertips up and down the length of Delilah's body, exploring every perfect contour and pore, savoring the uniqueness of her blemishes and scars, grateful to whatever hands were capable of crafting such perfection.

Delilah’s skin responded to my touch with goosebumps and fine blonde hairs standing on end.

She gazed at me with pure affection and said, “This is nice. It feels like electricity flowing between us.”

An hour went by and then another. Then time ceased to exist altogether. We shared the stories of our tattoos and gave each other massages. We kissed each other’s bodies and indulged ourselves in the joy of discovery.

Delilah said, “I know you and your wife have a rule about protection but I want to feel you… If it’s okay with you.

I nodded. Then my body was above Delilah’s, her hand guiding my cock inside her body, our eyes connected by some unbreakable force.

We fit together as though crafted from the same stone. The feeling was like discovering the solution to some ancient riddle and wondering how it took so long to figure it out. Any feeling of self vanished into our union. For the first time in my life, I felt whole.

When my cock was entirely inside Delilah’s pussy, I held it entirely still as she flexed her pelvic muscles, gripping me and holding me in place. I flexed my penis muscle in response, which made Delilah smile and purr.

Our hips began moving. We kissed deeply. Delilah lifted her legs while her hands found my lower back and silently urged me to pick up the pace. As I did, she got wetter. Her body glistened with sweat. Our faces touched, eyes fixed in a gaze. Delilah was close to orgasm, her face a blend of agony and bliss.

I stopped completely, holding her on that edge between anticipation and release. Delilah’s wordless expression begged me to fulfill the promise made during our countless messages and hours of talking on the phone.

Instead, I pulled completely out of her pussy. My cock was covered in her menstrual blood. Holding it at the base, I slid the shaft against her slit, teasing her clit. Delilah’s body shuddered.

She begged, “Please put it back inside me, Nick. I need it.”

I’d never felt as hard or virile as I did at that moment. The feeling had nothing to do with me. It’s just that nobody had ever looked at me with such desire.

Again, I penetrated Delilah but it was more like being utterly consumed. She came and I lost myself in her orgasm. Then I was lost to myself. Attempting to describe the experience is futile. The best I can do is say that I ceased to exist as the person I’d been and was reborn in my union with Delilah. We lost all sense of time and space. Hours passed and they seemed like fractions of seconds.

We spent all day in bed, other than hopping into her shower every now and then to wash the blood and sweat off our bodies. I am far from religious but our first bedroom experience seemed mystical. It defied my ability to explain it. Stranger still, Delilah seemed familiar, like I’d stumbled upon a perfect love that I’d somehow lost to the weary winds of the past.

We talked about it with one another in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. Delilah believed our instant attraction and utter compatibility as lovers was no accident.

“I know you from before,” she said, stroking my face. “I remember you.”

I’m sure I looked confused.

“We’ve been together many times. There’s something else, love. It never works out for us.” A tear formed in Delilah’s eye. “Maybe this time will be different.”

At the time, I was unable to understand what she meant, so I remained silent. Now I understand. I can’t explain it, but I understand.

Writing down this experience causes my own tears to flow because, of course, Delilah was right. When I think about this memory, I silently say to myself, “Maybe next time will be different.”

But that part of the story will come soon enough.

One of my most vivid memories from our first lovemaking experience was looking down at Delilah’s body and seeing a blue light glowing above her chest. Later, I told her about what I saw and she nonchalantly said, “You saw my heart chakra, love. I’m not surprised.”

Not knowing anything about chakras, I said, “What does that mean?”

Delilah smiled and said, “You already know.”

Around nine at night, we were both starving. After rummaging through Delilah’s kitchen, I made some roasted chicken and vegetables. When we were finished, Delilah put on some blues music and we slow-danced in her living room. Then she took off my clothes and made love to me on her sofa before taking me to bed.

On Friday we slept in. I woke up before Delilah so I made her breakfast and brought it to her in bed. She set it aside and said, “Thank you, love, but all I want right now is you.”

With a mischievous grin on her face, Delilah pulled me into bed and straddled my lap. Just the sight of her incredible form gave me an instant erection. She guided me inside her body, pressed her hips firmly into mine, and forcefully started thrusting back and forth, back arched, hands resting on my knees for support.

Within minutes Delilah morphed into some wild, feral creature, her head thrown back, growling into the air as though possessed.

She moaned, “Oh my god, I love it.” Her hips moving faster, a drop of sweat running down between her shaking breasts, nipples hard and pointing toward the ceiling.

Wanting to tease her, I said, “Oh no, Delilah, I think I’m going to cum.”

Without slowing her pace, Delilah lifted her head, her blue eyes boring into mine. “No! Do not fucking cum!”

“But your pussy feels so good, Delilah. I don’t know if I can stop.”

“I said NO! I’ll tell you when you can cum!”

“Please, Delilah… I want to cum so bad!”

Delilah seemed poised to lose all control. She shifted slightly forward, grinding the upper wall of her vagina against the head of my penis, using my body solely for her pleasure. Her long black hair spilled into my face, her eyes still penetrating mine.

“This is MY cock! It belongs to me! You can only cum when I say you can cum!”

“But your pussy feels so good, Delilah… What if I can’t help it and I cum inside you?”

Her stomach muscles tightened. Grinding her teeth, Delilah said, “You’ll be in so much fucking trouble. I own this cock now, Nick. It’s mine!”

Delilah tilted her head back and gazed at the sky. Her vagina clenched tightly around my penis, enveloping it with warm fluid. She screamed, her body shaking uncontrollably. As her orgasm waned, Delilah fell forward onto my body, her face against mine, kissing me passionately, her hands gripping my face.

Delilah’s hips slowed to a steady rhythm, working the entire length of my shaft. Then she whispered, “Now you can cum in me with MY cock.”

Nobody had ever taken ownership of my manhood. Once again, I lost myself in the fire Delilah and I created together. It blazed all around us. Holding firmly onto her hips, I pushed myself as far inside her body until my individuality was utterly consumed. Then the cock Delilah will forever own erupted, filling us both.

After breakfast, Delilah said she wanted to read our tarot cards. We sat on her living room floor as she shuffled the deck, dressed only in a pair of black panties. Delilah was bathed in a ray of sunlight from the window, hair partially covering her bare breasts, her legs spread around the cards as she dealt them in the shape of a cross. Her beauty was transfixing.

In the center was the Queen of Swords, surrounded by The Moon, The Two of Hearts, The Star, and the Ten of Swords.

“What do they say?” I asked.

Delilah shook her head. Almost inaudibly, she said, “Every time…” and quickly gathered up the cards before continuing, “It doesn’t matter. They’re just cards. Let’s go for a walk.”

On the walk, our conversation was light and natural. We held hands and made out on the grass under an oak tree.

When we returned to Delilah’s house, we went directly to her bedroom, stripping off each other’s clothes along the way.

Our sex was fun and playful. Delilah laughed and giggled as I gently kissed her entire body, especially when I focused on her toes.

Eventually, I was in between Delilah’s legs, steadily increasing my pace. Grabbing her waist, I took control of Delilah’s entire body, transitioning from making love to carnal fucking. When she was seconds from orgasming, I stopped. Her eyes begged me to continue but instead, I said, “You’re not allowed to cum until I say it’s okay. If my cock belongs to you then your pussy belongs to me.”

Delilah pleaded, “Please make me cum, love. If you do, my pussy is yours!”

Over and over again, I repeated the process, edging Delilah to the brink of orgasm only to pause until she promised that her pussy would belong to me.

With our bodies still connected, I pulled Delilah up onto my lap so we were both sitting up in bed. Face to face, gazing into each other’s eyes, our bodies coalesced into a singular synchronized motion.

There was blue light all around us and everything beyond ceased to exist. Delilah’s lips didn’t move but I somehow heard her say “I’m ready, love.”

I nodded and said, “Me too.”

We both immediately orgasmed but we were far from her bed, her house, or anything else temporal. I experienced something like a vision of our past as two beings winding through time on serpentine trajectories, meeting again and again at the places where they intersected, every convergence its own lifetime.

As we regained normal consciousness, we both cried tears of joy, laughing and caressing each other’s faces.

Later that night, we talked about the experience. Delilah asked, “What did you hear me say just before we came?”

“You said, ‘I’m ready, love.’”

“How did you hear what I was thinking?”

“I don’t know.”

I still don’t.

Months later, a therapist told me it didn’t really happen. I stopped going to therapy.

Saturday was planned as our date night. Around five, my wife sent me a text message.

“What time are you meeting Delilah?”

I answered, “Around seven. We’re going out to dinner.”

“Okay, well Marty is coming over to the house around the same time so if I don’t respond, you’ll know why. Have fun!”

I rolled my eyes and messaged back, “You too.”

It was a relief. I turned off my phone and pushed any thoughts of my house, home, or work out of my mind.

Delilah said, “I have a surprise for you,” and showed me an outfit she bought, something special for our date night. Arranged on her bed were an elegant lavender strapless cocktail dress, silver high heels, and a lingerie ensemble that included lacy underwear with a garter and seamed thigh-high stockings.

Delilah smiled and said, “During one of our conversations, you mentioned how much an outfit like this turns you on.”

I was genuinely touched by her kindness and consideration because I couldn’t remember any woman ever buying a dress-up-date ensemble special for me.

We ate dinner by candlelight in the back corner of a busy restaurant. It was impossible to take my eyes off Delilah. The waitress asked if it was our anniversary, adding, “I seldom see couples that are truly in love.”

After dinner, we went to a local brewery to see a band. We left before they took the stage.

Back at Delilah’s house, we danced in her living room. She took off my shirt and I unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the floor. Seeing Delilah dressed only in her lingerie instantly made me hard. Massaging my cock through my pants, she teased, “I guess you like the outfit.”

Delilah crouched down, perched on her silver high heels. After removing my pants, she took me in her mouth. Firmly gripping the base of my cock with her hand, Delilah used the tip of her tongue to delicately lick the ridge all the way around the head. Then I was back in her mouth, staring down at her while she sucked.

In the bedroom, I ripped off her panties and guided her onto the bed. As I pushed her legs apart, Delilah said, “My period may not be done.”

I didn’t care.

After delicately kissing her vulva, I gently tapped the hood protecting Delilah’s clitoris with my tongue. I grabbed her feet, resting her heels on my shoulders which opened Delilah fully, licking the inside walls of her pussy, tasting her for the first time. She watched me, her head propped up on a pillow, running fingers through my hair.

My tongue brought her to orgasm, then my cock. Over and over again. Lost in each other. Pushing away the reality that we were well into our last night together.

Saturday night blurred into Sunday morning. We slept in fits and starts, waking to explore each other’s bodies. Delilah took control of her cock, while I savored every delicate crease of my pussy.

It was well past noon when we got out of bed. After snacking in the kitchen we sat on Delilah’s sofa and had a deeply personal conversation.

I asked Delilah to explain what she meant when she said she knew me before we met. She was apprehensive but eventually elaborated.

Staring into space, as though concentrating on a hazy memory, Delilah said, “When I saw your face on Tinder, I’d seen it before… In my dreams… Hazy dreams from different places… We’ve found each other many times in the past. We always do.”

I asked, “Kind of like remembering a past life or something?”

“Kind of, but I don’t remember anything about my past lives, if that’s even what my memories are. I only remember you. Your face…. And the feeling of being made whole.”

I’ve always considered myself analytical, so Delilah’s words were difficult for me to process and/or understand. Yet I had to admit that much of what had happened over the previous four days was unexplainable. I’d heard Delilah’s thoughts and seen blue light around her body just as plainly as a summer sky. We entered some ethereal space where our individuality no longer existed and time itself fell away.

I’m sure I looked confused trying to process what Delilah was saying. She touched my cheek and continued, “Nick, I know this sounds like some foo-foo shit, but I’m just trying to understand all of this, same as you. I don’t believe we are soulmates, I believe you’re my twin flame which means we are one soul cut into two. We keep being drawn together throughout our lifetimes because we crave each other. It’s the only way we ever feel whole, so we always find each other..”

I had to ask, “Why did you say that it never works out for us?”

Delilah’s forehead crinkled, “It’s hard to explain, love. I’ve only seen bits and pieces from the past. Perhaps we are too much alike and in the long run that works against us. Maybe it’s timing. Maybe it’s both and a lot of other things. Like I said, maybe this time is different.”

Delilah paused, then added, “Nick, I need to ask you something... Is this just four perfect days or are we trying for more than that? I need to know so I can temper my expectations. I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

The question landed hard. I wasn’t quite ready to face reality. I said, “I honestly don’t know how I can walk away from you and everything we’ve experienced and make believe that anything else matters.”

Delilah wrapped her arms around me and said, “That’s fine for now.”

Nightfall came on like a sickness. Delilah and I kept it at bay by stoking the fire we’d built over the last four days. We made love in a singular embrace, sitting up in bed, our bodies fused into one.

Why does perfection often seem like an indulgence?

The question first popped into my head when I pulled out of Delilah’s driveway. She was standing in the doorway, nothing more than a shapely silhouette. Then she was out of sight and I was pulling onto the Interstate onramp, driving toward a marriage built on unrealistic expectations and a life that suddenly seemed colorless and mundane.

Coming soon... Part 4 - The House that Crumbled