This Is The Truth About What Sin Felt Like With Him


I’ve never been lucky when it came to love. Endless cycles of heartache and heartbreak define what is supposed to be the biggest and greatest adventure of my life, at 22 I had given up already. I resigned myself to what I had called my fate. There is a thing such as eternal spinsters right? Maybe the universe was giving me signs I wasn’t ready to see just yet. A romantic like me had to believe in higher powers and destiny, otherwise sleeping beauty would only be another stupid children’s tale.

My third year began what was to be the most chilled out and relaxed year of my life. Fly under the radar, smile at people, admire what you see now and then but don’t touch. DO NOT TOUCH!! I’ve been burnt by the fire before; actually like a 100 times. This time, ‘don’t touch’, actually held more clout than ever blazing fires of undying love. When I found him he was going to be perfect. He would love me as much as I did him. He would cherish me, handle me delicately, and put me on a pedestal.

He would reign over my world and I would reign over his. I would be queen. But isn’t it amazing how nature doesn’t give a fuck about any of our plans or grand schemes.

If I said I don’t know how I got here, then I would be lying because I still remember the first time I saw him. I was a bit groggy from sleep and a slightly knocking hangover but I know hot when I see it. I didn’t even mind that I was a lot disheveled and pretty confused but that, I wanted to know. A few weeks and the only time he saw me was in a state of being undressed and sleepy. I was concerned, so one day I said “hey”.

The “hey” that changed my life in all sorts of sin and sexy.

Fast forward 8 months later and the game is still on until the day I sat down and looked, like seriously looked. I couldn’t get why my simple do not touch rule was falling apart.

He stood at six feet, six feet of sexy and trouble (that much I knew). One look and I would get ideas that would make my very liberal friend blush. Six feet has always been my weakness.

He smiled and I was floored, dimples and all. It would elicit a smile back whether or not it was mine. He could have whomever he wanted but he was mine at night. My dreams were welcomely invaded and my senses were on overload. It was back all over again, the butterflies you get when your crush walks past or if he smiled once at your general direction, I was not damaged after all (smile.)

Some people attract fun and success, I think me and trouble have a relationship that goes on for ages. I did mention he looked like trouble, I was wrong, he looked like sin, a sin that I was willing to commit over and over and over again.

It is the way he walked and the way he strutted around like this whole world owed him a favour, he did do the world a favour. It is for people like him that Fifty Shades of Grey was written. It is people like him that gave Prince Charming his looks. It is people like him that ended dynasties, just ask Cleopatra. He did give me trouble alright, the hot and bothered kind of trouble and I loved every moment of it.

I still remember vividly the first time he ever kissed me. My lips still tingle a bit when I feel it all over again.

It feels like it’s happening all over again. The pull, the tug, the hesitation, the goose bumps, the anticipation and finally the moment. His lips touched mine and I was gone. I was no queen, I had no pedestal and yet I was sitting on the highest throne at that moment. Cloud nine never looked so fine, so blue and so clear.

My world was about to turn upside down and I didn’t care. Fuck destiny, fuck fate, fuck Cinderella, I was writing my own love or whatever-it-was story and I was going to love every single moment of it .

After that day every time I saw him in public, I’d smile to myself. My lips would tingle a bit and maybe I’d lose a step or two then continue walking. I thank God I was not a cartoon character because then the whole world would have known.

My heart would pound so hard I thought I’d get panic attacks. Not that he didn’t give my head panic attacks; my body was wired to his. I knew that cologne, it was unique and sophisticated, and it was all manly and shit. He’d pass and my breath caught, he’d speak and my tummy did flops. I was addicted to his essence and I was going to drink it till the day it ran dry or I had no other option. I had found my special brand of cocaine.

But all that was not the greatest appeal of my “happy-ending”, it was the fact it was my little big secret, our big little secret. We would meet on the corridors and pretend like we were two people who never met before. I lived for these moments.

Every time his hand caressed my back in a simple hug, I’d see or rather feel it going down my spine in that sexy way he always did it that turned me on so much. He said a soft ‘hey’ and my eyes would land on those lips. Those lips that I wanted to kiss till kingdom come. If I had my way I would shove him up the wall and ask him to kiss me, albeit just a little to take the edge off. But I was happy with a simple ‘hey’, I would concoct the images and rearrange my wild hormones on my way to where I was headed before his sexy ass crossed my path.

The person who said “forbidden fruits taste sweetest” must have loved a man in the way I loved mine. (Wait! I just used the magic word). It was a relationship that was basically an illicit affair. The sneaking around at night, the funny phone calls, those looks that only you two understood, I was in heaven! I was loved, in its own particularly disturbing way, I was loved.

There were mind games, periods of indefinite uncertainty and downright fucked up moments. Eventually, I was okay with losing the kingdom because this knight would do. At times I wondered if I was losing my mind, but here I was falling for a guy who had the power to bring me down to my knees and I didn’t care. The person who said “it isn’t right if you don’t lose your mind” was either crazy or in love – or both.

He is leaving soon, both of us know or at least I know it is the end. Maybe he doesn’t think I know, but I am aware of the stakes.

I cannot lie to myself that he is going to love me eternally, though he says he does. In two months, bigger and better opportunities are going to come knocking and he will walk away. I am a lot of things but I’m not stupid. He will forget me in a month and I’m okay with that.

He gave me the best three months of my life. I was loved in a sincerely screwed up way. I was kissed like never before. I was owned, mind ,body and soul with jealousy and fire. I was guarded, I kept my walls up but he reached in and pulled me out. I might have not loved him the way I would want, but I am content with what I got.

Two months from now I will lay in bed bored and I will remember. I will close my eyes and feel his fingers brush my lips; I will smile when his lips touch mine again and my back arches a little.

I will feel those fingers on my collarbone and his lips follow suit. I will feel it when the clasp gives way. I will feel it when those lips kiss all over me over and over again.

I will remember how it feels when I look up into those eyes and hear him say he loves me. Maybe my breath will catch when I remember how good it feels when his hand rests on my thigh; I will bite my lip when I remember how good it feels to be owned.

My whole body will tingle and my senses will miss him again. Only this time I can’t call. This time I will remember how breathtaking it is to look at him from a distance and remember he was mine for a time. This time I will thank whoever let him have me for a while. This time I will feel it and I won’t cry. I will lie there and worship those life-changing, earthmoving lips.

Those lips that will always be home.