She knew their time together would be brief, she knew he would one day join the evanescent group of lovers that had once visited her life, she knew he would give all of himself in the spiraling madness of orgasm and take it all away once this was over.

She knew all this beforehand and yet she went into it wholeheartedly, eagerly, challenging herself to emerge unscarred. He had been like tropical rain, barely giving the land time to prepare itself for the coming turmoil. He had taken her by surprise but she never got to regret it. She had no regrets, after all, she had been waiting for someone like him for years.

The only thing that was real was that he had existed in her life as someone who had wanted her and also someone she had loved. He still existed, far from her, pursuing his own interests and exciting liaisons. She had been cut off from his life by the precise scalpel of his indifference.

There had been too much intensity in their connection, it had not been born to last but to die in its very beginning. And yet, sometimes she thought of him. She thought angrily and also tenderly, she saw him at times as the covenant of pleasure and at others as a messenger of doom. She knew this would have sounded too high-strung to most but then, she had always kept her deepest feelings to herself. This was a habit she had developed out of need and perhaps too many loves.

It had always been clear to her that he had been born to create havoc. His friendly smile hid a shallowness that could break the strongest of hearts, his chivalry only had a purpose and that was the satisfaction of his whims, nothing else mattered to him.

Still, the promise of exciting pleasures dangling from his casualness had been far too enticing not to take at its full value. And so, she hadn´t.

Many would say she had messed up her life but she felt this had been something worth messing up your life for. And somehow she also felt her life had not suffered much damage, the damage would have come from shunning the experience altogether.

At least when old age knocked at her door she could smirk at it and say once she had been wanted madly, passionately as any woman craves to be and that he had been needed and loved as any man dreams of and yet refuses to acknowledge.

His story.

He had known from the beginning their time together, provided there was to be one, would be brief. He did not mind, not in the slightest. Life was to him just a sequence of events, just experiences, some pleasant and some not so pleasant. He just took them as they came.

She had been a whim of his, something he had wanted to own at least for a while. He had been unable to envision her otherwise, there had been too many people and miles between them and too many circles they had not shared.

He had enjoyed her presence for a while till another object of desire had risen on his horizon, He had pranced on it, grateful for life´s way of supplying him with what he needed. No one could blamer for that, he owed it to himself to find happiness.

He seldom thought of her and when he did it was only for a very short time. He had left her with no closure whatsoever, he had just stopped talking to her, he had moved on. Her feelings did not matter much to him as they had not mattered at the time of his ghosting.

He knew that if the same had happened to him he would have shrugged and brushed it aside as he did with everything that threatened his proverbial good mood. Maybe it had been the same for her, he preferred to think so.

He had to wonder about women at times, he ought to take his hat off to them, they were able to feel things with an intensity he had never felt out of purely sexual encounters. It had never been his fault, life was just a game and only good players made it to the top, the others were left reeling. He had not after all created the world and the intricate relationships men and women entertained, he had only fueled it not to feel so cold.

He had never meant to do any harm, he had always been a good boy.