It was not something you could pin a name on; it evaded easy description and categorisation. Jade was not a woman who you could say loved you, even if you thought you loved her. She was evasive, but not in any devious kind of way. It was just that she was like trying to capture something fluid, like water or smoke, in your hands. Just when you thought you had her you would slowly, carefully, open your hands… only to find she was gone.
It was like that in the mornings. Woken by the sunlight of that summer creeping across the room, the curtains fluttering languid in the morning breeze, I would turn to her, only to find her gone.
She wouldn’t be far away, but whenever you thought you had her, she would slip free. Often I would look up from where I lay with my head between her thighs to see her, eyes closed with one arm thrown across her face, and I knew she was not there in the bed with me, but off in some place only she knew the route to.
I knew too, that when she came, I would have to wait for her to come back to me from that far away place her orgasms took her to. She’d open her eyes, look down and smile at me as though she’d just arrived home from some long journey and was glad to see me there, waiting for her return.