Night to Remember

The following is an excerpt from my April Camp Nano project tentatively called Masochistic Tendencies.  Fortunately, it also fits one of the prompts for our Flash Fiction. 


I never imagined I could lay next to a naked girl and not think of sex. How was that even possible, a younger me might ask, all the parts are right there! But here we were, her bare back pressed against my chest, my arms wrapped around her body, her hand holding mine between her breasts. Our legs were mingled together and my face rested against her shoulder. We were doing everything possible to make two separate people fit in the space of one. Despite that, being able to immediately transition into love-making of the finest caliber wasn’t even a blip on my personal radar. I don’t know what she was thinking, but my only thought was, “This is right. This is how everything should be.”

It’s what I believed then, and it’s still what I believe now. Life is only worth living for moments like that, and that happiness is being so completely comfortable with someone that you are with them at your most vulnerable and still feel protected. Sure the sex was great and all that, especially at the time when we were going at it like rabbits every day, but sex can be had anywhere. At least in theory. Sex was more of a relief that our notions of attractiveness were compatible enough to generate a physical response. It’s happened before, and it will happen again. The peace of mind that came from that bed though was such a unique feeling in my life that I would have done anything to keep it.

Strands of her hair danced against my face as I breathed her in. I nuzzled her slightly, that secret spot where her neck met her shoulder, and I felt her lips flex into a smile. Her hair on my cheeks was the only coarseness I felt against her smooth, cool skin, reminding me that this was real. Like when you pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming. It was a reminder that life had worked out, that all the bullshit in the past was worth it to spend this one night right here together.

Amy muttered something in her half sleep, and I mumbled something back, my lips brushing against her skin with every half-realized word. The actual words weren’t important, just the confirmation that we were both still there for each other. Our mere touch wasn’t enough, I needed every sense to make sure she wouldn’t disappear in a puff of smoke. The shape of her bare shoulder loomed as a shadow beneath my heavy eyelids, the scent of her lilac shampoo overpowered me with each breath. Every twitch, every small movement, every breath was felt by each other, both of us relishing in the closeness of someone we loved absolutely and unconditionally.

If there is a heaven, and if it’s the most perfect, happiest moment of my life, then I’ll spend eternity in that bed.

I don’t remember the exact date this night happened. Hell, I might have it combined with a dozen similar nights. Or maybe I made half of it up without even realizing, going back into my memories and painting in the blanks the way they should have been colored. Maybe I’m giving into a wish fulfillment fantasy that didn’t exist.

But the happiness was real. I know that. I’ve spent every minute since trying to get that feeling back.

In his pretend life, August Baker is a retail monkey who channels anger and loathing into something vaguely resembling literature. In his real life, he is a Space Pirate.


  • So very well done, sir. You captured that feeling of falling in love, of being in love, with a spectacular economy of words, and without making it sappy in any way. And the melancholy last line adds even more to the potency of that feeling, especially for all of us who have loved and lost.

  • August Baker says:

    Thank you Sara, I really appreciate that.

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