0 comments/ 5261 views/ 1 favorites The Meaning of Life By: Oforyou I don't remember the first time I saw her. Our college campus is small enough everyone has a sense of everyone, even the people they haven't actually met. I do remember the first time I really saw her though. It was late September and the gentle breeze was caressing her as she walked. I swear the breeze was blowing just for her. She closed her eyes and let it nuzzle against her skin, not even minding when the wind lifted up the peplum of her shirt, allowing me to see the small goosebumps on her stomach. I don't know what happened to me in that moment. The air rushed from my lungs all of a sudden, as if hoping to join in that breeze and get a chance to engulf her. Maybe it was love that made my head spin and my eyes lose focus. Maybe it was fate that twisted my stomach into knots at the sight of her. All I know is from that moment forward all I could think of was her. I looked for her everywhere I went. I asked people if the knew her, trying to sound casual as my heart hammered through my chest. I knew somewhere in my bones that I needed to make her mine. When I learned her name my mind would repeat it without prompting like some sort of mantra. Grace. Grace. Grace. Thoughts of her consumed my every waking moment. Half formed dreams of her haunted my nights. And yet I had still never spoken a word to her. That all changed on Halloween weekend. Like any self respecting college student I found myself out at a frat party on a Friday night. I was dressed as a doctor. I knew it was lame and unoriginal, but it was safe and it would keep people from noticing me too much. Grace, on the other hand, was not worried about being noticed in her costume. It was a skin tight black body suit, with a skeleton painted on in glow in the dark paint, so in the dark it would appear that a set of bones was moving around. In the light though, it was just her. Her delicate curves as highlighted so well all I wanted was to run my hands along them. I couldn't help but stare as she danced with her friends. Me and every other male at the the party that is. I'm not sure what got into me at that moment. Perhaps it was the suspicious jungle juice the frat was serving, or maybe it was the weeks of unsatisfied cravings I'd had for this girl. Whatever it was, I found myself doing the impossible. I walked over to her and introduced myself. She smiled at me and I thought my heart would stop. We danced all night and I got her phone number. The next Wednesday I asked her to dinner. We ate Chinese food and she laughed so hard she nearly choked to death. When she found out my birthday was the next week she insisted I go out with her that weekend. I never felt more proud than when I showed up to the club with her on my arm. We danced and drank and soon we were making out on the dance floor. Kissing her was so sweet I couldn't get enough. I pulled her as close as possible. I tangled my hands in her hair, then ran them down her waist, down to her hips, then back. I wanted all of her. I completely forgot we were in a public space. Even if I had remembered I'm sure I wouldn't have cared. All that mattered was her. The next week we went to the park together. I packed us a picnic. We lay in the grass and stared at the clouds go by. She prattled on about how she didn't care about cliches, she'd always wanted to do this. I told her I wanted to giver her all the things she'd ever wanted. To my surprise a single tear slide from her eyes as she nestled against my chest. I wrapped my arm around her and prayed to anything that was listening that this moment would never end. The moment did end though. Thanksgiving break was fast approaching. I was going home that Wednesday morning. As excited as I was to see my family, I couldn't bear the thought of leaving Grace. The whole time I was home we communicated constantly. We talked on the phone every night and when I finally flew back I found her waiting for me at the gate. I was so excited I picked her up and spun her around. It felt like a moment in a movie. That was Sunday. Her roommate didn't have class on Mondays and as such was not coming home until the next afternoon. Grace invited me to spend the night. That night I had her for the very first time. I finally got to see her perfect small breasts that taunted me beneath every shirt she wore. I loved the feel of cupping them in my hands. I loved biting her rosy nipples and making her yelp in surprise. I finally got to taste between her thighs. I took my time. Gently probing her with my fingers while my tongue felt her clit. When I entered her it felt like we were one person. She was so tight I was terrified I would hurt her as I very gently slid my throbbing member inside. Almost as soon as our bodies connected our rhythms synchronized. Every movement of mine was perfectly echoed by her. Every sound I made, she responded to. Soon my mind went blank. The feeling of her warm wetness was too much to bear. The gentle whimpers she made when I thrust deep into her were all I could hear. I bit her neck and squeezed her breasts, trying to connect with her everywhere I could. All I could think about was the meaning of life. The one thing my life was reduced to, then and forever. The only thing that would ever really matter. My one personal mantra. I kept whispering it as I climaxed inside her. Grace. Grace. Grace. The Meaning of Life Ch. 01 Author's note. Hi everyone. To start with I'd like to say that I appreciate any comment, including grammatical nitpicking. I'm writing in a foreign language after all and appreciate all the help I can get. If you've read a few of my stories you may have noticed that they take place in the same city and that people from previous stories keep getting involved. The Tina Trip stories are set elsewhere and thirty years earlier, but Tina and Johan live in the city and have made some appearances in the background. "Mate" would be the best place to start, it's also the story I'm most proud of so far. Isabelle in this story has a small role in "Ho Before Bros", which is mainly about Marie and (of course) Ho. Peter is one of the protagonists of "Mate". He also appears in "Pond Life" which is a darker and perhaps more demanding story. Voting has been very divided on that one – either one point or five. I'm stubbornly keeping to the romance category, since the central notion of all the stories is the healing power of love, possible for even the thoroughly fucked up, like Jimmy in "Pond Life". All right, that's all. I hope you enjoy this story. Risgrynsfisk ––––––––––– Lukas "This is shit!" I thought. It was. I was bored and I didn't care that a lot of guys would have loved to be me right then. Hell, they would have loved to be me at all times. I was sitting in an exclusive rich-boy night club with a goodly amount of cocaine in my blood and a stripper between my legs trying to wake up my surly dick. No go, and I didn't even care about not getting it up. I petted the strippers blond head. "Not your fault, doll." I gave her a large tip and she disappeared. My friends...no, not really friends...but the guys I came here with, seemed to enjoy themselves. It was all incredibly depressing. "I'm going home." I said. They were shocked, or something. "What the fuck, Lucke, we just came!" "And I just came...ha ha ha" "Come on, the night is young!" "Don't be such a pussy, Lucke!" But just such a pussy I was. I pussied out (and pussy-paid their tab up to then) into the night. Walking home might clear my head, I thought, but it did not get all that much clearer. One thing that was eminently clear,though, was that it was meaningless to have fun when it bored me out of my skull. The guys would be sore but I didn't really care, I didn't even particularly like them. The walk was short since I, of course, lived in a luxurious apartment in central Stockholm, not far from the rich-boy playgrounds. The night was full of people desperately yearning to get in where I just got out and I felt a little sad that they thought it was so important. Did that mean that I was one step less confused than them? Maybe, maybe not. Didn't really matter. I just wanted to sleep. Sleep and preferably not wake up for a long, long time. Isabelle "Hi, I'm Isabelle and I'm a fucking failure!" My image in the mirror didn't answer, but it made a face signaling total agreement. "Come on!" my best friend Estelle yelled . "You can't be a failure at twenty-five. You're not where you want to be right now but you're smart and you're pretty and the future belongs to you." All right – so I'm not ugly. All right – so I'm not stupid. Or maybe I am, at least when it comes to strategy. Studying archaeology, for instance, was perhaps not the smartest thing I could have done from a strategic point of view. It is very hard to make a living as an archaeologist, jobs are few and there are a lot of eager amateurs who love to dig for free. I knew, I had been one of them. Digging great holes in the ground with a toothbrush is perhaps not everybody's idea of a perfect summer, but I loved it and wanted that to be my life. So, again from a strategic point of view, it was perhaps not very wise to try and pull the beard off that fucking asshole who bossed over that latest dig I worked on. And of course it was me who was kicked off the site and not mister can't-keep-my-fucking-paws-to-myself. Now I was (unofficially of course) blacklisted by him and his cronies and making a living from archaeology was one dead dream. Boyfriends...shit, the less said the better. Plenty of turds wanting to fuck me, but none that I wanted to be with wanted to be with me. The other night (embarrassing!!) I even managed to be a failure as a groupie. I was horny and this bass-player was just so hot. I could tell he was interested, but then he turned on the big head and remembered he was married. Just as well, I'm not into fucking other ladies husbands. Lukas "This is shit!" I thought. It was. Again – lots of people would have loved to be in my place, but it was not what I wanted to do, whatever that was. I realized I had not been paying attention and did not know what they were talking about. I made an effort but nothing registered. All I heard was meaningless business catchwords and phrases. Someone showed a power-point with a lot of diagrams, about what I did not know. My friends...no, not my friends (except for Karl)...but the people I work with, seemed to be enjoying themselves. It was all incredibly depressing. "I'm going home." I said. They were shocked, or something. No one quite called me a pussy, though. "Call me after the meeting." I told Karl, who nodded. I went to my office, but I couldn't bear being there, either. I wanted to get away from everything but you cannot just get away without going to something and I had no idea where I wanted to go. Home? No. Bar? Double no. Out? Not really, but better than home. Out, then. The weather was terrific, which I thought was very inconsiderate. I had preferred fog or a gloomy drizzle, but the sun shone with the demented jolliness of a mall Santa on crack showing up for work in the middle of summer. For about five seconds that image made me feel slightly better, that and the thought that I was not wearing a cap and a polyester beard in the heat. A tailored suit and hand-made shoes were perhaps not all that much better for a depressed walkabout, though, except from an aesthetic point of view. It was not good for blending in, that much was sure. Just about everyone I met had an opinion of me, or so it felt, and I tended to agree with those (and they were many) whose silent judgment was "Yuppie scum!" Isabell I love my mother. Yes, I do love my mother. If she died I would be devastated. If, for instance, she was run over by a car which would then reverse and run over her a second time I would not applaud and I would definitely not be the one who drove the fucking car. "I told you so!" "Yes, mother dear, you told me so. And you have also told me that you told me so. Many times." "I told you that archaeology was a bad idea. You're a smart girl. You could have had a real job now. A nurse or something, they have no problems getting a job." I didn't answer. I was too busy imagining other scenarios that would sadden me deeply if they really happened, like my mother being eaten by goats or trampled to death by wild ducks. "What shall you do now?" my mother asked. I didn't answer that, either. Not so much because I was imagining gory deaths but simply because I didn't have a clue. Lukas I met up with Karl in the park. When he arrived I had been sitting on this park bench for a long time, watching people passing by with or without dogs or kids or partners or balloons. Or friends. I was damn sure that none of them had my advantages and right now I was also pretty sure that very few of them were as lost and meaningless as I was. Pathetic! Maybe I should get a dog. Or a balloon. Karl sat down and handed me a hot dog. I vaguely remembered that he had asked me if I had eaten when he called. Nice of him. Way more considerate than the weather. "I can't take it." I said. "I know." "I'm just not good enough." "I know." "I don't know what to do." "I do – get out." "I can do that?" "Of course. I've seen this coming. You're smart enough, you know enough , you have the people skill – but you don't want it bad enough." "I don't want it at all anymore." "Matter of fact, I've been looking into some options. We need a solution that leaves the company strong without shafting you." "That would be nice." "The Olsson group are willing to take over. You would never have to worry about money, and they would be excellent owners for the company, we would continue to build on what your father and grandfather built." "We. I understand. Well – it's good to know that you would be there. That is a must." "Thank you." "Were you thinking of kicking me out?" "If I had to. But nicely." "Good. Only thing that worries me is what I shall do when I don't have to do what I thought I had to do." "Whatever you want to do you. Money is no obstacle. But I can't see you just playing for the rest of your life." "No, I'm sick of that already. It's probably the most extremely first-world problem in the history of man, but I really don't have a clue. Isabell My father very seldom irritates me these days, so I went to him hoping for advice. He is not the most talkative person in the world but sometimes his reticence is comforting and helps me to think. "You know, dad," I told him, " it's not that there's a great immediate panic or that I'll starve or anything. But my life needs a new direction." He didn't answer, but at least he didn't tell me I was stupid or irresponsible. A yellow butterfly fluttered towards me and landed on my shoulder. I felt like it was kissing my cheek. Then it flew away, staggering through the air like someone really drunk, the way butterflies do. It flew towards the sun until I lost sight of it in the glare. I waited for a bird to catch it and eat it, but no. "Thanks dad. Great direction!" I sat on a conveniently placed bench right by his grave, soaking up the sun, wishing we had been able to hold as relaxed conversations as this while he was alive. Right. Go for the sun. Don't fear hungry birds, mothers or melting wax. Don't let moth-eaten beards obscure the light. Fuck archaeology for a while, fuck career. Maybe moth-beard would go down for sexual harassment and zap I'd be back in the running. Probably not, though, but I would get me a nice voodoo-doll and a lot of pins. You never know. Meanwhile, I would aim at having fun for a while. If I couldn't have my jollies with my digging-brush I would get them elsewhere. But where? I've always been a party girl and I like clubbing, but that couldn't be my direction. A diversion can't be a direction. What did I really love, apart from old bones? Music. Lukas Become a Buddhist? Run marathons? Do heroin? Walk the earth and do good deeds? Become passionate about art? Play an instrument? Get a dog? Ten dogs? Buy a boat and sail round the world? Climb Mount Everest? The possibilities were depressingly endless. I didn't think I was particularly creative and I couldn't see myself as much of an adventurer. But I didn't know, did I? I had spent all of my life trying to fill my preordained role. And failed. I decided I would have to embark on a journey of discovery, to find out what I liked and what I was capable of. Or I could just keep up my recent activity, to lie in a depressed heap feeling sorry for myself. No. Better then to write a lot of activities of potential benefit, put them in a hat and let fate decide where to begin. A week-long course in tantric veda meditation? Thanks a lot, fate. Yeah, I know, I wrote the note and I put it in the hat. I had checked a magazine and written down all those ads about courses and activities. There were some I was less keen on than others but no cheating. A bit of tantric veda was, perhaps, just what I needed. I looked up tantric on Wikipedia, but the explanation didn't explain anything, far as I was concerned. I read "The universe is an aspect of the godhead," before my eyes glazed over. Old. Hindu. Well, all right, I'd give it a go. They wanted a certificate that I had been tested for STDs with my application. What? What kind of "head" are we talking about here? Back to Wikipedia and this time I asked it to please enlighten me on the combination "tantric sex". It promptly told me that this was mainly a western, new age kind of thing, sex as a spiritual whatever. Divine sex sounded like an interesting thing to have a course in. At least my eyes did not glaze over reading about it. I had things to keep me busy while waiting. Tons of papers to sign, and yeah, I read them first. I may be sick of that world, but I am not stupid. Everything was okay, like I had expected from Karl, and when the last papers were signed I had an obscene amount of money. On paper I had been a lot richer when I owned most of the company but I had never had as much money as now. I will not give you any figures, since I find them somewhat embarrassing but it was enough for just about anything except buying a Premier League football team and make it successful. Fine with me, didn't want that anyway. I felt no inclination to play with the money and try to make it grow as fast as possible. I put it in safe but boring places and decided to not touch it, just live on the interest. I still could afford just about anything. I could certainly afford a meditation course. Isabell Yes, music. I wanted to be in a band. Me and my friends had an all-girl pop-group for a few years. Estelle played the drums and she was pretty lousy, mainly because she never could be bothered to practice. I had been serious about it though, and I really loved it the few times we played in front of an audience. When I got into archaeology I didn't have enough time for a band but I played regularly by myself and I felt I still had it. Keyboards. Estelle cheered me on, as usual. "Great idea, Bella. You'll be a star. Or maybe not, but at least you'll have fun. Go for it." "Problem is finding the right group. I don't want them to be too damn serious, but not beginners either. They have to make music I like and they have to be nice." "Sounds like a tall order." I suppose it did and I suppose it was, but I knew people and the people I knew knew people too. About a week later I stood outside a warehouse in an industrial section of the town, waiting for Spit Spot On to arrive. I had received a phone call the other day that they needed someone playing keyboards and they had heard about me. A thin, blond guy arrived on a bike. He looked like he was about thirty-five but he looked younger, and I wondered why I didn't simply think he was younger instead of older and looking younger. "Maybe it was his eyes," I thought as he approached me. His eyes looked like they had seen everything and now they were taking me in. I'm used to guys looking at me but the way he did was new. Wow. "Hi, I'm Peter." "Isabell. You with Spit Spot On?" "Possibly. As yet we change names every week. Ho seems to think that half the fun of being in a band is making up silly band names." "Hoe?" "No. Ho. Our bass player. Lives with Marie. I guess you are the keyboard girl?" "Yep, that's me." "I'm known for my powers of observation. I miss no detail. Such as you're a girl and that you're carrying that keyboard. I hope you work out, I like you." "Thank you." "I like that you're so pretty and yet I can look at you. That's good." "If you say so." Was he coming on to me? If he was he was doing a pretty good job since I didn't feel like he was and yet I was attracted to him. "Here they come." A rusty old Volvo did a noisy entrance and parked beside Estelle's little Hyundai that I had borrowed. A largeish woman and a large man emerged. "Hi there," she said. "Shit, it's you!" "Hello Isabelle", he said. Shit! He was that bass-player I tried to seduce. And she was in that band too and saw it and it's her he's married to. Shit, shit, shit. I just wanted to run! Lukas Guru Gag (aka Göran) was talking again, our illuminated course leader. As yet I had never managed to listen to more than two sentences without tuning him out. He was like a board-meeting, only worse. Meaningless catch-phrases stapled upon each other like ugly clothes in a trendy store, cheap and bought by those easily impressed. But who was I to pass judgment? Most of my co-coursers seemed happy enough with Guru Gag's words of wisdom and I did not want to do anything to lessen their enjoyment of this course. There were elements of the course that I did enjoy, too. To my surprise I actually enjoyed meditating, as soon as I stopped bothering about that silly mantra Guru Gag had given me. I entered a state of passivity that was restful and interesting to me. I even thought passively. Thoughts and memories and whatever were welcome and I let them pass by without doing anything active about them, like judging them. The food was terrible. In fact it was so terrible it was amusing. Several times I very nearly laughed out loud when they had managed to cook something even viler than last time, which I had thought was impossible. It probably was healthy, though. Vegan, of course. Salt was bad for you and so was most spices, except ginger. Buckwheat was the king and queen of all foods. Both king and queen since it was the only food which was perfectly centered, equally yin and yang. Now, I don't mind buckwheat, but saltless buckwheat porridge twice a day will not be a part of my future life. Then there was that tantric sexual aspect. We were encouraged to touch, if we were both comfortable with touching, "if our auras meshed". One red-headed, slightly plump but pleasant-looking woman named Bea definitely thought our auras meshed. The first time we met she complimented me on mine, which she said was pleasantly orange. I have often been pursued by women but never because of my aura and it made a welcome change to being pursued because I was rich. She was a bit older than me, which also was a pleasant change. Bea was new age-ish of course, they all were. Some were new age in a silly way, like Guru Gag, but Bea managed to be far out and down to earth at the same time. It was fun to never know if she would say something profoundly sensible or profoundly dizzy. She rubbed herself against me when the opportunity offered itself, which it often did. I was in no way opposed to a little rubbing and on the third night we made love. Tantric sex was slow, almost as passive as meditation. In a way it was a form of meditation, being present in the now and the soft, warm togetherness. She smelled good, un-deoed female bodyscent with a hint of incense. The window was open, the night was warm and the moon was full. Mosquitos fed on our slowly writhing bodies where we lay stroking each other and it was okay that nature got some of our blood. At first I worried that I would soften when not so much was happening, but no. I was harder than ever but softer than ever in the rest of me. We never mentioned a future, we both knew that this was it and that was fine with us. We had a week, we would let our souls mesh and fertilize one another, and then we would part. We didn't make love every night, but almost. Bea was totally different from every previous sexual partner I had had and she taught me a lot. The course as a whole taught me a lot, too – not the least in the things that I didn't like. Isabell "It's okay," Marie said. "Don't worry," said the bassman. He was a lot bigger, bigger and, well, fatter, than I remembered him. His smile was very nice, though. Gentle. "I'm so embarrassed. And you must think I'm a terrible person for hitting on your husband." "Not husband, no. He lied about being married, the little scamp. But we got together soon after." " "I was in love with Marie, of course. But I was very tempted. It would not have been fair to you, though, since that leathery rock-star type doesn't really exist. In this group, today called Buckwheat Broncos, I can be myself. To avoid any misunderstandings I should mention that Peter is married." The Meaning of Life Ch. 01 "Haa haa," I said, but I was a little disappointed. "Let's get started," Marie said. "And relax, Isabell, you're among friends, here." They had a great place to rehearse in, they shared it with Ground Zero Naughts, of course, which is Marie's main group. Ho didn't really play in the Naughts, he was just a sub that night I saw them. The Naughts are punk, but Ho had a very soft touch on the bass when plying as himself. His bass sort of muttered gently in the background. He was happy to stay there, playing his basic bass-lines and let others shine.Gentle and steady, that's Ho. Peter was playing his drums like no one I ever heard. He was utterly unschooled and couldn't be bothered by how a drummer was supposed to play. He told me he had been playing more than ten years by himself but that this was the first time he played with others. It was totally different. Before when he played he played to keep everything out, now he had to take us in and drum as a togetherness. Gentle, too, but wild. Marie liked to be totally crazy on the guitar, but she was a team-player nevertheless. She sang, too, but sighed that she was too much of a punk-singer for these songs, although she had written them. They wanted to know if I could sing, but sorry – I sing like a frog. A run-over frog. But they were happy with my keyboarding and I was happy with them and with the material. Smart pop with charm and I was allowed a lot of space to do my thing. We had a lot of fun, I was happy, they seemed happy, and I did not think of moth-beard the whole evening.