This is a story about love. It’s also about passion, which isn’t the same thing but has a little in common with it.
Mostly it’s about secrets, the big, dark ones that can consume a soul and the little ones we keep because our life is simpler that way. This is a story about two people who think they know each other, and the secrets they keep from each other. People may think that they know each other well, but still see the same things very differently.
Really, it’s a story about lies. Without lies, there could be no secrets because all lies are secrets in their not-telling. Without secrets there could be no mystery, no surprise, no wonderment, and the world would be a poorer place.
People with manners understand that lies are a necessary part of civilised life. Honesty is presented as a virtue, but we’ve all had the unpleasant experience of meeting individuals that are too truthful, justifying rudeness by not being false, boasting that people either love them or hate them. Missing the point that generally, people just dislike them but are too polite to tell them the truth.
Few people will publicly recommend deceit. To be a good liar, you must appear honest. Conceal the reaction in your eyes when you realise you know something that the person talking to you doesn’t. Don’t squander the moment rashly, destroying precious illusion. Every moment that passes while you don’t creates an unknowing, giving falsehood the weight of truth.
This is also a story about sex. Some of it mundane, some rather kinky. Those nervous and childish should leave, but the strong, the brave and the wondrous have nothing to fear.