It Was not Only Her Body That He Was Going to Explore

It was not only her body that he was going to explore, but her tongue, her language, the place where she comes from, the place he has never been to but only heard off, her otherness to him. He would ghost his presence, be completely immersed in her body. But this had to wait. Because there was the long procession of verbal and visual preliminaries, she physically and verbally pushed him away, pulled him in. They were on his sofa, but that meant nothing to him, no confidence, no excessive boldness: they played in each other’s territories. Her words and his words were void of content. They could feel each other’s intentions. And both of them wanted to go in the same direction. He could feel it in his pumping heart. He tentatively explored the jeans on her legs with the tips of his fingers. He didn’t push him away. He jokes about her bully button coming out of her shirt, too short to hide, but not long enough to show too much. He felt himself vibrating. He says it, he says he wants to touch it, kiss it. He touches it, as if a joke. She lets him for a second, and then she pushes him away, ticklish. He fakes grumpiness. She says something so he gets closer as if he couldn’t hear her. They are so close now that the air between them is almost toxic. She cannot look at him so he looks at her lips, her lips that are both thick and slim, a logical impossibility, you want to bite them and be careful, they are both a line and a tenderness. They are those kind of lips that may seem normal at a first look, but when they protrude they promise eternity and bliss. He touches them with his lips, just a touch, he can barely feel it. It’s a test, for both of them. She doesn’t do anything. He cannot look at her now, but he knows she is not looking at him so he dares, they kiss. The warm wetness of her lips makes him tremble again so he holds her face with his hands to steady himself. Her small face apparently so fragile in his palms then he feels the strength of her high, foreign cheekbones and he knows he cannot stop there, he explores her ears, the back of her ears. She is tense, he can feel it. But he is tense too, but not his hands or his lips. They melt at the touch like explorers in the hot of a jungle. His right hand is lost in the silkiness of her hair, they feel like water, they are like a warm waterfall. Bizarrely he pictures himself meditating and getting drown underneath that waterfall, his body a pure nakedness, her hair crushing on him softly, gentle, he is trembling like a statue. Out of his head again, the back of her neck her skin her hair, everything is smooth like silk, she is like something you want to touch forever. He cannot but touch her softly too, like something precious, the tip of two fingers along the side of her neck, slowly, because he wants it to last forever. He wishes his fingers could feel more. But he is as if shocked awake when her tongue invades his mouth. Her hands find the back of his neck, his hair; the other hand is on his lower back, just above his ass. (Please, go down, go down). Her tongue is violent, exploring, taking, there is room only for her in his mouth, he is so overwhelmed, that he is in trance. She suddenly retracts and her teeth hold on to his lower lip as if a hand holding tight to his heart, be it for game or for dear life.

TO BE CONTINUED…