Another minute of silence passed between us before the plate was tossed aside and we slid down to the floor in a soapy, wet mess. We were gentle, and experimental, as all new lovers are, probing and searching for the places inside one another where we could draw out pleasure. The urgency and intensity of it all was almost overwhelming; the feeling of cold tile and warm skin, the slickness of flesh, and tastes of our bodies mingling in our mouths as we tore at each other, almost violently. The bright white light of the kitchen, illuminated everything, and left nothing to discretion.
When we were done, we lay there together, naked on the cool floor, holding tight to each other and discussing the merits of keeping a 401k plan, despite their complete lack of sex appeal, while the ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, casting hypnotic shadows to the far corners of the room.
…And we sat on the side of the small footbridge. Our feet dangling over the side: my toes dipped into the water, but yours didn’t quite reach.You said it was ok, because as little waves passed by beneath us, they kissed the soles of your feet, and that was enough for you.I let my hand creep across the void between us.Gently, almost with reverence, I’d say, I took your hand in mine.You looked at me and said, “You know what I like?â€â€What?†I said, I couldn’t wait for your answer; you were my entire world in that moment.“Cake,†You said, “I really like cake.â€I looked down at my wavering reflection in the water, smiled and replied, “Yeah, me too.â€
...and, if you let me touch your hand, i'll take it as a sign that you want to make out.
I am entranced by the sounds of the city streets, the ba-bump-a-thump of the wheels on concrete. Engines, dancing past, to destinations unknown, “there are,†I think, “so many stories that remain untold.†Even now, in times so late, and the Armageddon looming on the horizon, ever present in our ebony gold lives of decadent disdain. For we have so much, and so little is ever remembered.
this vacuum sucks.
I’m lying on my back looking up at you; the weight of your body is pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. You’re drooling a thin line of white spit from your mouth, letting it dangle above my face, between my eyes. Right before it breaks, you suck it back up and start over again.
I’m thinking about how beautiful you are.
Staring down at me, your face is a passive mask, no emotion at all. I’m reminded of how much it looks like it did the morning that you tried to suffocate me. When it happened, I began having a dream that I was floating through water, staring at a distant murky surface. I watched as bubbles of air floated from my mouth and made their drunken wobble to the top, where they disappeared with a pop. At some point I began hearing your voice cut through the water, coming from somewhere off in the distance. I tried to ignore it and stay in my dream, but self preservation pulled me into consciousness. Suddenly I could hear your voice clearly, saying, “You stupid motherfucker, die god dammit. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck,†which, I have to say was a little alarming.
Mmm, ok, so, these days, when I do masturbate, it’s someone telling me that they love me. We’re usually sitting across from each other at a table near the front windows of the coffee shop that I spend most of my time in. We lean forward, our elbows propped up on the table, looking into each others eyes. The sun is bright and every color is electric and piercing. The two of us are the only ones in the room, but there are cups and dishes, books and mp3 players, scattered around the place, as if everyone disappeared right before the fantasy began.