On the extras.
His fingers were already in my cunt, and his breath was leaving sweet droplets along my neck. I was getting bored and the painfully arrhythmic hip motions I was trying so desperately to make seem sensual were going nowhere.
There’s something about people you can’t touch – professors, parents, rabbi’s. Ex-lovers or ex-friends, the restless or the abroad.
I met him at the airport and kissed him on the cheek. Days of a past life bled through, reliving our days staring into the sun under wide brim hats, boots resting on the banister. We had already spent hours exchanging trivial grievances about our wives with the dull taste of wheat underneath our tongues. Between us, words flowed with abandon. There was no restraint, only a tender admiration for the other’s attention. With no guarantees and no need to lie, as much as to be honest, we believed we were safe. Sometimes distance feels so much like safety.
The cab ride home was peppered with giggles and touches that stung with a year’s ache released. We moved closer when the other talked, dipping our heads as if we had been whispering. The apprehensiveness shed itself with our clothes as we ripped the fabric from each other’s bodies. We were seven years old again, playing a game of physical tug-of-war. Come closer, not that close, wait, stop, go, stay, come, come, come. It felt like remembering. He was a photograph living. It was as if I had wandered into the silent cinema with the lights on. It was all too familiar, but with the inky corners lit brightly, stale popcorn and forgotten scarves lining the edges. The sex came easier, later.
When I fuck someone I think I’m really just asking them another never-ending series of physical questions. In this way, what sex is ever empty? It only became un-redeeming in the moments where after sex had become routine and there were no questions asked or answered. The people you love most can leave you the emptiest. What do you taste like? Will you close your eyes? Do you know how much you look like your father? How do you sound when you cum? Do you still wake up in the middle of the night with the taste of blood in your mouth? Will you command me to open my legs? Will you tenderly push them apart? These are the last questions I ever ask – the most private, the most vulnerable, and the hardest to manufacture. Sex is an unburdened truth; the one place all bleed personality.
His fingers were already in my cunt, and his breath was leaving sweet droplets along my neck. I was getting bored and the painfully arrhythmic hip motions I was trying so desperately to make seem sensual were going nowhere. I swung a leg across his body and kissed him on the mouth, laughing.