Sleeping and Outstretched...
Jun 09 '03 (Updated Jan 11 '04)
The Bottom Line The following piece contains themes of an adult nature and may not be suitable for readers of all ages. Reader discretion is advised.
Your right arm is outstretched and folded back, resting gently under your pillow that holds your head, as you lie sleeping on your back in this lonely hotel room. Your closed eyes hide an excitement and a beauty unlike anything I've ever known.
The side of your face, the hair pulled back into a pony, the bit of hair that gently whiffs over the top and bottom of your small ear, gently framing it and highlighting its subtle beauty - making me long to just kiss it and hold its soft lobe between my lips even if for but a moment.
Your chin, your lips resting silently, my lips longing to just reach out and taste yours - a pleasure of dreams that would just be so amazing if only it could happen just once and be so passionate, oh if even for just a fraction of a tenth of a second, I know it would hold more meaning than anything I've ever experienced ever before.
And I picture briefly the only time I've ever seen your lips kiss, with that other man, lost on the dance floor, your arms wrapped seductively around his neck and over the nape of his neck, his hands running down your back and over you’re a s s, trying to turn you on from behind perhaps, and kissing you deeply, so deeply, so wonderfully deeply for what seems to be a never ending eternity.
It angers and saddens me, knowing what I saw, even though I know it means nothing. And even if it were to mean nothing, if it was me in your arms, and not him, oh how I wish it had been me. I stumbled across you on that dance floor, expecting to find you alone and perhaps waiting for me. But you were with him, and my heart crumbled and collapsed, my breathing tightened and my capillaries and veins folded and collapsed in on themselves, leaving me almost wanting to fall into the wall that is near me, wanting me to collapse onto the floor to die. But somehow I stayed and eventually we left together.
And now we are here.
Your breathing is regular and steady and I can so easily remember all the times when my head rested on your chest or on your back, as we snuggled in close to each other, and I could hear your heartbeat becoming a part of me as I'd just lose touch with reality being there in your arms, just lost in that solemn comfort that only exists when I'm ever so close to you.
You are so amazing and wow how you moan so slightly in your sleep. I watch and listen to its high pitch. It's short and sharp and it reminds me of the orgasmic moans you teased me with as we chased each other half naked and drunk around the room earlier that night. And maybe that will be the closest I'll ever be but I got to touch you then, and feel you then, your hair, your skin and my fingers between that cloth of your Hanes Her Way and the gentle smooth touch of your skin. And I saw you briefly too, as you rolled and romped with me, its dark hair, its smooth skin, exposed there briefly from under that dark skirt, its every unexplored feeling forever etched deep within my aching, lonely mind.
I will love you always, even if the dreams can never be.
I get up out of my bed, and head to the washroom, leaving you alone for awhile, lost in your dreams. And when I return, I find you've moved in your sleep, and your face is no longer on an angle facing away from me, rather it is in full profile toward me, and your muscles twitch a bit, causing your lips to part a bit and you breathe even deeper now. Your eyes are still closed but the blankets and the shirt you ear rise and fall more traceably now and your foot, it twitches beneath the sheets as you move a leg so slightly and I wish I knew what it was like to have that leg rubbing gently against mine.
God how I'd love to cross beds and just lie with you completely and fall naked with you into a deep sleep of ever-enchanting dreams. You appear so silent, so mysterious but I fear that you feel empty or vacant inside, I worry that you may have lost something inside tonight when you were with him, and all I want is to uncomplicate it all, to pull you up out of your void, into the warmth of a safe love, where I could keep you with me, in spite of the midst of that unruly sun that burns so sharp and so deep, and God, that seemingly cruel, cruel, heartless world.
The definition of your arm leading into its pit, complete with a slightly dark, shaven stubble, so smooth and finely black, its so erotic. I picture you disheveled, your long black hair streaming down over your bare chest, you looking deep into my eyes, your naked body breathing and rising and lowering in the air of the hot room. And the deep succulent feel of my lips taking your right nipple into my mouth completely consumes me and the wonder of my hand clamped down on your left depresses me as I fall into a dangerous void that blurs the boundaries of lust and friendship.
So I start your vodka mixer, as mine is all dried up and empty clear, a bit of moisture from my lips left on its side and it sits empty, illuminated by the lampshade light that shines in the middle of our room, filling that space between you and me. Your glass was closer to you and your arm but now sits on the naked hardwood bedside table top alone and half full as I sip it every now and then.
My own empty glass is wrapped in Kleenex which was used to suck up the moisture of the sweat the icy glass would have earlier produced, but now doesn't, just like yours did but doesn't now. It's contents are warm and bittersweet, like the air that surrounds you and me.
Right now, I'm horny and high but soon I will fall and be so sad and so tired that I know I won't ever find you in that darkened void of sleep and memory. So I just chug the tumbler and set it down hard and empty, my face wincing and I just grab another chocolate to chew as an inadequate chaser and again I end up looking across at your face that is once again in full view and I dream what if and just lie there, hoping that at least you know, that I care.
My taste for hard liquor scares me as I get up and pour a straight glass, it doesn't even taste that strong, in fact it tastes like I'm accomplishing some unseen challenge, whereas beer tastes bitter and sour, more nightmarish to consume than the warmth of a vodka or a rum. And I can't help but ask if you know I care. I can't help but hope, that you know. But there are boundaries, you say, there are boundaries. You can't cross the boundaries because that would be wrong you say, it would be wrong. It's wrong. But how is love wrong?
So I turn out the light and lie back down, lost in confusion and the knowledge that my week has been filled with memories, hauntings and nightmares that I never will forget.
(c) June 9, 2003, Steven H. Lee
Other Pieces of Steve's Short Fiction...
1. Writing on Napkins
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Epinions.com ID:
firstcontact21
|
 - Top 1000 |
|
Member: Steven Lee
Location: Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada
Reviews written: 173
Trusted by: 123 members
|
|
|
© 1999-2009 Shopping.com, Inc.