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Walking back from dinner, she gives me that sexy look,
that shared secret lover’s look, with her dark curly
hair pulled under her red felt hat, that secret we’re
each other’s look.
In bed, I caress her hand. It’s cooler than mine. Mine
must feel warm to her. Hers is small and delicate. I
appreciate the delicacy of it. She is almost naked. So
am I. I could caress any part of her body, but I
choose her smooth hand. I press her hand against my
chest and run it down my stomach. I want to move it
down to that place, but I am afraid. She is afraid of
that place too. She likes when I touch her, but she
doesn’t like to touch me. She runs her fingers over my
body with apprehension. When she kisses my body, I
barely feel it. I want to tell her to kiss harder, but
I don’t. I pretend that everything she does is magic.
She pretends too.
She stands with the inside of her back arched, her
legs straight, her curly hair falling down. She has a
long posture. I want to lick her spine from tailbone
to top. But I am afraid to unbutton her pants. She is
moody and silent.
On the phone, she acts like she would rather talk to
anyone besides me. It amuses me, even while it hurts.
She never says my name. She never says her name. She
just says, hi.
I love her smile. I never tell her, because everybody
says they love somebody’s smile. I guess we are part
of everybody too. I love when she smiles. When she
smiles, I feel like she loves me.
Strands of her hair tangle between our lips and on my
tongue.
I worry that she smells the rankness of my sheets. She
says she likes the way I smell. She sleeps curled with
her back to me. I tuck one arm under her neck, wrap
the other around her waist, and pull her close. I wish
she would face me. I worry. Does it make her
uncomfortable to feel my erection pressed against her?
She says that she sleeps well when she’s with me. The
feel of her naked body in the dark.
I raise my head to see her.
Her dark hair rests in curls on my pillow. Her lips
are parted. I could kiss her. She might not mind. She
is probably asleep, but she might not mind one more
kiss. I don’t want to disturb her. I have to move my
arm, it aches from the weight of her head. I am eager
for morning, for my alarm to ring, when I can kiss
her, when she will leave. Then I will spread out over
my whole bed and sleep.
I kiss her in the morning and taste the sourness of
her mouth. She must taste the sourness of my mouth
too. Did she decide then that it was over? While I was
trying to kiss her?
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