How to Love Someone's Back, and Someone's Back Only (2002)
Posted: March 8th, 2009 | Author: admin | Filed under: Prose | Tags: 2002, Araneae, How To, Love Someone's Back, Prose | No Comments »she would press her fingers firmly into his back, kneading each small knot until it gave way to her persistence, and with her fingertips trace the fibers of the muscles. His back, silent–immobile–would occasionally heave with a staggered breath. she would run her palms along the sinews that curtain the spine, leaning over the slightest bit to increase the pressure. her lips were closer to his ear.
/does that feel good?/
she would smile at a muffled reply, and knead each section slowly, with new vigor.
[if she could close her eyes she would only see her body wrapped around his back legs, parallel almost, to his... her forehead anchored at his neck, his response an inevitable arch of the spine.] the only way to handle the situation would have been to flip him over, and see how far the trembling, nervous road would take her.
[he could move his hands beyond the thong, into the realm of the not previously conceived. past each embarrassed smile she drape, he could dive ambitiously into the crevice of her collarbone--slowly--as if to smell the desire with which she enveloped him. she could become a guttural noise, escaping her own mouth when she finally received him. her lust for him could persuade his mind.]
that rush of her dreams would send a shudder through the core of her, until she couldn’t stand hovering above that delicious three inch mark, south of his neck. it would be hard enough to stop.
/time to go to bed/
it was later than she would expect. for a long few seconds she would feel the beating of her own chest, so violent it abuses the last breath her lungs could muster. she would so easily let herself slide between him and the sheets…
[love that back]
…smell the culmination of what she aspired for these past few hours. maybe just sleep. how… to just sleep with your nerves in such a torturous cling?
/you could always stay/
the thud of her chest paraphrased. because she was thinking the same. the first time she would find herself drawn from the shelter under which she had lain so vulnerable. the duplicity of his statement only made her want more.
[there is no other end of the phone waiting for you. you're clear. you could.]
/i don’t think it’s such a good idea/
to elaborate would stretch her statement into a veneer of a lie. she wouldn’t lie to him.
it would be too late to take it back. she would watch the dream asphyxiate, unwilling to assist it into a further life. perhaps it would return to her another time. it’s familiarity would give her such unreasonable hope.
a squeeze goodnight. an innocent jump and tiptoe. sometimes she felt herself regressing.