uncomfortabler

Well…

The weight of her upper body condensed and pressing down on my chest; her fingernails pressing into my chest as she balanced herself with one hand on me, the other running through her hair, pulling it back and away from her face as she breathed heavily.

We’d tangled ourselves into a mess on the bed, arriving home after a night spent in the company of friends - a “couple’s night out” at that friendly restaurant just a cab ride away. Conversation light and shallow, nothing at all negative, but at the same time, unsubstantial, unsatisfying. Cocktails for the ladies, beers for the men. And of course, with the night winding down, the fragmentation occurring, the gossip between the women playing in a higher tone above the gruff and stoic discussion of sports between the men.

All of this - she was content. Okay fine, more than content. A smile lit upon her lips with me in tow. “We can be a couple,” it said, loudly, to anyone who would listen by looking at her face. At the way our fingers interlocked as I led her, or she led me, out the restaurant, onto the street. As we sat in the cab, her head resting on my shoulder, hand stroking my chest carelessly.

It wasn’t lust pulling me down onto the bed, my shirt half-unbuttoned.

It wasn’t lust kissing me on the lips, breath hard and loud.

She rolled on top of me, her hips pinning mine, hands deftly unbuttoning the rest of my shirt. I pulled her skirt upward, the fabric lifting up and over her spread thighs. Tugging at my undershirt with her fingers, she took a sharp breath as my hands squeezed her hips. She let her body fall forward, one hand landing squarely on my chest with her body weight balanced on it. Yes, we’re at the beginning again.

The hand in her hair now dropped and crossed her body, her face concealed. She pulled at her wrap top, revealing her bra, pulling the blouse off her shoulders and struggling to toss it off the bed. I reached up and squeezed gently, feeling the hard nipple through the pink lacy padding. Her weight on my hips started to cause discomfort. I didn’t mind - the heat starting to soak through the front of my pants, dribbling down deeper with each second.

Allowing herself to fall forward, the mess of hair interfering, we kissed. Her body leaning over mine, my hands quickly at my belt, pants, blindly pulling it apart, grunting quietly, wriggling my way out. Dogged determination got it down and around my knees, my boxer shorts thinly hiding my hardness. She leaned back and off me, to steal a breath, her hips landing again, her panty-covered-pussy suddenly pressing on top of my cock. With her hair covering her face, I couldn’t see her eyes widen or shut or wince.

Weight pressing on my chest. Fingernails digging in through the white cotton undershirt. My hands at my boxers, cock now burst free through the open fly; at her panties, thumb pressing into fabric circling around her clit, then pulling the thin material to the side.

Hot-wet-tight in one thrust.

I can’t say I slipped in, the panties pushed aside not giving me much room. In fact, cutting into the side of my cock with an artificial tightness. My face grimacing as she rocked back and forth, as I pushed my hips up and down - unable to synchronize - unrhythmic - out of tune.

Difficulty in pressing inward, but persevering, jamming my cock into her pussy. Feeling the spongy ridges and textures of her insides, the friction propelling us both further and faster into breathlessness. My hands chaotically pulling at her bra, a strap falling off her shoulder and down her arm, a breast pulled free, a nipple between fingers.

“I love you, [six]!” she spat, the half-exhaled words without control as she began to shake. “Tell me you love m- eeeeaaaah” she cried, each word dragging and crawling itself out.

In a strained sit-up, I bit the skin where her neck meets her shoulder. I managed a muffled sound - a half “mmmph” and grabbled her back with my hands, pulling her body as close as possible to mine, the shuddering of her orgasm rippling through her, my own now coming hard and fast, erupting with a gasp of my own.

The panties still cutting into the side of my cock, I pulled myself out and she rolled off me, falling asleep nestled under my arm. I closed my eyes, but didn’t fall asleep.

recalling your voice

I don’t need to think too hard.

It’s right at the surface - so that’s scary to realize; just how close it is.

Like in a dream, where (supposedly) if you try and read (a book, newspaper, text), it just won’t work (because the wrong side of the brain is active [or something like that] and so all you see are jumbled up fragments) - when I recall your voice, it’s not really that you say much of anything that makes sense.

But it does make sense.

Your voice speaks to me in strange pieces of words and sounds. Phonemes and diphthongs slide to me and they don’t make sense but your inflection does. While I cannot discern what it is that my brain tries to fit together, the tones of your voice speak to me in a wonderful landscape of rising and falling notes; the ups and downs riding along towards the horizon. Steady streams of sounds flowing together and bending softly like grass ruffled by the wind. Pauses where the air is still and the sound silent. Then, times when the sounds plod together and end in one rising note - a question. And then a stretched note followed by delightful jabs into the air - a response, your laughter.

Maybe there’s one clear word, and that then could be stretched to two. Your voice, saying my name(s).

I can hear that, loud and clear.

a brief yet weighty moment

My tongue falls flat on her; it spreading wide, stretching out and dragging itself across the pale smooth skin of her breast.

It’s salty.

I’m holding my weight with my arms, mainly, our bodies touching because they (still) crave the skin contact. But I keep my weight off of her - mindful not to press too firmly down. I’m surprised, then, to feel her arms lower on my back, drawing me in. She cooed that it was okay. That she wanted me to rest on her body, to do what we’ve said we’d do, and that’s to sink into each other, deeply and completely.

I exhaled as my body lay on top of hers, as if the escaping breath could lighten the load.

I cannot see her face, my head turned to the side with my mouth open and my tongue still lapping ever so slowly, but really, my eyes are closed. But I can hear the smiling in her voice.

It’s so nice.

I’m not sure how long we stayed like this, the bedsprings compressing under the combined weight of our bodies. It was some length of time, that there was yet another type of intimacy. With the level of closeness redefined, she slid down, or I slid up, and there was certainly a kiss on the lips, a look in the eyes, and we picked up right where we had left off.

the waking wounded

There’s a moment right before your eyes open:

It’s a strange slice of time, still dark yet mixing in with the last traces of the pictures in your mind. Like the early morning and twilight both sitting precariously on the fence between night and day, it’s dark and light at the same time, as if time could stop, think, and change its mind to go forward or back at will. It’s cloudy, confusing, and comforting. My senses stirring the real and the dream together; my body shifting ever so slightly, such that the sheets and blanket suddenly feel alien and warm.

Her body, curled up in mine. The naked skin of her back nestling against my bare chest. Her ass cupped gently by my hips, our legs folding neatly into each others’. My arm beneath her head. My other arm laid over her torso and softly holding her. That’s how I remember falling asleep - and let’s just for a moment, forget that we’d somehow found ourselves in a state of half-sleep-half-awake-sex during the night, our bodies willing themselves to join while our minds may not have consciously asked for it - and that’s how I remember waking up.

It fades away because my mind slowly swims upward, knowing that it’s only a memory. This bed was foreign, the sheets stiff and pressed - just like those in the oddly small hotel room at the end of the labyrinthine hallway - and that’s what triggered this seductive fantasy memory. That’s what made me suddenly wish to be back in there, to maybe open my eyes and find myself in another time, another place, and another life (maybe).

You see, when I was a child, I dreamt vividly. Other children were afraid of the dark. They were afraid of the monster under the bed, the boogeyman in the closet, and the other creatures out to get them. I welcomed such company. I was more afraid of falling asleep and dreaming. I believed that sometimes I’d wake up and find that the dream had become real. And that kind of half-dream-half-nightmare-half-life was something I struggled with. I never knew what life I’d wake up into.

So yes, in this moment right before waking, I suddenly was afraid again.

Where would I find myself? Everything was fading away like a Polaroid picture in reverse, going from clear captured moment to fuzzy washed colors and blurring into white. What was a dream, and what was real? The consequences would be sitting there ready to pounce as soon as I’d wake up.

I’ve learned that waking up, after finding this quiet, dark, and sad moment, is inevitable. It’s so fleeting, so tragically short, and it will always end. There’s no way to stay or to sink back down and rejoin those vivid dreams.

I started to notice the pain in my chest. Breathing was difficult, and I was later told it was due to several cracked ribs and the bruises left as visible reminders of those internal injuries. Muscles were sore and ached, the dull pains starting to peek around the corners of this fast fading last stand my subconsciousness was making. The quiet hum of the electronics crept in from the background and fluttered into my ears.

And like sand escaping through my fingers, the moment was gone, forever. And with a breath held, my eyes opened.

radio silence

If you’re reading this post, there’s probably been a prolonged period of silence - no posts, no emails, no chats - from me.

I had known, for a while now, that there would be volatility in my life, and well, call it paranoia, or maybe a compulsion to be prepared, but I have had this post written and scheduled to have it published a week or so into the future - and as that date came nearer, I’d keep pushing the date back further and further. If I couldn’t get to a computer, then the post wouldn’t continue the slow forced march onward into time, and would finally be published/posted.

It’s an interesting idea, then, this post from the past, yet not really part of the present or future. I think the best way I can describe it is like a time capsule. Or is it a letter lost in the mail, arriving long after it was written? I’m not sure, really.

Looking back on some of this, I sit with my head in my hands and with a small sense of wonder. I had never imagined, in the beginning, eyes poring over other writers’ blogs and articles, that I’d have grown the courage to place my thoughts into words, and then take the leap of placing these words where they could be seen and read. For a private person, this is a big step.

And even though we try to persuade ourselves that the writing is for ourselves, that the audience doesn’t matter - these are thin white lies that stand as feeble protection from the otherwise sheer joy of communicating ideas, thoughts, dreams, wishes, hopes, fears, pains, and pleasures. There are so many writers that I’ve come to respect, admire, and to be humbled by.

I cannot express that enough.

At this time, I can’t tell you how I am. I can’t, now, tell you where I am, or what has happened to me. That’s another strange thing about a post written in the past to be published in a future I’m not quite a part of. So, enough about me; I hope you are well. I hope this post finds you, dear reader, wherever you are, in a state much much better than mine.

And I hope, too, that this is not the end. No, I’m hopeful, in my absence and speaking to you from the not so distant past, that this isn’t a permanent run of radio silence but instead a short and brief signal loss - and that if the dials are set just right, the knob turned slowly between index finger and thumb, the silence will give way to static, the white noise then giving way to a clear and audible tone.

I hope it’ll be me, saying hello, in the not too distant future.

this was jeopardy

Dinner wasn’t yet a concern, the two of us on the couch, a long day only now starting to fade.

She sat next to me, still in her gym clothes, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, the errant hairs (a little disheveled and twisted with dried-up sweat) that escaped telling of her cardio-heavy workout on the treadmill, bike, elliptical - her t-shirt with its sleeves rolled up over her shoulders - her nylon stretchy short shorts - the ankle socks still on her feet, as her sneakers were kicked off by the door. I do my exercising in the morning (reaching the gym around five), but I, too, showed signs of wear - my shirt half pulled out of my trousers, half unbuttoned, tie half unknotted, body half reclined on the couch.

The television flashed white, then black, then blue with gold as the theme music fired up. The familiar words sounded and I allowed myself to smile - it was my favorite game show (ever) - “This… is… Jeopardy!”

She must have noticed.

“I remember, only a little bit,” she said, turning to face me, her head leaning back and resting on the couch, “that we had this in Germany.” The announcer was introducing today’s contestants. “It was fun - I haven’t really watched it here.”

A full smile now. “It’s my favorite,” I admitted. “I try and get all the answers right.” The announcer was now introducing Alex Trebek who - really, by now - needs no introduction.

“Are you that good?” she asks, the sides of her mouth curling up a little bit.

“They’re about to start,” I motion with a nod, the categories appearing on the screen after the tonal boops and beeps of the board place the dollar amounts of the questions on the board. As always, knowing the categories are vital to the correct answers (or questions, as the silly archaic eccentricity has persisted). I paid attention, and so did she, giving a “hmm” every now and then.

The game started, and I quickly fired off the first category’s answers. Of course it’s easier at home, not in front of a studio audience, being filmed for national television, and having to fight off two other intelligent people. She sat in silence, watching the television, watching me. The next category was started, and I continued rattling off answers. A contestant hopped over to another category before the current one was exhausted - the slightest irk elicited verbally from me - but I continued to answer. I oddly remember this category - it was about song lyrics from the 80’s. The category was finished, and the game hopped back, finishing out the half-started category… quotes I believe it was. It was where I hit the first stumbling block, a question I didn’t know. My mouth partially opened, and I’m glad I didn’t say anything. And then, quickly, another. Then, the first commercial break.

I was annoyed - at the answers I didn’t know, first, then at myself. It had turned into a game, now. She turned to me as the commercials began to play.

“Aw, and you were doing so well too.”

“I know,” I said, not hiding the disappointment like a bad taste in my mouth. “I try and get as many right as I can,” I repeated.

The show had returned, and it was now a moment to pause and get to know the contestants.

“Well don’t let me stop you,” she said, our interests not at all on what humorous anecdotes the three intelligent people on stage had to say. We looked at each other, only listening to Alex Trebek’s voice for the questions and answers. The questions started and I too, again got off to a good start.

Swiss Miss folded her legs beneath her, and leaned in towards me. She sat up and invaded my space, her hands on her knees slipping to the couch cushions, then slipping further, resting against my thigh. Her body pitched forward as the category was finished out, it was something musical I think. I hadn’t missed one since the commercial break, and she now felt my breath on her face as I answered more questions, eyes bright as I got them all correct.

Her head slid to the side of mine, obscuring the television; it was okay, we weren’t watching, only listening. Her nose tucked in along my jaw and brushed my ear as I answered a question concerning bacteria, antibiotics, or both. Parted lips toyed with my skin as her hand lifted and deposited itself in my lap. Her tongue, hot and wet, slipped out and licked a line from my ear down my neck, my eyes shut and voice still stubbornly answering questions. There was a question about Texas I nearly stumbled on, saying the answer at the same time as the contestant.

She bit my neck for that one.

I gritted my teeth and heard the announcement of the first Daily Double. I knew that if I were on the show, I’d be gunning for a true Daily Double - okay maybe that’s just bravado. I was much braver now, her hand a combination of stroke and grab, tugging urgently at me. The question mattered more than the wager - I do remember I got it right and the contestant got it wrong.

She sucked hard on my collarbone, my neck crumbling and twitching.

There wasn’t much left, two more right answers and then the commercial break, the applause matching the look in her eyes as she plucked her lips off me, letting her body twist and slide down, her head resting on my lap and looking up, meeting my eyes. Her arms were contorted, her wrists bent and her fingers nimbly pulling apart my belt, tearing at the button on my pants, and pulling the zipper down.

Her hand reached in to find me more than half hard, my cock mashed up against my boxer shorts, already moist from the precum she’d coaxed out. She turned her head and opened her mouth, pulling me out and then sucking me in. Her neck twisted uncomfortably, one shoulder digging into my thigh, her waist seemingly contorted in awful fashion with her legs folded and angularly hanging off the edge of the couch.

I pulled at her shirt as best as I could, yanking the fabric pinned beneath her, revealing her sports bra clamped down on her chest. I pulled on that too, the taut cotton-elastic not willing to yield; I only pulled harder, ripping it up and towards me, pulling it so the band slowly revealed more of her chest to me, a waxing moon of white creamy skin dotted with two nipples coming into view.

It probably hurt her.

I pulled and she sucked harder, her tongue doggedly rubbing along the side of my cock, her head sideways with eye contact broken.

The commercial break was over, and the categories were being read as she lifted herself up, ripped both shirt and bra off. The desired effect was achieved, as I had no idea what the categories were - a handicap, but then again, she wouldn’t play fair anyway, I thought to myself, pulling my pants and boxers off my legs, pushing my socks off my feet, leaving my shirt and undershirt on, but that too would change more or less after the first few questions, her hands feeling their way underneath both layers of fabric as her mouth returned to my cock, her breasts pushing against my thigh and knee. The mess of shirts and tie were easily pulled over my head and flung across the room.

I kept answering (correctly), my eyes long lost the battle to watch the television (I told you, the categories headings were important) and instead settling on her head moving up and down, her hand gently scratching at my chest, the smooth skin of her back as she let her hips slide off the couch, her knees on the floor and her body soon between my legs. She would tilt her head to the side, angling her eyes upward to see where I was looking; I think she was trying to catch me watching the screen. Meeting my eyes, she only sucked harder. It was a reward.

I began to falter into the second category - classic television and shows I never heard of or knew only faintly. Her mouth left me and was replaced by her hand, sliding easily with the slickness of her spit, but a shitty consolation as I missed a question, another, got one right, and then fell silent at one I didn’t know at all.

She bit her lip and glared at me, my answers stumbling - but now correct, a fresh category. Her hand continued to move as I fired off more correct answers. She continued to tug at me, kneeling forward then up on her feet, climbing on top of me as her short-short-covered ass lay on my lap, my cock standing straight up in front of her pussy, her hand on it like a joystick, her thumb pressing down on its head.

I reached forward with my hand, she swatted it away as a category about finance (yes, I put that away easily) gave way to a category about Canada, and I answered with the wrong province. She only moved her chest towards me, her hand still guiding its way up and down on my cock, after I answered a question correctly, gently swaying herself in front of me.

The Daily Double rang as she leaned in close, whispering in my ear something that would normally make me laugh - “Fuck Canada.” It was instead an invitation to fuck her.

My hand reached to her pussy as she leaned in forward, her hand leaving my cock and both arms now wrapping around my neck. I forcefully pushed aside the nylon of her shorts and white cotton of her panties, her pussy wet and waiting, lowered onto my cock quickly. Twin gasps escaped our lips as she slid down, hips pushing into mine, her chest pressed against mine. She held herself steady and still, balancing on her knees while holding onto my neck and shoulders, breathing heavily against my skin, chewing on my ear, nails digging into my skin. I thrust upwards and inwards, mustering strength and grunting, working hard, teeth clenched and straining to hold on while sliding myself deep into her tightness.

We fell over, I don’t know who lost balance first but tumbling over onto our side and quickly - like a seized sailboat flipping back on keel - her body beneath mine and my mouth hungrily attacking what I could. Continuing to pump, continuing to move our hips in unison apart and together, the sounds of slapping skin muffled by her shorts, pressing against one side of my cock, making it all the more urgent, all the more hurried and stumbling. I held her tightly, my arms no longer holding me up, my weight on hers, my cock buried on the last rub all the way into her pussy as I came, my lower body jerking slightly as the couch obediently held our bodies.

The last category and even Final Jeopardy! disappeared from view and fell silent as she bucked violently against me, a half hushed yelp and breath interrupted. I stayed motionless, she squirmed and twisted beneath me, the fact that my cock was unable to go any deeper not stopping her motions. She was stubborn like that.

* * * * * *

Later, after we’d gone downstairs and returned from fetched a pair of salads from the cafe/deli around the block, I’d told her what the Final Jeopardy! answer was (”axis,” if anyone is interested). She glowered at me but then blinked it off her face.

“Fine, you win,” she surrendered, but like in Jeopardy! when there is a tie, both contestants get to play again.