she pulls me over to the couch, gently sits me down. Oh, wait.
She goes over to the window, closes the blinds. This is a private show.
Wouldn’t want your neighbors to see. Recostarte, novia. Lie back.
I like that she’s taking charge,
mostly because I have no idea
what to do next. I close my eyes, accept her lead. It begins with
the expected kiss, except this one moves quickly beyond invitation, all the way into the danger zone.
Just as I think my heart will pound out of my chest, the tip of her tongue traces the outline of my mouth
before her lips kiss the excited pulse beneath my right ear, then move
to the matching throb under the left.
When she kisses down my neck,
to the small cleft between my breasts, my instinct is to protest. No!
she commands. ?Déjame hacer esto! She says to let her do this.
And “This”
Might be something
I’ve thought about,
dreamed about, but
had no clear idea about how it would look,
how it would feel,
how it would happen to me.
How it looks is beautiful.
When she rises up over me, I can see she is a creature not of this world, an angel— half-dark, half-light—fallen to earth from the autumn sky.
Flawless but for the barely perceptible blemishes I am privileged to see.
How it feels is unlike anything my imagination could have invented.
She fumbles the mechanics of clothing and positions, but I don’t mind because if she isn’t practiced we can learn together; there is discovery to share.
Driven by Instinct
Fueled by solid lust we are skin to skin tongue to tongue
and tongue to skin She kisses in circles the arc of my neck the curves of my breasts the smaller circumferences of my nipples.
She licks in lines tracking contours
down my right side back up my left and, finally, straight from chin to belly button.
She touches tentatively in lines and circles show me what you like gaining momentum
building intensity She nudges me
closer and closer
right up against the brink and, no way to hold back, pushes me over the cliff.
It’s one hell of a trip.
Crash Landing
The buzzer goes off in the kitchen.
I smile. “Does that mean I made my eight-second ride?”
Monica looks confused.
No, that means our dinner is done. You must be hungry?
“Starving. But what about you?’
I reach out and stroke the cleft that would be cleavage if there was more flesh there, not that I’d prefer it. “I think I owe you one.” I wink and she laughs, but shakes her head. Later.
We’ve got lots of time, not like the mac and cheese, which will burn.
I watch her straighten up
and go into the kitchen, but take my time following her.
Everything between us has
changed. This thing we have
is more serious now, and while that’s not necessarily bad,
I wonder if Monica and I have been irrevocably altered, too.
Maya
I’ve been at Fort Hood almost four months now. It’s been a long, hot, boring summer, nothing much to do but make plans for the baby. She’s due in about a week, and I want everything perfect before she gets here.
The house is a small two-bedroom, with a cute little kitchen and one decent-size bathroom, plenty for two adults and one infant. It’s not very modern, and looks almost identical to the one next door, but what do I care, as long as the appliances work and the toilet flushes? That’s critical, since I have to pee way more often than anyone should. I even get up a couple of times at night. It’s so annoying.
Jason thinks it’s funny. “Maybe we should be buying adult diapers, instead of stocking up on the baby kind. Do they make maternity diapers?”
Ha-ha.
I definitely need maternity clothes. I’ve kept my weight pretty well in check, but over these last few weeks Casey has grown exponentially. My stomach is stretched to the max.
Jason makes fun of that, too. “Girl, you get any bigger I’ll have to put you out to pasture till you drop that foal.”
Country-boy humor.
Speaking of country, Casey seems to love Garth Brooks and Clint Black. Play those boys, and she gets to kicking so hard I’m sure she must be line dancing. Thinking like that makes me homesick for Tati, who taught me most of the moves I know.
Tati calls to talk a couple times a week. I’d call her, but Jason gets mad. “What do you think I am, made of money? We can barely afford the phone bill without long distance charges.” He’s right, money is tight. My calculations neglected to factor in things like baby furniture and clothes. Most we managed to pick up “gently used,” but even so it was an investment.