by Adrianna de la Rosa
(01/01/03)
She did not expect that things between them would ever have a turning
point. She was glad for the sort of bliss that his fingers, lips, and
tongue provided. In this sense he wasn't real to her, nor did he have to
be. Pure sensation with her eyes closed.
Once they stayed in bed nearly all day. In some crazy way it was a test of
his erectile prowess. They did it six times that day, until they were
overly exhausted and began to crave sustenance. And so they got up in the
early afternoon and perhaps had an omelette together. Breakfast at 6 p.m..
But this was not unusual for the two of them. Everything existed outside
time and normal reference points.
She was so happy that afternoon. She danced around his living room under
the high white Victorian ceilings in a nightgown as transparent as green
seaglass. It was the sort of thing a fairy might have worn, and he was the
audience. He loved that. To see the shape of her legs dancing under the
filmy transluscence of palest leaf green chiffon. And to see the other
things outlined against the sunlight. The fleece and the swollen lips he
had labored to create since morning, or her nipples veiled in
greenish-purple lace extending towards him.
That was the day she saw the stars. He kept telling her to just relax.
But she couldn't. Her head was the last thing that she could let go of.
She thought that if she could just concentrate on something outside of
herself it might work. And so she watched clouds as they raced through the
March sky without purpose or intent. She watched clouds billowing across
blue expanses through his lace curtains while his fingers worked their way
into her and caressed that spot. By then he had moved into a proper
bedroom in his house. But she wasn't as comfortable as in the cubby.
Maybe because the walls weren't holding them close in a particular kind of
intimate universe anymore. Instead, there was so much space.
One of the things she learned from him was how much women crave the men
that can find all their secret places and open them. Sometimes she wanted
to dig into him with her nails, she was so excited. No one had ever made
her pant with longing. She had always faked a series of moans and groans
with other lovers. She had tried to make them come, as if this were a kind
of power that she had, by going all soft underneath them and rolling her
hips up to meet theirs in a particular way. It became a game to see how
fast she could accomplish this and make them unable to resist coming. He
taught her about the art of love and the slowdance buildup of eroticism.
He wanted to do this to her. He wanted her to come.
And so she jacknifed under his hands. She folded in onto herself as if she
were an origami artifact. Something that was created and left after
particular foldings designed to move her to an intended endpoint. Outside
the white Japanese anemones danced and nodded in the breeze. She watched
the clouds and came, came, came, coming folding into him while he whispered
"That's right, baby, that's right."
She fell, or flew, out into the universe and tumbled through the stars like
he told her he always did. And in that moment space and time were gone and
she only saw bright pinpoints of light in a night sky, even though it was
afternoon and they were in a room somewhere like thousands of other lovers
might have been, exactly at that same moment all across the world. And he
caught her and held her and he would never let her go, and when she returned
it was into his arms and his smile and the bright twinkling look in his
eyes as he gazed down at her. And the whole time she had been safe in his
arms. And really she had never moved from the spot. Except she felt as
if she had gone thousands and thousands of miles from where they lay and
then chosen to return.
She couldn't bear it if he looked at another woman. She was so crazy for
his touch she would have scratched out a competitor's eyes. This was how
he made her feel. And he had so much power over her in this way. She
hated that.
Men don't realize the power they can have over women if they know
them in a deep way sexually. The women will never admit to this. Perhaps
you marry for certain reasons, and these are often economic. But the man
that can touch you inside your soul, there will only be one like him. And
it will have to last you a lifetime. But you don't realize this, not until
later, when he is gone, and you would give your left hand to just hear his
voice again.
Man in the Moon is a continuing series.
Man in the Moon
Man in the Moon: 2 Baths
Man in the Moon: Lace
Man in the Moon: Gazing
Man in the Moon: Valdez
Man in the Moon: Naked
Man in the Moon: Lipstick
Man in the Moon: Beds
