I am on top of Brook’s body, having just peeled her out of
her raiments, slid her panties down around the heavy caps of her knees, falling
inside of her, she holds out her hand in a halting motion, almost as if to
thwart me from crossing the street. The tops of her palm pressing against my
chest.
“Do you
have anything that even remotely resembles protection?” She inquires. I should.
I should no better by now. I should realize that sex will be different from now
on. I shake my head.
“I’ve only
been with two girls.” I say. “And both of them were virgins.”
Her face
let’s loose of a subtle nod. I am permitted to permeate the invisible membrane
that separates us. I am allowed to enter. I am allowed to mix my fluids with
her fluids. I am allowed, simply, to do anything I want.
*
Pressing
down on top of her, I am treading, trying to stay afloat, pressing down
intermittently, trying to get further inside. Trying to find whatever it is
that I am looking for, trying to locate the mystical orb, burrowed up inside of
her, trying to take her to a place that I know I myself, will never be able to
go.
*
“Maybe I
should teach you how to use my Dildo on me.” She says.
*
This is our
second endeavor. Our limbs begin to peel and frisk, our arms forming connective
wiring between each other’s flesh. Her tank top is gently peeled, discarded. I
can feel her bra’d bosom pressing into my chest. Our lips our simultaneously
trying to swallow each other’s lips. Sucking, as if trying to drain the
moisture from the others face. This is what passion is; this is what yearning
is all about. Trying to observe the other inside of you completely so at that
the, the pinnacle moment where all sexual yearning and longing is sated and
released, you feel that you are no longer alone, no longer suffering alone in
the world. You feel that you are a part of something. That this elusive mother
continent are planting your flag deeply into, is, for the terse time being,
home.
“David,”
Brook is shouting out my name like no other girl I have ever slept with has
ever shouted out my name. She is older; she is making me feel like I am the only
person who has ever been inside of her. She is making me feel like I am the
first person who has ever showed her all of this.
As if
adjusting the sails on a windmill, I spin her entire body around. Her bottom
breaches out and splits into a butterfly. Before I insert anything, her wrist
swings between her own arched legs and grabs my cock, hoisting me into her,
screaming when I enter.
I continue
to pound her with long, drawn out thrusts. Tears well, collect and spill inside
the lids of her eyes, like a baptismal shell drooling holy water. My hair has
draped over my shoulders, both of my hands are biting into her waist, ramming
my torso into her as hard as I can.
From behind
me I can hear the hush of traffic. Zoe barks occasionally in the kitchen. The oscillating
fan continues to hum thick shafts of air. If Derrick were to be spying on us at
this particular moment of space and time, he would see a young boy with no
biceps and chest, from behind, his bottom sugar white, thrusting into his wife,
who has her legs capped apart, her ass in the air, her breasts hardening,
jiggling, her voice screeching, calling out the name of Goliath’s victor. He
would see all this and, like any patriarch, he would have me beheaded. He would
shoot to kill. Everything I am or ever endeavored to be, he would have
destroyed.
I can feel
a beady curtain of sweat begin to foam from the top of Brook’s brow. She
continues to rattle her Torso into me. For a minute it appears as if we are
rowing separate direction, flowing against the current. With her right hand,
she balances herself up, her free left hand swinging down from between her
legs. Biting her lip in the similar fashion of Vanessa months earlier, she
pulls me even further inside of her womb, grasping on to me, coercing me to
freeze, deep inside of her, in mid thrust, as her face begins to crackle.
“Don’t
stop. Almost there.” She wails. I can feel her face begin to crumple. A
fissure cracks from her lip. Her eyes scrunch together.
I press in
hard again, lodging myself deeply inside her. With her free hand, she tweaks my
testicles and then massages her own armor. Tells me once again, not to stop.
Tells me not to stop the rhythm.
My final
thrust and she leaves. Her hand slightly twisting part of her clitoris like she
is plucking a pedal, yet does not want to remove the petal completely. My name
is spilled against the wall like a mantra and I can see our shadows fall apart;
tumble down inside each other. Our bodies are fraught with sweat; we fall down,
inside each other, Brook is crying. Perhaps she even thanked me afterwards.
*
“See
David,” She says, afterwards. “We just made great love.” As my entire body
falls limp, my lips bend into a smile, me lolls to the side closest to her
shoulder.
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