10pm on a brisk midwest evening in may
1s taa, P83 hair
2s ih hair
20 minutes before contact
i stop by her place, she comes out and takes my hand. we walk back to my place. it is cool; she wears a light jacket and stays warm by my side.
we settle down on my couch. immediately she lays flat and props her feet up in my lap. i touch them, if only to reach out and grab something. they are smooth and soft, toes painted a fresh spring color. i brush my hand slowly across her soles.
she laughs.
i cannot let go of her feet. after excusing myself i immediately return with a bottle of lotion. she sprouts a worried look on her face and asks if her feet are dry. i let her know the lotion will make my hands glide better over her feet as i give her the most amazing foot massage ever. her worried look changes back to a smile as quickly as it came.
lotion to hands, hands to feet, repeat. if taa does decrease personal space, then i am glad she propped her feet up in my lap, and not her torso. no longer am i massaging. i am now exploring. i bring one foot up close to my face. her toenails are finely cut, her arches gently sloped. all the while i babble. she babbles. a fly on the wall would surely have been lost in our conversation by now.
i did spray ih, right?
we had some pillow talk the past few days about our past. what we like, things we did, memories we enjoyed. this theme carried over to our massage conversation. a real couple talking about real things and experiencing a real moment. it definitely did not seem like an ih - driven conversation though. it was more like a random smattering of words – i would start a topic and she would interrupt me, then later i would interrupt her, and soon the original topic ended up convoluted beyond recognition. what was your favorite class? well sure i like cookies. who doesn’t want to play football outside?
the massage area moves slowly up her legs, past where it usually stops, and ends at her back and neck. she rolls onto her stomach to allow for a more relaxed position. there is company over and we felt it would be impolite to lock the door so i turn on some relaxing music and dim the lights. her top remains on – this means no lotion, but we wish not to create an awkward situation for any friend who wants to pop in to say bye before leaving. i still cannot stop touching her. e.t. has nothing on me.
i finish her massage and now i am just softly touching her, rubbing this, caressing that, tickling all over. the music i chose helped greatly; she said she was very relaxed before heading to bed and might’ve even fallen asleep there.
wait. didn’t he say it’s not always about the target, and here he is crafting a post about her? it may seem that way. the real target was me. taa hit me. ih hit me. P83 tied me up, beat me, and threw me in the closet. it was as if we had traded places – i got the effects of pheros, and she got the effects of me.
we dress for bed and lie down together. i hold her in my arms and we begin our pillow talk again. i don’t remember what we talked about. really, i don’t think we talked about anything. the words gradually become few and far between; we are tired. she rolls over to complete the spooning position, and again i hold her. for a second i prop myself up on my elbow and look at her. the cool green glow of my alarm clock lights her side and creates an enticing silhouette. there is a bit of light from the street peeking in through my window and it lights her back, giving me a better view. cars roll by outside and i can hear the faint chatter of people taking a break from studying, or lack thereof. the moment was right. the time was right. the feeling was right. i lay back down and nudge myself in close, and she nudges back to acknowledge.
i prop myself up again. she might’ve known it was coming. maybe not. i lean in close to her ear. i can tell she’s expecting a kiss. i give her more than that.
“i love you.”
she gasps. she processes. later she tells me her heart skipped a beat, which was understandable considering mine skipped a good six or seven. is that healthy? “i love you too.” she rolls over and her lips meet mine. they stay there a minute for each beat that our hearts skipped.
the report ends here. we kiss ourselves to sleep. a different ending would not have sufficed. it’s a weird thing, that love. how does one explain the feeling of waking up in the morning to soft curves, sensually accentuated by the glow of the alarm clock? how does one explain the feelings of rage and angry tears and heated discussion, all while holding hands? how does one explain the roller coaster of adventures that is commonly referred to as “my journal?”
love. a different word would not have sufficed.
Go Jay Go!
