Saturday 7 May 2011

Kissing Underwater

To my best friend for everything she's done for me.

Her piercing first brushed and then pressed against my parted lips. There had been a long pause between the first kiss and the next as we stared through batting lashes at one another. Her warm breath mixed with mine as we struggled for shallow breaths next to our reflection in the mirror. My fingers were tangled deep within her hair as the other hand ran the curve of her waist. The waves of weakness in my knees were all the better for my back being firmly pressed against the wall. I became suddenly aware of her hand at the bottom of my back and wondered, but only for a second, how long it had been pressed there. Taking my hand from her waist, with an altogether unexpected boldness, she pinned it to the cool, smooth wall tiles above me. I drew our clasped hands down behind my head and could feel her palm pushing my tongue deeper towards hers. I opened my eyes for only a moment, a split second later she opened her and I caught a glimpse of that azure soul. She quickly closed them again and I grasped the opportunity to steal a closer glance as her near-flawless complexion; closing my eyes after noticing her eyelashes twitch in beat with my tongue. It seemed all too soon before she pulled away leaving us stood apart breathlessly staring and surrounded by people to the soundtrack of a loose tap shaking to the bass from the next room. I found myself thinking how amazed I was that she had kissed me back. It was not until she demurely smiled “Neither can I really”, that I realised I had said anything aloud.

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I would see her name in the coffee foam that slid down the cup into a creamy pool on the saucer. I would trace her name across my stomach in the shower for lack of her touch. The clouds would score her face into the sky in front of every setting sun. I would imagine her voice whispering softly to me through the warm summer rain. I would feel the soft lightness of her touch beneath my sheets at night. Her eyes would glimmer back at me from the quickly flowing waterfall. Wine would fill my head with her aspect. I would imagine romantic sentiments to whisper yet see her and be lost for words.

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She is it. Everything evaporates except those eyes; i burn the image of those irises into the back of my eyelids with every blink. Her hand on my knee robs me of breath and each time she leans in to kiss me I lose a bit more of my mind. My eyes follow her knees – interlocked with mine – upwards to her thighs. Those thighs. Still so unaccustomed t o being allowed to touch her, she spies my hesitance and places my hand far higher than I would have dared. As she whispers into my ear I feel the heat between us, our cheeks press, instinctively I nudge her nose so that our lips meet, she kisses me back. How could I ever take that for granted? Not so much lost for words now as before, there is a questioning inside me, which speak to me of her, that I feel ill-equipped to answer. Tripping homewards – arms around one another – I only partially joke about not having the confidence to do so in the sobriety of tomorrow. At the front door she fumbled behind her for the door handle as I press myself against her, doing my best to keep her within my fleeting myself. Tumbling through the doorway into the dark front room (and in a last-ditch attempt to touch her while brazen) I pushed her gently and playfully onto the sofa. Her giggles slowed to heavy breaths and she looked at me before clasping my hands and pulling me down on top of her. She smelled amazing, she was funny, she made me feel like the centre of the universe just by looking at me and she was the most beautiful think I had ever seen. Her voice was sweet and lilting, each time she laughed I became overwhelmed by affection and achievement.

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Tormenting myself with the thoughts of her that I can’t escape, I spend hours agonising over the meaning I convince myself are hidden in her hugs and conversation. I linger over furtive glances that I am entirely sure she is unaware she makes. Those beautiful eyes that have me and so often everyone else in a room completely captivated. I listen intently to every single word she says and try to fight the urge to reach across and touch her painfully deep and cool irises. Crossing and recrossing her legs drives me wild, making me sometimes worry that she can hear my heart as loudly as I can, getting stronger and faster. My hand quivers as I reach for the spoon to stir my coffee, it doesn’t need to be stirred but I find it impossible to sit there doing nothing at all. In the absence of being allowed to touch her I stir coffee, fold napkins, tear paper, chip off nail varnish and roll cigarettes. I worry that someday soon I might run out of distractions for my hands and just reach out and touch her, when it’s so hard not to. As we sit talking, drinking and smoking outside the coffee should I people watch and can only remark on the ugliness that seems to fill the world beyond her. She has destroyed everyone and everything else for me and I love her for it: she has sucked up the lustre and sparkle from the whole world and as she breathes it spills out of her. Three days without seeing her drives me insane as I hint for reasons to call her but never find one.
The flowers I give her all wither and die, their petals turning crisp before drifting to the floor by her feet. I ensure I am stood ready with a new one to offer her for fear she will forget me. If only she had some vague notion as to how much I would give to belong to her. She is my Delilah, the answer I was looking for to a question I had not know to ask and in remembering her I forget myself. She drips with a perfect sweetness that seeps in through my finger tips and stitches my lips shut: as the moments pass I crave speaking to her long before breathing for myself.

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We sit chatting over gin, the boys vying for her attention had become all too much. The lounge was warm and her eyes sparkled from hours whiled away at the pub. For days I have thought of little else than having her all to myself. We sit close, talking flirtatiously. I have her undivided attention and, despite all the things I thought, I have little idea what to do with it. She edges closer, angling her knees inwards towards mine, and tucks a flyaway hair behind my ear. Everything goes dark except for the feeling of her sweet lips pressed against mine. Pulling away for breath but keeping our heads pressed together she licks her lips, I feel the cool wetness as we kiss again and am disembodied. The magazine and ash tray between us are pushed to the floor because I just want to be on her. I can feel ever contour of her thighs through her thin tights as my hand runs up to the small of her back. I can taste the beer on her breath mingling with the gin on mine, my tongue never able to reach deep enough.

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I staggered up the stairs behind her trying to keep my fingers knotted with hers, watching the ladders running the length of her tights. The hallway was dark and the wall felt cool against my arms as I stumble unsteadily and single-mindedly after her. I close the door with a foot and look us to see her perched coyly on the lip of the bathtub.
“Can I have a kiss?”
“Of course.” I slip on hand to her neck and can feel the muscles tensing as we touch, the hand she had slipped to my leg gripping tighter. I saw dancing speckles behind my closed eyelids. I just want to sink my teeth into her and devour everything, pulling her closer so that I can revel in the feeling of her between my legs. The satin petals of her lips plant kisses like landing butterflies all over my mouth. I can feel her fluttering eyelashes against my blushing skin. Hungering as I do for her, every second spent not tearing off her clothes and running my tongue down her body seems wasted.

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