map room title Flight from rosewit
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section7mfuFlight
It was a simple human gesture that had ignited it. Nonchalantly, their hands clasped in heretofore unacknowledged partnership. He was absently stroking his thumb along her index finger, his mind elsewhere, contemplating the completion of his mission, or a quick burger in the commissary. Or perhaps the conjugation of an irregular German verb. She could not tell which. But centered deep within her she knew, she had only to incline a quarter- inch toward him, and his concentration would be riveted on her alone. Did she want his intimate, unwavering attention? It was a very dangerous quarter-inch. She held her breath. She closed her eyes.
She leaned forward.
She regretted there had been no words. His very voice could melt her. But words would have been intrusive. They needed only tender wordless moans and keening to encourage and thank.
She tugged at the sheet, but timidly. It was difficult to feel...well, courteous and professional... when one woke naked next to a man who was similarly unclothed. She felt—supercharged! As if all the tiny glints of lightening in the world sparked along her limbs. Someone had flipped her toggle switch and she was alive –born again—with exploding senses. His snore tickled the soft filaments in her ears. She practiced that knowing smile that women have smiled throughout history, the self-satisfied serene expression of fulfilled and fulfilling desire.
The room was an ocean of moonlight and she floated in the vast sensory sea. Transported. Weightless. Tethered, yet thoroughly liberated.
He had stamped her passion passport, and she had crossed over some invisible border. He had taken her expertly, but not casually. More like a pilgrim worshiping at her altar. She felt that in granting him this deep rumbling sleep she had somehow done her duty for national security.
Their bodies had buzzed and sizzled. Even now a gentle hum vibrated in the space between their skins. She offered him solace; he reciprocated with magic. She saw colors she had only imagined, swayed to inexpressible music.
She was pleasantly paralyzed; acutely aware that she had never felt so alive. In all of Nature and the Universe, she felt apprised of a whispered secret. This was why women wept, and men went to war. This---this. Biblical knowledge of him overwhelmed her. She could not contain this powerful ancient wisdom. Surely it would burst from her like singing.
And suddenly she understood what singing was for.
“...slipping the surly bonds of earth”? * You betcha. “ ...danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings...” ? Oh, Baby.
Joy radiated from every pore. She watched with wonder as shivers crossed his slumbering back in quiet tides. She felt supremely safe in his arms. Welcomed home. No, it was she who would cradle him, protect him fiercely. Better—they would shelter each other. A brave new world shimmered from her crystal core outward.
Alas, she was learning another secret, as potent as the first. Memory was everything now. Her own intangible tears scorched her cheek, her throat. She pretended the cold tears in her palm were his.
* High Flight by John Gillespie Magee, Jr
It was a simple human gesture that had ignited it. Nonchalantly, their hands clasped in heretofore unacknowledged partnership. He was absently stroking his thumb along her index finger, his mind elsewhere, contemplating the completion of his mission, or a quick burger in the commissary. Or perhaps the conjugation of an irregular German verb. She could not tell which. But centered deep within her she knew, she had only to incline a quarter- inch toward him, and his concentration would be riveted on her alone. Did she want his intimate, unwavering attention? It was a very dangerous quarter-inch. She held her breath. She closed her eyes.
She leaned forward.
She regretted there had been no words. His very voice could melt her. But words would have been intrusive. They needed only tender wordless moans and keening to encourage and thank.
She tugged at the sheet, but timidly. It was difficult to feel...well, courteous and professional... when one woke naked next to a man who was similarly unclothed. She felt—supercharged! As if all the tiny glints of lightening in the world sparked along her limbs. Someone had flipped her toggle switch and she was alive –born again—with exploding senses. His snore tickled the soft filaments in her ears. She practiced that knowing smile that women have smiled throughout history, the self-satisfied serene expression of fulfilled and fulfilling desire.
The room was an ocean of moonlight and she floated in the vast sensory sea. Transported. Weightless. Tethered, yet thoroughly liberated.
He had stamped her passion passport, and she had crossed over some invisible border. He had taken her expertly, but not casually. More like a pilgrim worshiping at her altar. She felt that in granting him this deep rumbling sleep she had somehow done her duty for national security.
Their bodies had buzzed and sizzled. Even now a gentle hum vibrated in the space between their skins. She offered him solace; he reciprocated with magic. She saw colors she had only imagined, swayed to inexpressible music.
She was pleasantly paralyzed; acutely aware that she had never felt so alive. In all of Nature and the Universe, she felt apprised of a whispered secret. This was why women wept, and men went to war. This---this. Biblical knowledge of him overwhelmed her. She could not contain this powerful ancient wisdom. Surely it would burst from her like singing.
And suddenly she understood what singing was for.
“...slipping the surly bonds of earth”? * You betcha. “ ...danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings...” ? Oh, Baby.
Joy radiated from every pore. She watched with wonder as shivers crossed his slumbering back in quiet tides. She felt supremely safe in his arms. Welcomed home. No, it was she who would cradle him, protect him fiercely. Better—they would shelter each other. A brave new world shimmered from her crystal core outward.
Alas, she was learning another secret, as potent as the first. Memory was everything now. Her own intangible tears scorched her cheek, her throat. She pretended the cold tears in her palm were his.
* High Flight by John Gillespie Magee, Jr
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Welcome!
Date: 2015-02-07 05:28 pm (UTC)Great job using your first Live journal cu,t Rose!
Let me, on Glennagirl's behalf, officially welcome you to Section VII. Glad you finally made it my dear friend!
no subject
Date: 2015-02-08 12:19 am (UTC)