Monday, February 09, 2009
Why Don't You Come Over?
"Don't open your eyes," she said.
"Okay, okay. Geez," he said. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know about this."
"Trust me," she said.
He flinched at each little sound. "I don't think I've told you yet how much I don't like surprises."
"No, you didn't."
"Well...I don't like--"
"Shhhh!" she said. "Now, breathe. Nice and slow."
He drew in, and a scent tickled in his nose.
"Wow," he said. "That's really nice."
"Don't talk. Just see."
He concentrated on the blackness. Dipped into it. Like charcoal bathwater.
"Do you see it?" she said.
He squeezed at the dark harder. Clutched it. When he felt the tension pinch in his forehead, he spread-eagled onto it and surrendered.
"Here," she said. "Try this one."
Another world pushed at the edge of his vision.
The emptiness tinged with a color. Soft purples. Points of scent poked beneath a gossamer curtain.
"Mmmmm. I like that one," he said.
"Zinnia," she said.
"I can see it."
"Okay," she said. "Breathe again."
The scent fluttered away. The blackness thickened.
"Are you ready?" she said.
"Now," she said.
Dusty age and intimacy blossomed. Secret places. An attic blanket of summertime.
His mind tasted the word. Rose.
The barest touch of her lips brushed his.
His skin shivered from his neck to the backs of his legs.
"Don't open your eyes," she whispered.
Not for all the world.