1. since the first time you kissed me, each time I take a deep breath I feel like I'm sliding off the world. By the time we fuck everything will slip away. Or I'll slip away from everything. But isn't that what I've always wanted. Just take me away to a sweet bitter void, a blank annihilation, an eternity of never-ending nothing. Wipe me away like the dust that collects on your monitor, or the powered sugar that collects on your lips from some sugared fried dough. I'll cling to you like the sweetness lingers on your lips after a nibble of a bear claw, stay there until you lick me away.
You are sitting on the bed. I am standing above you. You look up at me with your eyes only. I arch my eyebrows through a curtain of hair.
"Is this what you wanted?"
2. Through a dense haze of sweat and incense I crawl over towards your languid form. Your posture reminds me of Michelangelo's "Dying Slave," darkly seductive, forbidden, dead, deadly. Your breathing is deep and your soft lips slightly parted. The time we first kissed, I fell. Later that evening with nimble fingers we unlocked each other's secrets like chinese puzzle boxes. Your hair felt like cool water running through my hands; your skin tasted like soap and coffee. You sliced into me like a knife through warm butter. A little river of sweat runs down your chest. I trace it with my fingernail and you shiver. I lick it and it tastes like blood. Its sweetness stays with me as I close my eyes.
3. Black and grey ice piled high on the sides of side streets, obliquely lit
by orange pink street lamps. The air is thick and quiet, sound obliterated by
the falling snow. 15, and I'm like a snail on a razor blade, the thin membrane
of my skin holding me together, only a porous border lies between me and death.
I'm on my way to the Bleecker Street station of the 6 train, on my way home,
on my way to catch a 4 am ferry, a 4:30 bus, and hell. The clink of cleats in
ice follows me as I shuffle along in my pro keds, the faint sound of "Wait!
Wait up!" barely reaching me through the white walls of snow. It's Jim, that
baffoon, that fucking old grinning idiot, child-molester, shop-lifter, perpetrator
of random criminal acts. Pot dealer and my 'boyfriend,' if you can call a 31
year old guy a boyfriend of a fifteen year old girl. I have to get home. If
I miss the 4, I have to wait until 5, and I'm not going to wait for this moron
while he talks to another moron about different kinds of marijuana. I duck into
the station, and Jim, in his cleats because he didn't want to trip in the snow,
catches up with me and follows me down.
"I'm sorry baby," he moans, and kisses me, as if that's gonna make me feel better.
He grinds his cock into me and I feel him get immediately hard. I'm sort of
looking around and rolling my eyes through this whole affair. As soon as the
train comes, I'm on it, no matter what this guys is doing. He unzips his pants.
"Suck me, baby. Please. I need it."
"Uh, I gotta get the train."
"Please baby, I'll put you in a taxi."
"Jim, the second the train pulls in the station, I'm outta here, ok?" I say
as I kneel on the cement steps and put his cock in my mouth. I suck and lick,
I feel his cock start to swell, and just as he starts to come, the train pulls
into the station. I run off, leaving him spewing and panting.
4. While I waited for you, I painted my nails. Did the laundry, went to grad school. Had some boyfriends. After about six years, I began to wonder if you'd show up at all. I'd wake up each morning starved for you. Every guy I've been with before was just practice til I got to you, every act containing the tiniest twinkle of what it would be like with you. Lightning when we met. The burning deep somewhere inside. The cold chemical shiver going up my spine when you touched me. My feverish fingers frantically unraveling the pieces that held me from you. I burned while I licked your cool alabaster skin, delirious as your tongue invaded. And later, nothing between us, not even skin. Your maniacal smile as you threw me down and clamped one hand down on my wrists, holding them over my head. You held your other hand over my mouth: don't scream. I waited for the moment when you flooded my deep void, metaphorically, allegorically. Then, annihilation. And the shocking moment when I suddenly knew: you knew me. The waiting was over. And how I'd never be scared when you took that sharp blade to my neck and cut the skin, like a warm knife through melting butter.
5. Some dumb line. He said I felt like home to him.
You are where I want to live. If I was lost in a desert, your kisses would be
water.
Just for those few hours, our tongues were like lost siblings wrapped in an embrace, smooth snakes sliding over each other in a warm moist den. I was in no hurry to get to the next stage, no rush to get my mouth on your cock, or your mouth on my tits. We langorously savored each other. It could have been minutes or days. My fear of unceasing ceased. Your eyes, your mouth, your skin--everything I needed was right there. Your tongue in my mouth, in my cunt, licking my nipple. I was devoured, swallowed. I felt myself slither deeper down inside you. You came alive in my mouth. Your breath quickened. My clit began to shiver while my head bobbed, my tongue slithering over your cock. Your cum was the sweetest thing I ever tasted. It slid down my throat like ice cream. Biting and twisting your nipples in my mouth, between my teeth, between my fingers. Feeling you shiver and shake with each new nibble, and feeling you relax under me as I let up and licked and kissed. As you stroked harder and faster, I felt my blood rushing from every available limb, and then my clit exploding as you fired liquid pearls. I was coming with your nipple between my fangs and nothing between my legs but the sound of your moans.
Nothing separated us but skin.
I wanted to remember every moment, the grey light outside through the blinds, the smell of your sweat, the feel of your tongue through the folds of my cunt, the sound of your breathing while you slept. But little tiny things fractured and flaked away from second to second. My memories are like milkweed, drifting away with every breeze. I'm left with the warmness of your eyes looking at me from across the table. The way your skin felt under my fingers. The throbbing of my clit and cunt each time I think of you. I want to curl up inside you. I want to be your parasite. I want to feed off you and be connected to you and live and die as you do. You're my home, a soft warm place to lay, a hard cock in my mouth.
copyright 1999, marie mundaca. all rights reserved.