When Light Goes Black

I devoured you with a scream.

When I was done you said: Nothing is as sacred as it was before.

Shouting towards my center, I replied: I never knew that I would want you. Not like this.

But since the light, I ask: would you come, crawl closer? I think that I need to make a confession.

I do not crave you madly because I cannot have you. I do not want something I cannot have. The black places inside me are full of voids and cannot contain something any darker than the light that streamed into our hotel room that morning.

This light has led me to that space when, days later, I pulled out my phone to see this: You have done something to me. I am looking at things differently.

+

There was a leopard print robe in the hotel closet when we arrived. With the water pounding in the background, filling-up the whirlpool, you slipped out of your dress and dropped your panties. You wrapped the robe around your tiny body.

You poured something in the water and it foamed up to the top.

I crawled-in naked and was not deterred by the thoughts I was not having: You are not mine. You cannot be mine. But,

I am going to have you. Right now.

…I think…

In the water and I watched you in the mirror on the wall. You flipped your cat coat off your shoulders and crawled in the water next to me. I’m not sure what touched what first, if it was a thigh or an inerrant finger or drunken hand – because as soon as your skin was involved with mine, I blacked-out from the rush of intoxication.

For the next several minutes I have only taken with me the visions of the leopard robe on the floor and my mouth opening-up to devour all of you.

…and then our lips met. Hungrily. Met. Like they were long(ingly), lost (lust).

+

I am not bragging about this. I don’t brag about something I cannot have.

I whine. Then, I exalt.

You said: Damn you for making my sex life seem so mediocre. Then you said it again: Damnit. You said this because everything powerful is about two-way roads. Broad avenues. Highways where the traffic comes and goes.

Like you. To the mountains and sometimes over them. Away for the weekend. To your boyfriend. And then back.

+

I could not find the hole into your soul. So I pulled you on top of me as though the small addition of your weight would help me breathe again.

We sloshed the water up and over the edge…

Then we followed the waters rush and slid up and over the elevated tub. I watched you first. Your naked body before me, for the first time. Glistening. Wet.

I had been waiting for this moment, for a child’s winter. I had not been waiting for your kiss. No, I never thought it would come. Instead, I had been waiting, craving for your naked body, before me.

+

Since second one when I saw you, something inside my torso wrenched sideways. And when we talked, you looked at me like I have never been seen before.

…if everybody in your world gets this same treatment, then we are a band of enlightened beings…

But I do not get your steady ear. You come and go. We talk when we can.

With everything understood and oddly perfect – I still want only more. Like when you are holding the perfect dozen, but want the baker’s dozen – so you can carry twelve in one hand and one in the other. Because you want more even when you can’t carry anything else.

With you, I will take perfect in one hand and nothing in the other.

And I will keep grasping at everything in front of me…

+

It must have been late when we left the water. It must have been understood that there was more to say with our bodies because I don’t remember the walk to the bed. I only remember the process afterward, of trying to completely learn your body before the sun rose.

Your mouth was hungry like mine. You bit at me and I, carefully bit at you. Kissed you. Took your tongue and lips inside mine and sucked. Tasted. Ate.

Then you put me, hard, inside of you and I inflated and exhaled in a strong bellow. Seeing me inside of you was more than an act. It was the metaphor. The thesis. The scream.

I pinned your legs up and you did not look me in the eye.

I was right there with you, looking down at your closed eyes. I was there, in that cultivated moment, unabashedly loving your body and finding my ultimate intoxication embedded somewhere between your amazing body and touch and cunt and ass and legs; and the simply-complicated fact that you were here with me at all – when you could have been anywhere in the universe tonight.

+

Desperate for more of you, I went for your heat after I heard you sigh – saying: Go on. Please…

With a controlled rage, I buried as much of myself into you, sliding my tongue in and out of your soft spots. My fingers, flying in and out of you. You writhed in dirty delight.

A long while later, after I was satisfied with my exploration and learning of everything between your legs, I came back up to you. You grabbed my face and pulled me into your mouth.

Your legs were wild and splayed out and kicking in the air. You gripped me by the neck and then I, by yours. As I began fucking you; pounding down onto your hot, wet mound, I squeezed harder. Your tiny neck in my hands was strong and called for more. And as I began to leverage down and onto you with all of my weight, I was squeezing and thrashing your neck, your head into the pillows – slamming you up and down in a violent, choreographed fit of eroticism realized and desire exploding.

…in reciprocation, you squeezed my neck even harder. And for a second you even opened your eyes and looked up at me, in agony’s ecstasy…

+

Several hours later, I opened my eyes and to the sunlight streaming-in. I was terrified that you did not know what happened. I was terrified that it was a dream. Somehow, a mistake.

Then you moved when I moved. The sheet fell from parts of your body revealing your hip. Your tattoos. Your skin. My cock, still hard, brushed up against you.

I heard you sigh sweetly and so I came closer.

I knew our time was coming to an end, so I reached under the sheets, for what I had dreamt so heartily of, between your legs. You were already hot and wet, waiting for something like me.

I opened your ass and legs and buried my head between your fertile valley and began lapping at you. Your moan was a melody that bucked your hips into me and my tongue slid hotly inside of you.

With your stomach on the bed and I behind you, I reached under and gripped you by the hips – pulling you as close as I could to me. Even if that meant not breathing.

Because you know as well as I do: everything, absolutely everything, is a metaphor if not a fable.

For the next hour, I licked and sucked and touched and opened you up as wide as I could so that I could see and reach as far as I could inside of you. Because this may be the last time ever…

+

I’m not going to say I would cry. I’m not going to say that I haven’t stopped thinking about you. But we all know that in any linguistic negation it’s opposite – a positive affirmation – is always present. Without the positive there is no negative. Without the dark there is no light.

You said: Thank you for enhancing my senses. To that end, I want you to know that I have lived my subsequent days without you constantly paying homage to your sentiment. Alas, I am brighter. Sharper. Sadder. Empowered. Human.

And: I’m not going to say you make it easy for a boy to fall for you. So I have written it instead.

~ by The Provocateur on June 2, 2008.