It was the kind of sex that only happens when there has been months and months of want. The kind where the first kiss, first touch, first stripping of clothes, first pushing into each other all happens in the same night. The kind where no alcohol is present, because the attraction is bold and brave enough to step forward on its own.
The pull has been grown for months. It has been seasoned by friendship and newness and learning and the kind of love that doesn't get much voice in this culture.
There was no "moment" before we kissed. Every time we have hung out, my body sings: a low hum of sex. Of vibration.
So not matter what it is that we are talking about: Music or art or life or where we grew up or how we ended up standing on the earth a few feet away from each other in this moment in time, the reverberations were always present.
I had just looked away, down the street. I have been careful not to keep too close of eye contact. (When I do, your eyes drop down to my mouth and you let them play there for a beat. My heart always quickens, and I'm not sure what to do next. So I look away).
I had just looked away, down the street, but my body was humming. We were talking about something unmemorable. Mundane.
But as I looked away, your hand clasped the far side of my face and, in one movement, pulled my face to yours. Your fingers slid their weight to my chin, slid under it, and lifted my mouth to yours. There was no hesitation.
My hands went to the sides of your face, up the back of your hair, down your chest, around your back to your waist, and pulled you into me as if wanting, literally, to push all of your body inside of mine.
Your hands were unhesitant.
Your mouth was unhesitant.
There is, as you know, nothing hotter than earned trust and total confidence.
Here's to those who know the seasoned, deep taste
of a boiling point.
k.
(image via sadviolences Tumblr)
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