In the infinite time i spend chopping it up with the weebles, be it online, in person, on the phone, through skype, ichat, watever, i learn alot abt that non-animal animal that we refer to as human. I was talking to a friend i met from the states, Mason Sills, and we were talkin abt love and lust, always a great topic of conversation. The result of our conversation was not a conclusion, if u couldnt see that one coming, but a story, not abt me, or involving me at all, but a great story nonetheless. I had never really considered writing fiction, but little short stories might be fun. I dunno, this story left me inspired. creativity and art for its own sake. agency over creativity. reminds me of this TED.com vid i watched on my boys blog C+. Well, with no further anticipation: SLOW MOTION
I guess I didn’t mean it, but man you shoulda seen it. We drove through the star polluted night going ninety-five down ninety-five, well, he did. I sat. Motionless. Clenching the Sky in my sweaty palms as the car beat in rhythm with my heart. Music blasted while I polluted my veins anticipating them to be filled further. We arrived and parked nowhere as the liquor blacked out my life. He jumped, an unwanted Spiderman hero here to breakdown my hardened womb. Enter. Trapped in neon light halls, white walls surround us. He’s lost, and I follow. A recipe for disaster as he sings “but girl, if you would let me, Ill take your pants off”. I let him, maybe? I told myself I wouldn’t loose this time. Images float in when it’s over, when it’s done. He leaves my side and I lie there alone in quiet space, more alone than when I am flying solo. Regret stained all over the bed as I poke his tender skin. “Come cuddle,” I say. “Hold on” his deep voice coarsely replies, yet, he never comes. I guess we have something in common that night. Heart hollow, I lay my spinning head against foreign sheets, not flesh. Sunken hope surrounds me. Maybe we’re both young urban psychopaths.
At nine a.m., the sun rises the most beautiful ruby red. His smile wakens my tired eyes, permeating butterflies into my dehydrated system. And I too, smile back. He holds me with forearms that are softer than any felt before. Yet, his muscles look all too familiar. Gentle and dangerous? They always go hand in hand. Sweat sickles down my un-toned body as we begin to make lust. Lips lock and he tastes sweet despite our un-brushed teeth and day old bodies. I want him. His gaze radiates wetness between my legs, I hardly remember him drinking me last night. Delicious. What other word is there for breathtaking first encounters? Sigh, oh my. We bury our souls inside one another, orgasms for breakfast. Luscious, our flesh explodes. Later bathing in the afterglow his touch is missed already, even though his masculine palms clenched my baby bearing hips three seconds prior. Will it fade? Too scared I am, for he seems imperfectly perfect.
We go back the way we came, ninety-five, driving slow, not wanting to leave the irreplaceable sweet scent of passion mixed with incense and Nantucket nectars to quench thirst and panting. Five days young together. What is he to me? What will he be? I can’t tell, I can never tell. Slow motion. See me let go (aaahh). Oh yeah…
- Mason Eve Sills
