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Turning to
Jennifer, I
opened my
eyes, smiled, and instead of
answering,
kissed her.
We've
moved through time's dark oceans, unknowable to one another for
many years in passing, something resonated in me each
time you grazed by, a nameless recognition of being tethered together before, that I'll eventually understand the whispers and clinging clues always drawing me back to you.
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To the familiar heat of your
breath clouding my
face, the specific
texture of
lips that
force me to Emerge from
sleep and any
room I wake to is hushed with the
same stillness, aching with the absence of
who I
have yet to truly surround the heart of and I
lay here running my hands along the spaces you've yet to occupy like tracts of land I cannot forget.
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We're
moving without a sound a sound through
dark oceans, only aware of the cold depths we
must pass through
alone, but something in me paused, warmed by the faintest spark.
A distant
candle's final wavering glimmer, hinting
that we've been here before and
light these spaces together, that one of us reached for the other, tethered and
falling into one another so we drift beyond Clues and twisting threads to emerge from dark remote waters,
any shore from there
will never ache with stillness again.
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The countless grains of
sand clinging to
your hair, the waves
dancing and crashing as
our hands roam along one another,
your lips making a home
with mine.
They
are all familiar and
new every time, the faintest, nameless sparks of the warmth that will always tether you to me. Gece
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August 2010.
I
love hotels.
Not for their comfort or cuisine but
their ability to
lower people's inhibitions.
There's something about a hotel room that's
intensely magical; step inside and you become
just one of
hundreds of
strangers in the building, thrown together by circumstance.
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Families or
couples on
holiday, business
people on stopovers, honeymooners and busloads of tourists
make up
close-knit
groups of strangers that
mill about in the lobby and gradually disperse to their
personal, rented spaces for the
night.
And there's plenty of opportunity to enjoy the relative anonymity that affords. Mature
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More so, it seems, in the
French capital.
Paris in the summer is
gorgeous:
beautiful people, delicious food, stunning architecture,
amazing weather, and the unwritten promise of sex when the sun goes
down.
Maybe it's something in the air.
The city
somehow exudes
sexiness in spite of the commuters and
hustle of metropolitan
life.
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It
has an electrically
charged atmosphere that's simply missing from any
other place in the
world.
It was within this potent mix of elements I found myself for a few
days this summer.
The conference itself was on the dull side but, in its defence, web content symposiums aren't engineered to be hotbeds of
excitement.
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For my sins -- or perhaps as a reflection of the economic climate -- the company
had put me in accommodation on the outskirts of the
city.
A
nondescript,
high rise chain hotel devoid of any flair, with a
breakfast to match.
But that didn't
bother me one iota. Dannawhite sex chat video
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Cheap hotels are the same as expensive hotels when it
comes to construction: the
designers always skimp on the material
between bedroom walls, which
suits me
perfectly.
Because I like to
listen.
I'd washed the grime of the day from my body: a combination of the jostling Metro commuters, the barrage of
information from
over-confident businessmen
and the clamminess of being stuck in a suit in 30-degree heat.
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My choice of
white cotton
blouse, a close-
fitting mid-
thigh skirt, heels and no
stockings had
offered little respite from the closeness of the day.
I was glad to peel
everything off,
letting the air conditioning
tickle my damp skin before
heading for the
shower. Zulama12
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I
allowed the air con to dry me
afterwards, too, as I admired my
body in the full-length mirror by the
desk.
Turning this
way and that, I concluded there were worse bodies
out there.
Perhaps I
was a few pounds the
wrong side of a
supermodel, but I
liked the way I
curved from calves to shoulders
where my
wet hair pooled. Sex
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The occasional rivulet of
water trickled down my
back, hugging my smooth contours
until either the air conditioning evaporated it or it splashed to the floor.
I
flashed myself a crooked
smile.
The anorexic, angular
frames of the
catwalk minority were
only suitable as expensive, wiry
clothes racks. Nyx sex
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I gave garments context and shape.
The curtains were open on purpose.
I was on the ninth
floor facing the edge of another grey, concrete block hotel the other side of the Peripherique.
If anyone
cared to
look across, all
they'd
see would be a
voluptuous,
naked stranger in a hotel room
with a glass of
rose in
her hand,
watching the lights of the city beginning to flicker on. Sex chat bot.
I let my mind wander to
what might occur later in the rooms opposite me.
Men and
women locked in carnal lust, hot
bodies sliding against
one another, hands gliding over smooth skin, pulses racing, minds
acting out fantasies that wouldn't
feel quite the same at
home.
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I shivered and brushed my
fingers over my hips and
belly,
lost in thought.
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