Flash fiction challenge from Felicity at http://felicityjohns.com. The prompt: Unspoken
A yank, a twirl, and she took me in her arms. Her nose smashed against my forehead. She was two inches taller than I, and the slope of the ground gave her advantage. It was a movement of clarity and pain, desire and uncertainty. Certainly not a Gone with the Wind motion, all cluttered with impulse and half-known instinct.
“Don’t be a baby, it didn’t hurt.” She rubbed her nose and grinned. “This is serious. Do you want me or not?”
Her lips were moist, and her breath was bubblegum and orange soda pop.
“But we’re cousins.”
“Third cousins. Practically unrelatable. And it’s not like we’re going to get married and have retarded children. This is about having fun.” And because our faces were so close, I couldn’t tell if she was serious. Her eyes were bright and mischievous, but that was how she always looked. Her lips, though. I could taste them if I wanted to. But would that be right?
Numb, when she put my hands on her hips. “Pull me in closer,” she said.
There was no choice, she was the one pulling. Dizzy and unfocused. She rested her chin on my shoulder. Warmth like a melting stream of chocolate, inside, flowing over arteries and the wet flesh under flesh. Her breath, sugary and hot. I couldn’t think straight, or at all. She placed her mouth on mine and exhaled into my open mouth. I could taste the air she was done with, honeyed and warm as rising steam.
My hands rose to her waist, frantic but desperate not to move too quickly. I knew I would remember this, this urgency, this exploration. A softness and a hardness I didn’t know existed, a collision of differently tempered flesh. Her breasts crushed against my shallow chest, and they were as firm and as soft as rain clouds.
And then an explosion in my loins, like bleeding out desire. I shuddered and convulsed against her, my hips pressing into her to relieve the strain, holding onto the pleasure for as long as I could, but knowing it was fleeting; it would be gone, and then return even more urgent. I didn’t think I could stand being without the pleasure again.
The mind only thinks it knows what it wants; the body knows and shouts down all sense and reason.
She pushed away from me. Her eyes seemed darker, not their usual bright playfulness. She slid her hands down to her hips and brushed her jeans. Her blouse had shifted, exposing a pretty navel; she saw me looking, and straightened it.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“For what?” She walked over to a pile of hay and collapsed like unfolded laundry. She swallowed hard and lay rigid, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.