Yul reclined and inhaled herself into the leather, into the world of obscura, smoke roiling, curling upward, twin plumes from her pert nose. The room began to halo. She lifted her bare feet, spread them against the picture window as if flashing the cosmos. A wink of creation to creation, the inhibition of birth in the bend of a knee.
Her chest rose under downcast eyes with each long slow pull of the smoldering drug, a gift from the doctor, which Mairi would have nothing to do. She had no such reservations, feeling light, a rising, a lifting, mind and body, tight and taut. She exhaled, unzipped, the soft cool starlight a river in the valley from navel to chin, her lips in mist, a cave before the lagoon of drift.
Leaning her head back, her hair fell as water, straight, shimmering gray. She closed her eyes, spread her legs, nerves as lights on a river, alive, burning, heat dancing on an ever flowing stream of life, moving, throbbing, twinkling as the stars without. The leather warmed, the air humid with obscura and unblinking eyes.
Crazy they said. Her depths unplumbed, a craziness only understood by others who had lost their way in the murk of insanity. Looking into the reflection, she motioned, fingers feline. Rog smiled. Took his shirt off. And dived.
What do you need he said, her fingers in his hair, nails raking his scalp. Tell me, as if gulping for air, tell me your need. She grabbed his ears, pulling him forth, up, his lips to hers. Her legs rode his rib cage locking in the small of his back. She felt light, hollow, hollow as her eyes, looking from fear, fear of him, of him letting go, that each time could be the last time. How could she say this. She didn't. The moment came and she kissed it away and in this way, they remained in the shallow water.
Her chest rose under downcast eyes with each long slow pull of the smoldering drug, a gift from the doctor, which Mairi would have nothing to do. She had no such reservations, feeling light, a rising, a lifting, mind and body, tight and taut. She exhaled, unzipped, the soft cool starlight a river in the valley from navel to chin, her lips in mist, a cave before the lagoon of drift.
Leaning her head back, her hair fell as water, straight, shimmering gray. She closed her eyes, spread her legs, nerves as lights on a river, alive, burning, heat dancing on an ever flowing stream of life, moving, throbbing, twinkling as the stars without. The leather warmed, the air humid with obscura and unblinking eyes.
Crazy they said. Her depths unplumbed, a craziness only understood by others who had lost their way in the murk of insanity. Looking into the reflection, she motioned, fingers feline. Rog smiled. Took his shirt off. And dived.
What do you need he said, her fingers in his hair, nails raking his scalp. Tell me, as if gulping for air, tell me your need. She grabbed his ears, pulling him forth, up, his lips to hers. Her legs rode his rib cage locking in the small of his back. She felt light, hollow, hollow as her eyes, looking from fear, fear of him, of him letting go, that each time could be the last time. How could she say this. She didn't. The moment came and she kissed it away and in this way, they remained in the shallow water.
7 comments:
Rog in his time has delivered some truly swoon-inducing lines.
tell me your need
The wisdom, the bravery, the loyalty, the depth of heart, the humour, just to mention a few, all this and that smile too, it's small wonder I've had a crush on him since 2006. :-D
More when I don't have to be up again in 5 hours, but quickly, this is a classic and classically wonderful Rog & Yul in private chapter, good stuff in other words.
Intriguing, just perfectly Story, and you know how I love the Story.
I was feeling the need for a little Yul in my life. :-D
Good morning! Would you like some of your faithful followers to comment on the layout, color, etc?
Good morning Lime. Absolutely. Feedback always welcome. :-)
OK, at the risk of other followers slamming me in disagreement . . (got spanked recently for a heartfelt blog comment someone thought was lame - I bit back, though). I understand and agree with the openness of a white background. When the Badger was messing with his 400000 Miles and Counting blog, he went dark and I immediately e-mailed, "NO. That's a cycling blog. You want it to be light and open air!" So I do get it about the white - I can cheer for it. For yours - just from me as the consumer - your color probably doesn't matter as to your beautiful words. But your glorious images deflated when contrasted with a white background. The black background somehow brings out the fire in the images. The Badger got home from his race yesterday. We had dinner at my place and sat at my computer to check out the blogs. I asked him if he'd seen yours white. He hadn't, because he'd traveled all day. I took the shortcut to you and he immediately said, "Uh-uh." Like his black background on Digital Existence enhances his photos, so it does your images. My opinion, I'm entitled to it and I share it with you freely.
Lime, I feel the same way, which is why DT is wearing its black again and probably always will, for two reasons. First, the images only come to life on a black background, as you, and many others have observed. And second, The Story just seems at home with black. Thanks for the feedback. Always nice to see a comment from you adoring my inbox. Even if you are an outlaw hunted from ground and sky. ;-)
"Desperado, you'd better come to your senses . . oh, you're a hard one, but I know that you've got your reasons . . " ;)
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