PART III
[Sad Peter Pan]
(Somewhere else. Sometime else.)
...Her face was sad and the shadows obscuring one side made her look more so. His stomach making little leaps that died of vertigo before plunging down chasmically - several floors…
(He felt broken.)
…Her hair was out of place, their kisses, their kisses and embraces had crumpled their clothes and mussed their hair…
(Why was he here? What was the meaning?)
…Was he as strange to her as she was now to him? Was she as uncertain? He had a stolen condom and a horrible bulge in his pants, that hurt and goaded him by turns. And she, her nightgown, two top buttons undone, the third one missing…
(His mind spasmed in the darkness and mugginess. This was…a memory. One he did not remember.)
…She had just - a minute ago - stood and taken down her underwear, right in front of him. She hadn't raised the nightgown as she'd done it, so he'd seen nothing of her body, only its outline as the bedside lamp made the cotton glow transparently.
"Lili." he said, helplessly, hopelessly…
(A past he did not own, he could not challenge. For here he was just out of boyhood, and she, she was merely a child, barely a woman.)
…She had touched him there, as their lips rubbed. She wanted to see it, to touch. Before he knew it, he was taking off his pants, worried that the palour of his legs might scare her. And he sensed she was afraid, he'd seen it as she had looked up at him as he lowered the elastic of his shorts. Curious, tumultous, beautiful fear. Curling in his belly - that he could unveil himself himself to her this way... Her bravery, her determination stretched like a pentangle around her until he felt almost invisible, turning to liquid gold under the first tentative pressures of her fingers. Did it hurt? A little...but...not...in a bad way. Her eyes were so dark, looking into them was like being swallowed. Her fingers withdrew and he felt them leave him, stripping away the special heat with them…
(He did not know this place. This night was something he had lost in the fire of his youth. It was gone.)
…He had been leaning back, the balance of his tactile body precarious at best. He saw her knees, the knuckles of her hands tight around the nightgown hem, as it raised and raised, revealing more of her strong, coltish legs than he had dared imagine. And as she wished, his hand wandered, crept up one leg before finding its way in between. He watched her expression. The way she now retreated from his darting kisses, a tautness enveloping her, her face a prison to the emotions of direct and personal torment, slipping on his thumb. Her slight shuddering, the to and fro motion, her hair the movement of willow in the winter. The dark passion on her skin, the warm cookie musk that he caught when she shared - quite oblivious now to his presence against her cheeks - the rise of her pulse (because his face was sliding, burying itself between her neck and shoulder). His hand retreated. She was so hot and sweet…
(He resisted no longer. He let the experience wash around him, submitting. Sensing with his skin, feeling by osmosis. Then.)
…She lay on the bed next to him while he grounded and prepared himself. Stretching himself, finally alongside her, the dark eyes he tried to avoid but couldn't help falling into. He spilled forward, another confused kiss, his hand, absently, nervously and accidentally closing over the smooth swell of her breast. Through the pleated material he felt the nipple harden against his palm. His heart was doing cat time, his position shifting to hover over her as her legs parted beneath him.
He wasn't here, this wasn't happening. It was if his mind left his body and could only touch her by automation.
He was on the edge of her. He felt he was crushing her quietly into the sheets. Her hand was there with him. It tried to guide. Was her bravery deserting her? She seemed so far away. His world tilted forward; he felt her leg raise and stiffen. He was so close, so close, and she was all resistance around him. Her voice jerked upwards, her body suddenly arching:
"Jeff!" A plaintive whisper
The word choked back by her sudden intake of air. She was breathing with him, her hand closing on his elbow. He sensed her pain and rode it terribly. Pushed forwards against her, through her, drawing back and then forwards against and into the tightness that closed in on him. Her voice again, but it wasn't a word. Her eyes were wild and lost and he wanted to comfort but couldn't seem to speak. Only the difficulty of saying her name, "Lili!", as it crashed out of him into gritted teeth. He drew back again, and then further forward so that the sensation of diving opened under him.
Her leg twitched, stole against, then away from him. Her hips buckled and he unexpectedly rushed past the core of opposition that had hurt her so, hearing her say, "Oh!", in surprise but not feeling her relief. And he was mad and dazzled and still diving, the stave of stars beginning to burn below the line of his belly. She said "Oh!" again - not quite in pleasure, not quite in pain, the syllable getting thrown along into the rage of her breaths, like a hurricane building within her. And he, almost going blind, against the glow exposing the explicit lines of her features in the fire of the lamp and the blaze of his veins.
"Uh.", her voice crushed against his ear. His cheek against hers, his face almost smothered by her hair against the pillow. His retreat and crash, rushing now like rain, thundering like the oncoming waves of all-conquering destruction. He could feel her emotion, struggling for ransom, that world a way below him, his overtaken by disaster and being imploded, thrown. Forwards, forwards...now in f r e e f a l l . Weightless.
And where was she now, in this universe blown to atoms? She was around him, and everywhere and everything. Her body jagged, and closing in around him, her muscles first tentative sucking. Making her harden beneath him, then supplicant, then supine. Her heart riding the tiger that roared in her blood - played out in her gasping for air. He was softening inside her, now pulling away. Her. Still, despite, the insane tattoo of her pulse. The dark eyes clear and unseeing. He remembered he had hurt her at first. And she, how did she feel? Bruised? Too dismayed to move?
The odd, filled package came off in his hands. He had an ignoble and depraved desire to be inside her again. He lost himself for a minute and was surprised that she had moved and was stirring to sit next to him; her hair hanging, dishevelled and gypsy over one shoulder, the other bare where the nightgown had become asymmetric. He felt so lost on the edge of the bed. He noticed the vague facial twitch as her hand hovered over her stomach. Yes, she felt torn, maybe a little dazed, it was natural, for the first time. She would feel him for mornings afterwards until she was healed and freed of the discomfort.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, wounded.
"I'm...ok." She didn't sound quite convinced.
Then she said: "I think, I love you, Jeff."
And he, he turned to her and said:
"I love you too."
He disposed of the plastic, dressed and cradled her against him. He stayed until hours before dawn with her, where they slept facing each other half sleeping, half dreaming-touching. There was the light salty kiss as he climbed down from her window. The way the night drew in as much as it could for its last moments - stars in the heavens throwing down their lights from far and foreign orbits. Him waving goodbye from a distance.
The next day she was gone - excised from his life on the base. He tried to hold on to the memory, discover what happened beyond his saying goodbye. Vainly. The desert was coming back to him, slowly and searingly.
He could not shut out the sight.
[Sad Peter Pan]
(Somewhere else. Sometime else.)
...Her face was sad and the shadows obscuring one side made her look more so. His stomach making little leaps that died of vertigo before plunging down chasmically - several floors…
(He felt broken.)
…Her hair was out of place, their kisses, their kisses and embraces had crumpled their clothes and mussed their hair…
(Why was he here? What was the meaning?)
…Was he as strange to her as she was now to him? Was she as uncertain? He had a stolen condom and a horrible bulge in his pants, that hurt and goaded him by turns. And she, her nightgown, two top buttons undone, the third one missing…
(His mind spasmed in the darkness and mugginess. This was…a memory. One he did not remember.)
…She had just - a minute ago - stood and taken down her underwear, right in front of him. She hadn't raised the nightgown as she'd done it, so he'd seen nothing of her body, only its outline as the bedside lamp made the cotton glow transparently.
"Lili." he said, helplessly, hopelessly…
(A past he did not own, he could not challenge. For here he was just out of boyhood, and she, she was merely a child, barely a woman.)
…She had touched him there, as their lips rubbed. She wanted to see it, to touch. Before he knew it, he was taking off his pants, worried that the palour of his legs might scare her. And he sensed she was afraid, he'd seen it as she had looked up at him as he lowered the elastic of his shorts. Curious, tumultous, beautiful fear. Curling in his belly - that he could unveil himself himself to her this way... Her bravery, her determination stretched like a pentangle around her until he felt almost invisible, turning to liquid gold under the first tentative pressures of her fingers. Did it hurt? A little...but...not...in a bad way. Her eyes were so dark, looking into them was like being swallowed. Her fingers withdrew and he felt them leave him, stripping away the special heat with them…
(He did not know this place. This night was something he had lost in the fire of his youth. It was gone.)
…He had been leaning back, the balance of his tactile body precarious at best. He saw her knees, the knuckles of her hands tight around the nightgown hem, as it raised and raised, revealing more of her strong, coltish legs than he had dared imagine. And as she wished, his hand wandered, crept up one leg before finding its way in between. He watched her expression. The way she now retreated from his darting kisses, a tautness enveloping her, her face a prison to the emotions of direct and personal torment, slipping on his thumb. Her slight shuddering, the to and fro motion, her hair the movement of willow in the winter. The dark passion on her skin, the warm cookie musk that he caught when she shared - quite oblivious now to his presence against her cheeks - the rise of her pulse (because his face was sliding, burying itself between her neck and shoulder). His hand retreated. She was so hot and sweet…
(He resisted no longer. He let the experience wash around him, submitting. Sensing with his skin, feeling by osmosis. Then.)
…She lay on the bed next to him while he grounded and prepared himself. Stretching himself, finally alongside her, the dark eyes he tried to avoid but couldn't help falling into. He spilled forward, another confused kiss, his hand, absently, nervously and accidentally closing over the smooth swell of her breast. Through the pleated material he felt the nipple harden against his palm. His heart was doing cat time, his position shifting to hover over her as her legs parted beneath him.
He wasn't here, this wasn't happening. It was if his mind left his body and could only touch her by automation.
He was on the edge of her. He felt he was crushing her quietly into the sheets. Her hand was there with him. It tried to guide. Was her bravery deserting her? She seemed so far away. His world tilted forward; he felt her leg raise and stiffen. He was so close, so close, and she was all resistance around him. Her voice jerked upwards, her body suddenly arching:
"Jeff!" A plaintive whisper
The word choked back by her sudden intake of air. She was breathing with him, her hand closing on his elbow. He sensed her pain and rode it terribly. Pushed forwards against her, through her, drawing back and then forwards against and into the tightness that closed in on him. Her voice again, but it wasn't a word. Her eyes were wild and lost and he wanted to comfort but couldn't seem to speak. Only the difficulty of saying her name, "Lili!", as it crashed out of him into gritted teeth. He drew back again, and then further forward so that the sensation of diving opened under him.
Her leg twitched, stole against, then away from him. Her hips buckled and he unexpectedly rushed past the core of opposition that had hurt her so, hearing her say, "Oh!", in surprise but not feeling her relief. And he was mad and dazzled and still diving, the stave of stars beginning to burn below the line of his belly. She said "Oh!" again - not quite in pleasure, not quite in pain, the syllable getting thrown along into the rage of her breaths, like a hurricane building within her. And he, almost going blind, against the glow exposing the explicit lines of her features in the fire of the lamp and the blaze of his veins.
"Uh.", her voice crushed against his ear. His cheek against hers, his face almost smothered by her hair against the pillow. His retreat and crash, rushing now like rain, thundering like the oncoming waves of all-conquering destruction. He could feel her emotion, struggling for ransom, that world a way below him, his overtaken by disaster and being imploded, thrown. Forwards, forwards...now in f r e e f a l l . Weightless.
And where was she now, in this universe blown to atoms? She was around him, and everywhere and everything. Her body jagged, and closing in around him, her muscles first tentative sucking. Making her harden beneath him, then supplicant, then supine. Her heart riding the tiger that roared in her blood - played out in her gasping for air. He was softening inside her, now pulling away. Her. Still, despite, the insane tattoo of her pulse. The dark eyes clear and unseeing. He remembered he had hurt her at first. And she, how did she feel? Bruised? Too dismayed to move?
The odd, filled package came off in his hands. He had an ignoble and depraved desire to be inside her again. He lost himself for a minute and was surprised that she had moved and was stirring to sit next to him; her hair hanging, dishevelled and gypsy over one shoulder, the other bare where the nightgown had become asymmetric. He felt so lost on the edge of the bed. He noticed the vague facial twitch as her hand hovered over her stomach. Yes, she felt torn, maybe a little dazed, it was natural, for the first time. She would feel him for mornings afterwards until she was healed and freed of the discomfort.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked, wounded.
"I'm...ok." She didn't sound quite convinced.
Then she said: "I think, I love you, Jeff."
And he, he turned to her and said:
"I love you too."
He disposed of the plastic, dressed and cradled her against him. He stayed until hours before dawn with her, where they slept facing each other half sleeping, half dreaming-touching. There was the light salty kiss as he climbed down from her window. The way the night drew in as much as it could for its last moments - stars in the heavens throwing down their lights from far and foreign orbits. Him waving goodbye from a distance.
The next day she was gone - excised from his life on the base. He tried to hold on to the memory, discover what happened beyond his saying goodbye. Vainly. The desert was coming back to him, slowly and searingly.
He could not shut out the sight.