From all to nothing
To get some time to think I toss you the cigarettes. I consider it, a long time. Whatever I say -yes or no - I am quite sure I'll regret it. But in the end it's a simple choice.
"Thank you, please. I've waited for it a long time."
"Okay." You stand up and come to my chair, pick up your clothes and drop the pack of cigarettes in my lap. "You coming?" you say with an ambiguos smile.
You walk inside, to the lounge, and I pick up the wine bottle and hurry after. Wordlessly you point at the couch and I sit down. The coffee table stand as a reminder between us - look, but don't touch. You put your clothes down on it in front of me, take a few steps back and look at me with a questioning expression.
"Right, what do you think? Should I just get my kit off or try some kind of strip act?"
Before I can figure out a witty answer I hear music from the open balcony door. Somebody in a car outside is playin Barry Manilow on the stereo, loudly, and I get a vision of a strip act to the tones of 'Mandy'. You must have heard it too, and had the same idea, as you begin to laugh at the same time as I.
"Okay," you say with a smile, "scratch that."
Quickly, you pull off your soft, loose trousers and throw them on the table. I realize I'm afraid, but can't tell of what. Nervously, I take a mouthful of wine, straight from the bottle, and see to my surprise that you pull off your knickers next. Ah. Right. The t-shirt you're wearing is long, going down well past your hips. I can't see anything I haven't seen before, but look demonstratively, and appreciatively, at your legs.
Suddenly, the reason for my fear dawns on me. This is probably the only chance I'll ever have to look at you, without the feelings of shame that comes with peeping. And I'm drunk. What if I can't remember! I try to force you into my memory. The line of your thighs, your calves, how the t-shirt falls over your breasts and hips... I look up, into your face.
You smile. I realize a second reason for fear. Once again, I feel like I'm swept away by events, that I don't have any control, can't do anything but follow. It's your show. You are in charge, you command what's to be. It shows in your eyes you enjoy it. That's soothing, when I realize it - I trust you more than some unclear fate.
You put your knickers with the other garments. "Ready?"
I swallow, despite being try in the mouth. "If you are," I croak. I notice I'm growing, that I'm getting an erection in anticipation. I try to ignore it.
Slowly, you pull the t-shirt up. Now, I see your pubic hair. Your navel. Your breasts. Now you pull it over your head, toss it on the table and stand naked in front of me.
I stare, try to see everything at once. My eyes flicker between your groin, your breasts, your face.
You are beautiful.
You stand naked in front of me. Neither ashamed nor challenging. Proud. Assured. Hold my eyes with yours. Beautiful.
Slowly, you lift your arms, put your hands behind your neck. Your breasts follow upwards. I stare at the soft roundedness, the dark nipples, and ache of desire to caress, to taste. You stand up on tiptoe and begin turning around, slowly. You keep your eyes on me.
When I see you in profile, I notice your nipples have begun to harden but don't reflect on it. I'm not thinking any more, I'm entirely focused on seeing, memorizing. A throbbing in my trousers tries to remind me that's not all there is, but I only notice in passing, without paying it any attention. I look, stare.
You stop there, in profile, a smile playing on your lips as you look at me. You flex your feet, move up and down. You look like you are thinking about something.
[-P-] [- -]
Copyright Örjan Westin 2001, 2005