Surrender

To feel is to notice truth

You know, in general it feels familiar and relaxing to be spending time in your company again. Last night we slept in the same bed for the first time in months (PS. you were my last).

After being next to you all day, it feels nice and homey to see you there in bed, sleeping or half-sleeping. Were you waiting for me? I wondered. I didn’t expect it. We’ve become accustomed to not waiting for each other anymore.

I draw myself a very luxurious and bubbly bath, listening to special music on my earphones, worrying a bit about the cords getting tangled in my arms and the suds. (No air-pods for me, yet.)

---

I come out of the bath sleepy, still naked.

I’m inclined to sleep naked. I often do, I’m not going to let your presence stop me. It never has before. There’s a king-sized bed, after all. Plenty of space to avoid my silky scented summer-brown skin and strong smooth limbs, as needed.

Maybe, maybe not.

At first I try to read by lamplight, but I’m done for already. I’ve had whiskey and a joint, a sleeping pill. I’m done for.

Of course I reach out and touch you after I turn out the light. I lay my hand on your long familiar golden back, nuzzle your neck with a kiss next to the nape of your neck - the hairline I just trimmed last week, in our very own kitchen.

I’m nodding off to sleep, one hand on your waist.

I’m starting to dream about very clean-smelling socks, then golf, and of all things stock trading . . . You turn.

---

You turn, sigh, nuzzle into me. My broken heart feels leathery in my chest, but your hands on my spine feel tender and good. I know you. You know me.

It’s not the same lightning that I feel in other situations. No, this is a question - or, not even a question, but a simple gesture.

You lean in between my breasts, your gentle hands feeling my familiar shape, coursing all over my belly and waist, my thighs. Maybe, maybe, a little urgency asks for an invitation. I sigh.

I’m not sure.

I don’t know, the words are written on my left arm. I don’t know, about you, about anything, anymore.

And of course, there’s your pelvis. The throbbing of that cock I met the same day as I first saw your face. The throbbing of that cock I’ve taken intimately for some 10 years, many of those years only, only you. And yet, only twice in these past couple seasons.

Do I miss it? Sometimes, I do.

---

You don’t feel like the other one, though. The surprise love. The one whose eyes build an immediate bridge with every single glance.

The one who notices bruises on my arm and says, “Who did that?”

The one who takes off his shirt like he’s going to tie me up with it. The one who puts oysters in my mouth to make my eyes smile.

You lean in, sipping my essence, your face between my breasts. Do I want to take you in? My body feels soft, pliable, yet I’m having trouble undulating.

Something in my skin answers, shivering, longing. It’s old, though - that skin feels dry, papery. Any sort of spark would burn it right up.

My womb is armored, she won’t surrender. I don’t trust you, she whispers.

It’s sad. My heart is a little leathery and sad. I just . . . can’t.

Then I soothe you, kiss the side of your handsome forehead instead of more kisses on your lips, run my hands all over your familiar skin but don’t take hold of your strong, beautiful cock and do not let it near my thighs.

---

It’s hard to sleep, this night. For both of us. You’re up and down.

At one point, I wake up sprawled across the king-sized bed with a head and heart full of awesome, colourful blossoms, all hope and freedom. Oh my god, it’s good. A blessing, related to nothing. Not a dream but something gifted, like a free ride to a weekend of paradise. Not simply a dream or a gift, but a blessed vision. I surrender to the whole bliss of it, fall asleep again. I dream of certain shoulders, certain arms, hands with hair on the knuckles.

In the morning, you mention your kidneys must be activated, that’s why you had to get up several times.

(I’m sure you didn’t have anything else activated, at all - my brown limbs, my sweet belly, untouchable but touched, so soft but impenetrable. Yours once, so thoroughly. Now . . . I don’t know.)

Lying there beside you, breathing soft, dreaming of what trust feels like - how my Blue heart softens there in the most unexpected and easy of situations. My body knows now - I’m learning, no I’m being taught - what is worthy of surrender.

I breathe and lean my body into this new understanding.