Looking in Your Window
Standing outside the basement window had never been my intention. You forced me there, planted my feet in the small patch of grass, and commanded my eyes to remain open. Yet you never spoke to me. Yes, there was a layer of glass between us, but there was more.
Sprawled across the rumpled sheets, your legs bent in a relaxed pose, you were asleep. I should have noticed the way your arm draped over your forehead, as if blocking the sunlight from your eyes. I should have noticed the way the shadows flickered across your chest. I didn't.
Instead, I noticed a pulsing vein in the curve of your neck, ropes of muscles weaving across your shoulder, and a scar I could only assume had a violent and mysterious story behind it. And I noticed the slowly rising length of your manhood.
Breathing became difficult. I should have turned and walked away. Yet neither foot would move—each feeling as if it weighed tons. If others had been nearby, they surely would have heard the pounding of my heartbeat.
When your lips moved, I swore I heard you. How could I through the thick glass separating us? Yet your words echoed in my head as if you shouted them into my ear.
Open the door and come to me.
My feet moved. I didn't have control of them as they took me toward the simple screen door. How it opened, I don't know, but it wasn't long before I stood at your side.
"Why were you looking in the window?"
"I . . ."
"You're too young to be looking at a man's body."
"I'm eighteen," I said in a strong voice, daring you to question me.
When you didn't reply, I said the one thing that kept running through my mind.
"You're beautiful."
"Do you think so?" That you questioned your beauty startled me.
My fingers ached to touch you. I wanted to know the texture of your skin, to feel the heat against my palm, and to scrape one of your tight nipples with my fingernails. You knew. I didn't understand how, but you knew.
"Touch me, little one."
A whisper, yet a growl, the words ignited a passion in my body that scared me at the same time it excited me. Thoughts new to me raced through and seared images into my brain that would remain with me forever.
"I don't know how." My admission embarrassed me but your smile calmed me.
"What do you see in your mind?"
"Touching your skin, your nipples . . ."
"Like this?" you asked as you placed my palm over your man tit.
You never instructed me again. From that moment, I explored you as I had in my mind, raking my nails over your back and gripping your thick shaft. Your groans encouraged me—as if I needed the encouragement. Icy blue eyes bore into me with messages of what you wanted. I followed the instructions I saw in them until you writhed across the sheets.
Arms more powerful than any I imagined grabbed me and threw me to the bed. Your lips bruised mine as you taught me the ways a man makes love to a woman.
Later, as you slept, I smiled and looked at that little window . . . from your side, where I wanted to be forever.
****
Watching You Sleep
I watched you, as you slept. It was the first time I saw you that way. With your left leg bent at the knee, the right straight, they appeared casual, relaxed. One arm rested on your forehead, as if you intended to cover your eyes but fell asleep before you did. The other lay on the bed, near your leg.
I wanted to crawl in with you, to lie in the crook of your arm and never leave. This was our beginning—the 'soon' we waited three years for. Our journey began when neither of us was looking for one. Yet from the moment I looked into your eyes, I knew you were special.
Your innocent pose hides the tension within you. One sound, one wrong move, and the trained warrior will take over. I'm not scared. But I am afraid for you. Inner demons are not strangers to me, and I know how difficult they can be to fight. We can beat them down into nothingness. You and I are powerful, and can do anything as long as we are together.
Do you know how many times I imagined listening to you breathing? I've pictured your naked chest so often I swore I could feel the hairs under my fingers. And now you're right in front of me, within reach, close enough for me to smell. You are so gorgeous. How is it you went so long without someone grabbing you?
We made love such a short time ago yet all I can think of is feeling you inside me. If that makes me a bad girl, then please, will you be bad with me?
****
A Baby
"Have you ever thought about having another baby?"
His question surprised me. Not the idea of children, but that he asked while his favorite football team was on television. Somehow the two topics didn't go together.
"Yes, I have. But—"
"I know you can't, but if you could, would you? Would you have a baby now?"
"I would love to have your baby."
"What if someone else had our baby for us?"
I tried to follow his questions without interrupting him. Most times I was able to figure out his thoughts. So far I didn't have any idea what was in his head.
"What if I could have our baby? Imagine if I grew heavy, my tits filling with milk . . ."
My gasp didn't begin to convey my shock yet I remained silent. I didn't even know how to respond.
"You could be my husband, taking care of me, your wife, helping me prepare for giving birth."
I watched as he spoke, picking up the signs of arousal I had missed before. His nipples pressed against his silk shirt as if trying to escape. They begged for attention, for my fingers or even my lips. The soft material of his slacks, already stretched tight at the zipper, showed the beginnings of a wet spot.
"Oh, honey, yes," I whispered, losing myself in his fantasy. "Our baby nursing at your breast, sucking hard to get your milk, lying in your arms as he sleeps . . ."
