3:35 p.m.
An early July afternoon.
I was working on my study desk, right under our resourceful window, a foot away from where she was napping on the bed beside me.
The west-facing window provided me with plenty of direct sunlight, which of course made everything better, but it was also hurting me. You see, distant sun rays can be lovely to look at and feel warm against your skin, but they can still hurt.
She shifted in her sleep, which became a distraction for me. Suddenly, I wasn't worried about the sun hurting me anymore. She was sleeping, oblivious to the havoc she was causing in my heart and mind as I tried to work. She was wearing just her dainty t-shirt, and her bottoms were pajama shorts.
I decided to put my work aside and watch her instead.
For me, watching her is like meditating. She soothes me to my...core?
NOPE... Only to my heart. She is, as Vladimir Nabokov once said, "fire to my loins."
I left my desk to sit beside her on the bed and begin tracing her features. There was something sublime about her that held my feral curiosity in place. I had her permission to open her in my mind and play with her like a puzzle until I could solve her, but my brain could never fully comprehend her mind. Her body, on the other hand, was very talkative.
Her face. Beautiful caramel-toned, gleaming skin. Her face was exfoliated twice a week. And she kept her body clean with a variety of skin care procedures that, with the exception of exfoliation, I don't understand. Don't bother asking me why or how.
The beads of sweat on her brow wouldn't last long; they formed and dripped down.
Her eyes. They were relaxed, with no wrinkles in the corners that only appeared when she smiled, framed by dark fuller eyebrows. In her sleep, she squirmed and squinted her eyes, as if she sensed my presence. That made me feel as if I were trespassing and afraid of being caught. In my stomach, I felt a vacuum form and then dissipate, when she relaxed.
In the silence mingled with the cries of the crickets, I saw her ears. Round and finely carved.
With every muscle on her face relaxed, unclenched, and unbothered, she showed an irresistible vulnerability, which evoked a wild sense of wanting to exploit her and, at the same time, protect her in the warmth of my presence.
Her neck, on the other hand, always piqued my interest. Very inquisitive.
Her neck matches the tone of her face until the collarbone, but her skin is a different shade below that. A tan.
I look at the neck and collarbone a little longer, remembering every time I gave her a love bite. It was my favorite place. Her least favorite spot because it shows. What's wrong with being a little territorial? Huh?
I trace my fingers down her neck, then linger a little longer at her chest.
Her breasts are the most appealing feature.
Her marshmallow-soft breasts are medium and round, so I'm not sure why she's so self-conscious about them.
She always wears full-cover inners that are very supportive, and I've never seen her in anything with thin spaghetti straps. Those skinny models had always made her feel insecure, so I was relieved when I realized that her naked body would be seen by no one but me. Those who believe that those models represent how all women should look would never appreciate her modesty.
Her t-shirt rolled over when she again shifted under my touch.
Cute.
Her sweat-soaked skin differs from her normal skin.
