It is always unspoken; without words and beyond them. It is the thing that is never named – that cannot be. Words control and reduce, a pitiful shadow. But she knows. I see it in her eyes, and the movement of her limbs. I see it in every silent gesture. The glorious ache of desire.
I recall its beginning like a dream. It is late summer, around my girlfriend Arella's birthday. The summer is hot and sultry, and a large group of friends and relatives have gathered at the house of her family for the celebration. Food and drink flows seemingly without limit; every room is full of people staying the night. Although Arella and I have lived together for two years, in our as yet unmarried state her parents maintain a pretence of decorum by putting us in spearate beds when we are under the same roof. On this occasion, circumstances dictate that she shares a bed with her younger sister Tirzah, while I sleep on the floor of the same room. There's no awkwardness in this arrangement; I have known Tirzah for all the years I have known Arella, and the three of us have a close bond. In fact, it has been many months since we were all together, we look forward to it with all the excitement of children going on a camping trip.
Arella has always been the most beautiful woman I have ever known. It is not merely physical – her long, golden hair, her deep green eyes, the curve of her hips and her breasts. Though it pains me to think it, there may even be those who would not think her exceptional purely in those terms. But it is the beauty of animation, of movement, of gesture. I see in her every step, sway and expression some deeper aspect of her that I love and crave. She is the sun, in whose warming rays I constantly wish to be. Tirzah, by contrast, is almost impossibly dark-haired, her skin pale, her body slim, long and graceful. Where Arella is bright and outgoing, her sister is detached and enigmatic. I often marvel at how different the two of them are. If Arella is the sun, then Tirzah is the moon, with all the silent, mysterious beauty of the night. Although the two of them inevitably argued as children, as siblings do, the three of us have always got on wonderfully as friends – always looking forward to spending time together and seeming to bring out the best in each other. At times, though, she seems to possess a kind of sad melancholy, which has always made me feel protective towards her. I have never known Tirzah have a proper boyfriend – not one who was allowed to get close, at least. When she stayed with us, as she often did, and always alone, I occasionally wondered whether she felt any tinge of resentment when, at the end of the day, we went off together and she retired to her bed alone. But of this, there was never the slightest sign.
The night of Arella's birthday is when it begins – the second night of our stay. We have laughed late into the night and our heads are slightly swimming from the wine when we go to bed. Even when the lights go out, Arella and Tirzah and I continue to laugh drunkenly in the dark, continuing a theme of child-like jokes that we had instigated at dinner, often at the expense of other, older guests. As is always the way when they get together, the two of them sound increasingly alike, and sometimes I can't tell who's who in the darkness. Gradually, though, silence falls and sleep takes hold. The last thing I hear is soft breathing – I can't tell if it is Arella or Tirzah – before I too drift off.
I'm awoken by a sound of movement, and a touch of fingers on my forehead. I open my eyes slowly. Now accustomed to the dark, I see Arella's shadowy form kneeling over me, ghostly in her white nightdress. I hear a silent snigger and with a rustle of cotton she begins to lift the nightdress, slowly revealing her naked body beneath. For a moment she pauses in the still, semi-darkness, her arms streched above her, her face a pale shape shrouded in the white material, her beautiful breasts swaying, the muscles of her stomach flexing as she gently moves her hips from side to side, taunting me with a mix of vulnerability and command underscored by the dark, heady scent of her. With a final movement she pulls the nightdress over her head and lets it fall in a crumpled pile, her hair cascading over her shoulders. Entranced, I place the flat of my palm between her breasts and slide it slowly down to her stomach, feeling my cock swell – then cast an urgent eye towards the double bed beyond the end of mine. Arella just gives another silent laugh and mouths 'She's asleep...', putting a finger to her lips. Part of me does not want to continue, wanting us to be alone, without restriction. But something else takes control, driving me on, pulsing into my groin with a new kind of urgency – the thrill of something forbidden, the danger of discovery.
Arella leans over me, kissing me deeply, her hot tongue and mine wrestling for dominance. Slowly, silently, she slips herself under the covers, sliding over until she is astride me, my aching erection pressing against her belly. She pulls my t-shirt over my head in one swift movement and leans forward to kiss me again, her hard, warm nipples grazing my chest as I run my hands through her hair, over her naked back and down to grasp her buttocks, my fingers parting the cleft between them in a way that I know excites her. She nibbles at my ear, with hot, heavy breaths. I move one hand around and slide it between her legs, parting the hair and touching the heat of her soft lips, already slippery with her wetness. She gasps as I press against her clitoris and slip a finger inside her – I gasp, too, with the joy of wanting and being wanted, with the heat and the sweet musky smell of her.
