Some things are perennial. Little sparks that just keep burning regardless of what's going on around them – they may dim or fade for a bit but they never go away as long as they're nourished.
I was in a house – not my house, not a house I knew but I was comfortable. There were many people there, maybe thirty, and the house was not large but roomy enough for a family, a small gathering – a little too small for this many people but it was ok. I was younger than anyone else and different from all these people. I was the only girl. I hadn't noticed that at first, not sure why it hadn't struck me but it hadn't. I knew most of these people – how wasn't important, just that they weren't all strangers.
Walking through rooms, talking in passing, never having any real conversations, I built up a tolerance to the heat in the house. The heat was from so many bodies in spaces meant for fewer heartbeats. It wasn't stifling, just prickly, noticeable, an understandable affect of so much humanity.
I had come here for a purpose but we all had – none of us invited, just congregating because it was time.
The den had a circle of chairs, ottomans, stools, and loveseats filled with bodies, most solitary but everyone seemed to be interacting with someone else. Entering the room showed not a seat to be had but one of the men motioned me over and had me sit on his lap. No hesitation, I knew this person and if he was ok here, with these people, with me on his legs, I would be too.
People talked in and out of the room but it slowly got more and more quiet. Never silent, never a lack of some vocalization but more hushed, anticipatory.
I don't know how or when but this man I knew, this man whose lap had been offered, this man who's legs were my support, he was cradling my breasts – one in each of his hands. He kissed my shoulder through the cotton I wore. A long kiss, soft, unmoving, gentle and sweet. Back erect, I was proud he would want to hold me and I smiled. Each of his hands held firmly for a perfect fit: pinkies against the flesh just under the breasts, ring and middle fingers supporting below the nipple, index fingers just above the nipple but close enough to graze, thumb above the areolas. Hands much warmer and softer than they should have been, heated air coalescing on burning cheeks, there was no shame in this, I knew it and the others seemed to see that too.
Ages didn't matter, familiarity didn't matter, occupation didn't matter – we were here, we were together and that was that – no further explanation needed.
Though I can't recall what he said, my support asked something, muffled by my shirt, my shoulder, the heat. There was some sort of connection missing. Upon realizing this, I needed his skin on my skin – no more fabric, no cover. My arms went up with the hem in my hands & I pulled the shirt over, above, off. Where his hands had been holding me, there was cold not because it was cold but because his heat had vacated those spaces. Gently, he returned his hands to where they'd been and his mouth to that space on my shoulder. I think I was humming – I know I was smiling, floating, ecstatic for the security, beauty and humanity this man was giving. Basking would be a good way to describe what I think we were all doing in those moments.
There was a third hand, this one placed on the side of my neck, thumb pressing up at the outer edge of my jaw. And a second set of lips, these above my breasts and below my collarbone. Tender but pressing, insistent. Listing my head to look up, I couldn't help but to be happy, full of a lovely, vibrating current.
I placed hands on shoulders before me, pressing back and he went back to his seat. Standing, there was cold again where hands and mouths had been. A good shiver, a healthy one that just reinforces the enjoyment of heat. I had been wearing a skirt but it was pooled around my feet now. The bra was being unhooked as I stood and I shrugged my shoulders forward to help it fall away. A man kneeling in front of me peeled panties off of hips and pulled them purposefully down until they were reacquainted with my skirt.
I watched as he looked up and leaned forward to kiss my bare mound. The heat was back and not just in places touched.
