I asked her if I could read to her.
We sat on the couch, and she debated whether she would recline and drape her legs over my lap, or whether she would put her head in my lap. Which end of her would I get? Imagine a rich man who leaves it up to his beloved to choose whether they take the limo or the helicopter to dinner. Is she about to lounge on me? Pause her busy life and give her time to me? Heads or tails, I can’t lose either way.
She decided to put her head in my lap.
Despite the fact that it was a warm summer day, it was cool enough inside the house that she wanted a blanket. She curled up under the blanket, warm and comfortable.
As I read to her, I played with her hair. It was long and silky. I moved it and shifted it here and there. I combed my fingers through it, and slid them across her scalp.
As I read, I stroked her shoulder and her arm and her neck. Her skin was radiant and perfect. The drag of my fingers against her warm, bare skin made me think of her naked, yielding to me. Sliding a fingertip around the edge of her shirt made me want more of her. All of her. An infinite amount of her. Is it Buzz Lightyear who runs around saying “To inifinity and beyond”? That poor dweeb doesn’t know the half of it. He’s never had her head in his lap in a quiet, peaceful house.
If I looked away from what I was reading, which was hard not to do, I could see her eyelids droop, close, blink open. Maybe she was sleepy. Maybe she liked the feel of my hand on her. Maybe both.
I could see the tiny movement of the pulse in her neck. Her heart beating softly, so close to mine. Almost in synch with mine. Imagine all the body’s systems, all the cells, all the atoms, billions of them, not just perfectly arranged in this beautiful creature, but in just the right place and just the right time.
So her heart beat, and she listened to my voice, and I read what I was supposed to read.
But I wanted to veer off course. I wanted to tell her: the story is of no consequence. Tell her: time doesn’t matter. And: stay right there forever. I wanted to gently tug her clothes off, and touch ever part of her. I wanted her to forget everything except me. I wanted to be the center of her world. I wanted to be her world.
There’s something so intimate about having her in my lap. It is erotic, submissive. When she turns her back to me, her cheek on my thigh. Curled into a little ball, trusting me, loving me. Just for a little while, everything makes sense, and everything is fine.
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