I don’t know what to call this. Is it a poem, prose, a confession, the day I was born?
Him, ” I promised not to touch you.”
Me, “You will touch me.
We lay naked, not just without clothes; without fear or inhibition. The cool dark room was silent except for the sound of a clock’s secondhand. The bed was simple with white sheets. In such a large space it made me think of a life raft in dark water.
His hands were as gentle as they were elegant. My ego, my defenses were slipping away. I would allow him to caption this ship. I felt myself floating, going under and coming back to the surface. The waves carried me. I couldn’t swim.
Softly, slowly, almost teasing, he kissed my face, my neck, my lips, the palms of my hands. No Communion wafer? He sat up and pulled me to him. I wrapped my legs around his body. He rocked us, my face buried in his neck. I lightly ran my nails down his back. My heart was pounding, his breathing labored.
We’d gone too far off shore to turn around. Storm clouds were gathering. Did he lay me back down or had the wind pushed us over?
He was whispering to hold on to him. I’d be safe. Then the storm erupted. Currents of electricity ran through my body. I was dying and I didn’t care. Waves crashed over us, the wind howled. The raft would capsize. I couldn’t swim. I didn’t want to be saved.
The raft shuttered one last time. The storm was gone.
He rolled over pulling me tightly against his chest. Now I knew. I’d been born to/for Him.