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Show 19 that drapes itself around her nipples, no bra. The bed is still unmade, but she ignores it; she leans against the counter in the kitchen, moves toward me, then away, then toward me again. I offer her a glass of cold tea; she holds it to her mouth, circles the inside edge of the glass with her tongue. Now I move toward her; I feel my hand moving toward her, placing itself on her arm, astonished by the firmness of the flesh beneath the draping shirt. Her arm is round, hard, resilient, and my hand moves along it, across her shoulder, in a rhythm of its own, traces a route along her back, descends to her hip, rises again along the curve of her waist. Her mouth no longer touches the teaglass, but stays partly open. I see her teeth, firm, white, regular, real; they jut slightly from her jaw. I see a wisp of hair reveal itself behind her ear, see the outline of her ear, the secret canals, perfectly hearing, leading within. I see the taut hard slope of her oiled skin leading into the crevasse between her breasts, and my hand follows of its own automatic accord. She murmurs slightly, moves a bit away, but my hand follows, and she murmurs again. It occurs to me suddenly that Elsa will be coming at 3:00 in the afternoon, that Elsa always comes on time, that 3:00 may not be very far away, but the thought does not penetrate my consciousness, it remains no more than a distant and silly idea. Luel allows me to lean her back along the kitchen counter, allows me to bend my face over hers, sweet young breath, down along her throat, to discover her firm round breasts. Now her hands touch me, and there is no longer any chance of contrary will, of control, and all the instincts surge within me, and I am carrying her eagerly into the half-made bed, no spongy, atrophied, old-woman's flesh here, but taut, hard, hot, real. |