We've slept together a number of times
An old friend. A warm place. A moment of rare intimacy. Lust takes its own wonderful shape. Having slept together before, what difference would one more trip through the wild undergrowth make?
Anne Sexton, 27 Feb 2009
It’s a hot night. The steam rises up off the pavements and the air is still charged with electricity from this afternoon’s storm as the dying light of the sun filters through the curtains. We are in the bedroom, drinking beer, the boy and me; except he’s no longer a boy – he’s all grown up.
He is not so much in my life as a fact of my life – it’s hard to remember a time when I did not know him. We met when he was still young enough to think that teasing me was flirting and I was too inexperienced to realise that that’s what it was. We’ve been friends, lovers, friends, and lovers once again – but each time I got on a plane, leaving him far behind, an intermittent lover on the other side of the world. When he looks up and smiles at me, I want to kiss him.
And I’m thinking…
Is that a bad idea? He’s sitting on the bed; I’m sitting by the desk. Not more than sixty centimetres separates us – sixty centimetres and a lot of history. It’s been a long time since we’ve shared a bed, restricting our intimacies to shared confidences. We swapped tales of sexual and romantic disasters; complained bitterly about difficult lovers via phone and email; celebrated successes and commiserated losses. Our friendship is solid. Is it worth the risk?
And I’m thinking…
If I kiss him, should I leave it at a kiss? I remember what his body looks like, what it feels like – the raised keloid scars on his chest, the piercings, his surprisingly strong arms. I remember what he feels like inside me and my stomach twists with longing.
My desire makes me shy. I hesitate, suddenly unsure of what to say or how to act.
And I’m thinking…
We’ve slept together a number of times, what difference would once more make?
And I’m thinking…
About the last time I saw him, sitting on a couch, heads together to hear over the din of noise in the pub, and how much I’d wanted him, but how circumstances – his girlfriend, my boyfriend – prevented it.
I take a long sip of beer and wish I hadn’t quit smoking. Right now I could do with one.
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