Don't fucking tell me no one wants you.
A common question on aquaintence's tongues is what we fear. I'm not afraid of very many things. No beast, no sin, no act can scare me. Someone asked me the other day if I was afraid of the dark, and what cannot be seen.
No, I replied. I like the darkness. I prefer what is hidden to what the light reveals.
In the dark everything is laid bare, reduced to velvet sensations. I would be able to feel rather than see you lying sprawled next to me, breathing heavily. I would reach out, and my hand would dance lightly over your chest; I would feel the rush of shallow breaths quickening under my touch.
I could curl my fingers sharply, scraping my nails in random patterns. You might lie perfectly still, except for the uneven rise and fall of your chest. Your skin still hot, moist with a sheen of sweat -- testimony to our previous hours of friction.
I could lower my head, licking a wet trail over the marks my nails have left; I wouldn't see them, but I'd know they were there. My tongue could flicker aside to let my teeth graze down warm, sensitive flesh. Reaching your navel, I would look back along the path I'd traced, searching the dark for your parted lips and closed eyes. I would scratch down the length of your sides until my palms could hold your hips, and blow cool air along the trail my tongue had traced-- you would shudder, and make a low sound of satisfaction deep in your throat.
"Katrina," you would whisper, and arch slightly.
In response, I'd wrap my other arm around you, and pull myself closer. My fingers would tangle in your hair, possessively. I expect you would readily tilt your head towards mine; and in the dark our lips could meet in a deep, demanding kiss.
I am not afraid of the dark. It holds possibilities that the light can only blind us to. If only we lived in darkness, maybe you could see.
No, I replied. I like the darkness. I prefer what is hidden to what the light reveals.
In the dark everything is laid bare, reduced to velvet sensations. I would be able to feel rather than see you lying sprawled next to me, breathing heavily. I would reach out, and my hand would dance lightly over your chest; I would feel the rush of shallow breaths quickening under my touch.
I could curl my fingers sharply, scraping my nails in random patterns. You might lie perfectly still, except for the uneven rise and fall of your chest. Your skin still hot, moist with a sheen of sweat -- testimony to our previous hours of friction.
I could lower my head, licking a wet trail over the marks my nails have left; I wouldn't see them, but I'd know they were there. My tongue could flicker aside to let my teeth graze down warm, sensitive flesh. Reaching your navel, I would look back along the path I'd traced, searching the dark for your parted lips and closed eyes. I would scratch down the length of your sides until my palms could hold your hips, and blow cool air along the trail my tongue had traced-- you would shudder, and make a low sound of satisfaction deep in your throat.
"Katrina," you would whisper, and arch slightly.
In response, I'd wrap my other arm around you, and pull myself closer. My fingers would tangle in your hair, possessively. I expect you would readily tilt your head towards mine; and in the dark our lips could meet in a deep, demanding kiss.
I am not afraid of the dark. It holds possibilities that the light can only blind us to. If only we lived in darkness, maybe you could see.