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(no subject)
Mar. 24th, 2001 10:51 amSelf employed? Want to be? Have some sort of unhealthy facination about it?
Then check out the Self-Employed community that Warwick started!
Then check out the Self-Employed community that Warwick started!
Mar. 24th, 2001
(no subject)
Mar. 24th, 2001 12:22 pmShe lay in the crook of my arm, her long dark hair wrapped around my bicep like soft tropical vines gripping the branch of a tree. I could feel her breath stir the hairs on my chest. Her breathing was quiet and effortless, the sound of unguarded innocence.
I inhabited that border zone of sleep where all things are possible and logic has abandoned the mind to hover in the warm pool of its own random symbology. Sink or swim, float or descend, reason has stolen away for the moment, stealthy and unnoticed.
I drifted slowly upon the light swell of consciousness, sometimes aware, sometimes nowhere. I spent time in that place immediately after the final fade out of a movie, before the final credits begin to roll, when the mind transitions and sometimes flounders confused, trying to context switch between ersatz and reality.
There were times of no time, where all that existed was nothing at all.
Random currents would lift me again, and I would lie immobile, faintly surprised that I existed, that I had corporeality, that something or someone lay on the junction of my shoulder and chest. She existed as well; it was her, whose own corporeality I had known so intimately moments before, in another reality that seemed illogically unreal.
I felt my shoulder move involuntarily. Her breathing caught short and she made some soft sound. I could feel her against my skin as she frowned, every crinkle on her nose and the ridges along that furrowed spot on her forehead just above her eyes. She was still asleep, but I could feel her guard threaten, an aura or omen of the normal projection of invincibility that surrounded her when awake. Her breathing evened, the aura faded without a fight.
Innocence again, yet innocence alone -- not flavored with the vulnerability I somehow expected. It was nice; it was acceptance.
She drooled lightly on my chest; a hot, tiny string of saliva stretching from the edge of my nipple to her soft parted lips, less than an inch away. I instinctively stirred, pushing against the bed sheet as biology responded to a reversed Pavlovian stimulus. I brushed myself against her hand on my upper thigh, which merely reinforced the inevitable.
Logic and reason were almost there, ready to return, and yet I fought them passively. I resisted by not resisting, letting sensation and instinct wash over and through me, carrying thought away like a tree branch floating on a swollen river broken with white rapids.
I felt her body against mine, the warmth of her breast along my ribs, the perfect, heart-stopping curve of the feminine spine as my angular arm nestled imperfectly against it. I was in balance, sensation against oblivion, with merely the slightest eddy of atmosphere or minute twitch of gravity ready to nudge me in either direction.
Softly, innocently, she continued to breathe.
I inhabited that border zone of sleep where all things are possible and logic has abandoned the mind to hover in the warm pool of its own random symbology. Sink or swim, float or descend, reason has stolen away for the moment, stealthy and unnoticed.
I drifted slowly upon the light swell of consciousness, sometimes aware, sometimes nowhere. I spent time in that place immediately after the final fade out of a movie, before the final credits begin to roll, when the mind transitions and sometimes flounders confused, trying to context switch between ersatz and reality.
There were times of no time, where all that existed was nothing at all.
Random currents would lift me again, and I would lie immobile, faintly surprised that I existed, that I had corporeality, that something or someone lay on the junction of my shoulder and chest. She existed as well; it was her, whose own corporeality I had known so intimately moments before, in another reality that seemed illogically unreal.
I felt my shoulder move involuntarily. Her breathing caught short and she made some soft sound. I could feel her against my skin as she frowned, every crinkle on her nose and the ridges along that furrowed spot on her forehead just above her eyes. She was still asleep, but I could feel her guard threaten, an aura or omen of the normal projection of invincibility that surrounded her when awake. Her breathing evened, the aura faded without a fight.
Innocence again, yet innocence alone -- not flavored with the vulnerability I somehow expected. It was nice; it was acceptance.
She drooled lightly on my chest; a hot, tiny string of saliva stretching from the edge of my nipple to her soft parted lips, less than an inch away. I instinctively stirred, pushing against the bed sheet as biology responded to a reversed Pavlovian stimulus. I brushed myself against her hand on my upper thigh, which merely reinforced the inevitable.
Logic and reason were almost there, ready to return, and yet I fought them passively. I resisted by not resisting, letting sensation and instinct wash over and through me, carrying thought away like a tree branch floating on a swollen river broken with white rapids.
I felt her body against mine, the warmth of her breast along my ribs, the perfect, heart-stopping curve of the feminine spine as my angular arm nestled imperfectly against it. I was in balance, sensation against oblivion, with merely the slightest eddy of atmosphere or minute twitch of gravity ready to nudge me in either direction.
Softly, innocently, she continued to breathe.