The Naked Truth

I lie with my back turned. I sleep like this, on my right side, curled up, but I wait like this, too. My vulnerable, over-sensitive turned back is not rejection but invitation, and acquiescence.

A shift, and my back is warmed, the underside of my thighs enclosed. Now, if I stretch, straighten out, I’ll be pulled back in. Later, when I do it, I’ll only be held at the pivotal points. Now I press back, gauging, passively anticipatory.

A touch so light it seems more in my imagination (but it’s not, I feel the proof of his anticipation at my back, and a quick soft exhale against my neck). Fingertips against my thigh, so light, and I feel as though my senses watch through a microscope as my skin quakes invisibly, my nerve-endings hold their breath. The touch skates, slides, light, but meant and felt, and unmistakable in its intent. In a dreamy no-thinking (but not unthinking) sinking into some tactile haze where only what is touched can feel, and all the rest waits – but so much is touched, from what lies under his slow hand to what is pressed against him, and what is warmed by reflected heat, or stroked by breath.

Like this, so still and patient, I am most predatory, and it’s so familiar to me. Here it is, this gift of me, to do with as you like: to tease, or take, always in the knowledge that there will be no resistance. This is how I have always got what I want: a silent offering-up that equates to a lying in wait.

Fuckmefuckmefuckme but don’t. Don’t stop. Don’t stop not fucking me, just doing this, touch and a threat and a promise, and nothing more. Don’t take me out of this state where I can only respond, not initiate, where I want only what is wanted of me. Keep that hand just a hairtrigger away from where I want it (even if I twist into you, to push my luck, even if I whimper in desperation, wait until you can’t wait).

I think that but I don’t think. Really I only feel. Controlled, but not lacking it. Complicit. Acquiescent. So acquiescent (liquidly).

His hand moves, his body moves, and mine reacts exactly to his pace, closing round fingers, and then cock, no longer immobile but exhilarated, livewired, fucked back to the here and now of hard, fast, soft, hot, yielding and relentless flesh. Now I’ve got what I want I can take it as fiercely as it’s taken. Now, I want this, not the waiting, or the patient response to what I’m given, or the lying slyly in predatory wait; now I want the fight, even though we’re on the same side.