Journey to the Center

It is raining. This is a land where it is always raining. The only variable is what sort of rain it is. Right now it isn’t a gentle Spring or Summer shower that cleanses and revitalizes everything it touches. Right now it isn’t a mist that barely even counts as rain and only forms drops as it accumulates on objects. Right now the rain comes down in buckets, in sheets. The force of it cuts rivulets in the soil as the water seeks the lowest ground. Standing in this is a woman.

It is hard to tell whether she is beautiful or not. It is dark out. Only brief flashes of lightning illuminate her occasionally. Her hair is all matted around her face, but she doesn’t take her hand to brush it back. Water runs down the chestnut strands and across her face beginning its futile journey to the center of the earth. The salmon t-shirt she put on this morning is drenched and clings to her like a second skin. Same with the short denim shorts she paired with it. No shoes hinder her toes’ desire to feel the mud between them.

The expression on her face is a motley congregation of joy and freedom and confusion and fear. She looks at the ground near her feet, squinting against the darkness. Her head traces an arc as she looks from the outside of the left foot, around the front of her toes to the outside of her right foot. She looks over her shoulders, first right and then left. She dares not move. She gently bites her lip as she thinks about what to do next.

She uses the lightning to scan her environment further away. In the distance she makes out a blurry figure. She tries to call to it for help, but every time she does, the thunder drowns her out. After several such attempts, her face feels a new sensation to compete with the cold rain. Her tears aren’t cold. They are warm. She keeps looking near her feet. Her head tracing the same arc over and over again, first one way and then the other. It gets faster and faster and starts to be a little jagged as silent tears turn to sobs.

The woman doesn’t notice the figure move closer to her. It is a man. He wonders what she is doing. What is she looking for so intently? He looks where she is looking. In a flash of lightning, slightly behind her he sees something shiny. The light makes it practically glow. The woman has dropped her glasses. She dares not move for fear of stepping on them, but if she doesn’t move she will not find them.

The man uses the lightning to find his way safely to the woman’s treasure. She still doesn’t notice him. He bends down to pick them up. They are all muddy. The rain quickly washes them clean. He taps the woman on the shoulder. She is startled, but turns around slowly. When she does, he puts the gold frames back where they belong. Her face is wet and they slide down a bit. She smiles as he adjusts them for her. He returns the smile.

He notices she is shivering. Her attention no longer consumed with her task, she feels the cold. Her hands rub her arms to generate some heat. He has plenty to spare. He opens his arms and makes the slightest motion with his head during the next flash of lightning. She does not refuse his invitation.

She is a perfect fit, not too big or too small. Her head is just the right height and size to rest comfortably on his shoulder. As her head finds the appropriate place, his arms find theirs as he closes his embrace to shield out the cold. A sigh of contentment can be felt, even if not heard over the rain, coming from both the man and the woman. His embrace tightens a bit. Then it is broken. The woman looks at him, her eyes wide with confusion.

That confusion melts as she does when his right hand comes up to caress her left check. Her eyes close and another sigh escapes her.

“Please don’t,” the man says. 

The woman pulls away slightly as her confusion returns.

“I want to look at your eyes,” he lets her know. “They are very beautiful. The color the sky much be behind all those clouds.”

She can no longer feel the cold of the rain. His words warm her more than any physical embrace could. She looks into his eyes as he looks into hers. To smile would take away from what they are both absorbed by. Even smiling with those eyes would be distracting. His are the color of the life giving earth at her feet. Earth and sky. Gaea and Uranus. Geb and Nut. Nammu and An. The sacred union from which all life springs.

He is content to just soar in those eyes, climbing higher and higher to reach the sun that is blocked by the clouds. His fingertips trace the line of her jaw connecting him to her. This is not enough for the woman. She wants to feel the mud between her toes. She wants to reach down and pick up clumps of it and smear it all over her body.

She waits for a flash of lightning to make her move, but it doesn’t come quick enough for her. She doesn’t need the light to find what she wants. Her mouth covers his in an instant. This startles the man. Her arms go around his neck so she can pull herself closer to him. She loses her footing in the wet mud and begins to slip. His arm goes around her waist to help her steady herself. She starts to say thank you, but her mouth is unable to form the words. It has more important things to do. It is already doing them. One taste of her sweetness and the man needs more. 

His arms hold her tightly against him. She is grateful for this because she probably couldn’t stand otherwise. Her body starts to tremble.

“Are you cold?” he asks looking at her with concern.

She shakes her head. 

“You’re shaking,” he says rubbing his hands along her arms to warm her up. 

“Excited,” she says taking one of his hands in both of hers. 

She brings is up to her mouth. Her tongue traces a very light circle on his inner wrist. Then it travels across his palm to the tip of his longest finger. She opens her mouth and brings it into her mouth up to the top knuckle. Her tongue dances around it. This sends shivers through the man that he’s not sure he wants. He pulls out his finger, but the woman is having too much fun to notice his discomfort. She sucks to bring the finger in more. He pulls it out again. This time she lightly scrapes her teeth along it. Just before it reaches the end, she increases her suction. It’s a game. He lets her play.

The taste and texture of this small appendage is thoroughly explored. When she is finished, a slight push of the tongue lets him know she wants another. Then another when she has finished with that one. Each finger receives the same devoted attention. Lips, teeth, tongue all take their turn in the dance aided by just the right about of suction to keep things moving in the direction she wants.

The rain is still pouring down. They both can barely feel it. With his free hand he pries the back of her t-shirt away from her lower back. The shirt clings to her and he can feel the contours of her back through it, but he wants more. Skin to skin contact. He finds it under her shirt. Her back is so smooth and soft. Everything a woman should be. There is no bra to hinder the path his hand makes as he counts her vertebrae. Again, just as a woman should be.

He wants both hands for his exploration, so he takes her plaything away. She doesn’t object as it joins his other hand. Her narrow shoulders, the ribs that jut out from the well counted vertebrae, the small of her back, all of it receives the same attention she had shown him earlier. Her eyes are closed. Her head tries to stay upright, but waves of pleasure keep rolling it around. Finally she just gives into them. He watches her chest rise and fall as her sighs turn to moans.