When I think about the night we spent together it all piles up in my head, and it’s nearly impossible for me to pull any single detail from the whole. If I could write about sex with her it would be one word, the letters of a thousand others bunched up on top, sitting in one place, ready to explode. If I could write about her, it would be a thousand voices all speaking at once.
I know that I asked her for a kiss, and I know that from that moment on all of our words were whispered in ears as we lost clothes, tugged and scratched skin, and discovered things about each other we didn’t know. I didn’t know how hard she liked to be pushed until she whispered it in my ear. I didn’t know she wanted me to fight back until I pinned her arms above her head and listened to her breath. I didn’t know she wanted me inside her until she opened her legs and closed her eyes.
There were times when I wanted to slow down until the sensation of our bodies was the only thing in the world. There were times when I wanted to stop and stare into her eyes without moving a muscle. But quiet wasn’t what she needed, and it wasn’t what my body wanted. It was my brain telling me to slow down. It was my thinking mind so used to worry and fear that it nearly shut me off without noticing.
But somehow I managed to avoid it, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t her lips. Or if I said it wasn’t her words. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t her skin and her mouth urging me to forget everything. And somehow I did. Somehow I forget to struggle and I forgot to be afraid.
Somehow I forgot to think at all.
Louise Erdrich (via carpethedamndiem)
Things I needed today, along with hugs and ice cream.