Articulate

Beloved, they want to know:
Did I reach up to You,
or did You reach out to me?
And they want to know:
What is real touch?
How can I explain
we pour into each other?
Ivan Granger

It isn't often I manage to make it to the fires and when I do, it is a treat for me. I try not to be very intrusive but this night I decided to shoot for the stars. A simple silent gesture asked if I could sit behind him on the platform and a simple silent gesture afforded me the priviledge. How precious it felt to be allowed there, close to him once again. Of a whole gathering around the fires, I knew nothing of most of the evening except the feel of my breasts pillowing his head, my body his cushion to cradle against. I had remembered those first nights of being with him, how his touch had played the response of my body as if it were a fine instrument. A glide along the skin prickling it to a dampened rise of the fine down, rippling it as his fingers disturbed the serenity of the porcelain statue ... bringing it to life with just his whim. He gave me taste of that once more when he took my hand within his. There before everyone gathered, he manipulated my fingers in a way that was far more intimate than wanton sexual release, for more intense in its dominance than a whip could ever have created. Chaste in that it was nothing more than the lift of my hand exploring it down to my wrist, iniquitous in how it made me feel.
Much as the strands of leather used to harness the power of the massive kaiila, his fingers became the guidance to move mine. He led, I followed. Such connection was intoxicating, maddening, thrilling. I watched in fascination, I felt each tendon, each muscle's reflex .. response as he placed pressure on my wrist, my palm, my thumb. I watched as he moved my fingers to a ballerina's pose, the joints curving and stilling when he had them just as he wished them. He held them frozen as if they belonged to a doll. Does the marionette feel as I did? Does she know the exquisiteness of the moment? Unlike her, the dance was far more complete in that I felt it everywhere, to my very breath, my pulse, the curl of my toes, waving, swaying, bending to his will. He had asked me once of my thoughts of a man taking his woman right there at the fires, in front of any and all gathered ... was this not the same in its way? Was it not ... indulgent exhibitionism. He was selfish, he was cruel, he was tender, he was demanding and exacting. He was unabashed and unashamed. He was all of the man I had fallen for.
He displayed his own trust as well. The line of artery lay exposed beneath my chin, there for the simple bend of my head to sink my teeth into. I felt it beneath the ridge of my nails however brief he allowed the touch. I felt ferral needs rise and the yearning to cut the spike of a canine deep into it, to taste his pulse, to feel mine matching his. Did he exposed me as slave before the fires or simply what everyone including myself already knew? I was a passionate woman ... I was his. There were moments I wanted so much more, to whisper along the shell of his ear an invitation. Instead it was the low growl of his voice against mine that made me want to cry out what his touch made me feel .. not simply the sexuality of it, not just the sensuality of it or even the delectable interconnection that I yearned for so deeply with him again. It was purely the response of being all woman. He wrote poetry in the motions, he wrote prose on my skin. My restraint at times bit my teeth into the tender flesh of my own lip. Despite all that he provoked ... it was his lead and I .. gave in to it.
In doing so, so much more revealed itself. His skin beneath the allowance of my palm was scalding hot, fevered. It made my own flesh feel like an ice bath against it. Letting my skin cool his again and again in the night air before he used it as a soothing compress for his own. I could tell he forgot the wrappings along his chest until my fingers probed gently to see how far it covered. The wound encompassed his heart which cut through me and quickened my breaths, thudded my pulse. I tried not to let my concern show. There before everyone he had allowed me this tidbit of knowledge and none else knew. None cared, none noticed. I felt as if my own heart broke open and spilled out for all to see, for him to see its exposure. When he rose to speak to the visiting spex, I felt as if I had been plunged into the icy cold of the stream without him. It warmed to a glistening fiery heat when he called my name and turned to walk into the darkness. I rose to go with him.