my placeyours, your bodymine #2
We are at his mouth now. Our lips have found his. We suspend ourselves here, almost as if we were hovering in the air, as
if we were no longer bound by gravity, our bodies rising, rising, lifting off this planet and its laws. We are boundless now,
our bodies. Free.
We hold ourselves at his lips, mere inches away from his mouth. So still. Ready to capture his breath. That last gasp. We
want it for ourselves.
“Are you afraid of what you see?” We ask this question again, so desperate it sounds like we’re begging, unable to restrain
ourselves any longer.
We want his fear. Need it. Give it to us.
“No,” he replies. The word is so measured, but we can hear the faintest tremble at the back of his throat. A levee about to
break. “Show me. I want to see everything.”
“Trust us, you wouldn’t like what you—”
Jordan moves. Pounces upon us. He presses his lips against ours. We are startled by this. We hadn’t sensed it. Hadn’t anticipated
it. He takes us by such surprise with this kiss. It is such a fluid movement, his head, his neck, his chest, then the rest,
all upon us, closing that infinitesimal gap in a matter of a blink. There’s no time to react. To breathe.
All this time, we believed we were in control. Easing into his fear. A spider toying with the fly. But he unleashes himself
upon us. His muscles spring into action, a tightly coiled wire. All that sinew. There is such strength to him, even now.
Jordan pushes off from the wall. Our body now tilts back, upending itself, until we are sprawled across the mattress and Jordan is on top. His hands find ours, weaving his fingers between our own, pinning our arms in place.
His lips never leave ours. He continues to kiss us. Our mouth opens wider, as wide as these cheeks will allow. Then, just
as his tongue plunges in, we—
Bite.
Jordan reels back just in time to hear our teeth snap. So close to his own. Almost. We find his eyes once more. We are panting, frenzied now. He studies us, out of breath.
We smile, our chest heaving. There is danger here, yes. In both of us.
“Who are you?” he asks. “Show me.”
“No.”
He leans forward, lowering his head toward our own. He’s coming in for a kiss.
We snap at the air again, gnashing our teeth.
Jordan reels his head back.
We smile. Try again, our grin suggests. Go ahead, we dare you.
“Show me,” he says.
We begin to lift. Our arms push up, our hands tightening their grip around his own, and we sense he knows we are stronger,
much stronger, than we appear.
We are no longer bound to the bed. Our bodies abandon the mattress.
We levitate.
“Is this what you want?” we ask.
Jordan’s body falls onto our own. His mouth finds our neck. He leaves us to look at the ceiling, as he continues his sojourn
down our body.
We suspend ourselves, him and us. Let him explore. Let him bury his face into our body. Let the walls of flesh crumble between
us until there’s nothing left standing.
We collapse to the mattress. Our bodies smash against the bed.
He doesn’t stop. He never stops.
We release Jordan’s hands. His left finds our cheek. His fingers graze the skin. A tender gesture. Even now, he is searching.
Searching for something he can never see.
It is all darkness within.
What he hopes to find slithers in the shadows of our bodies, formless. Elemental as water.
We run our hands through his hair. The sable locks slip through our fingers as he continues his descent. We no longer have
him in our hands. He has reached our lowest depths, opening our legs.
We feel him kiss us now. The presence of his breath against the inside of our thighs.
He wants to inhale us. Possess us.
Let him in . . .
Our body relents. Every muscle releases, then tightens again. A sheath of tendon and skin. The compression of it all, the
suffocation it creates, an implosion, every cell collapsing, like a dying star. What a black hole it creates. A supernova
within ourselves.
Now it is our turn. We grab Jordan’s shoulders and force him back. We don’t wait for permission. He rolls over onto his back
and now we are on top, straddling his waist.
We tear through his shirt. It means nothing to us.
We find that topographical map of scar tissue along his chest and set our course across his body. This pilgrimage is ours
to make alone.
We want him inside. With us. We bring him in, let him possess us, the very length of his flesh entering and pervading every
inch of our body. We sense his presence. It burns.
We do away with the rest of his clothes, then he helps with our own. Layers of flesh, the husks of our former selves, discarded.
Our body breathes.
We remain on top. We chart our journey, running our hands along the length of his scars as we straddle him, poring over this
map as we ride, ride, ride.
We push down.
We have come so far, traveled so far, and yet we know now there is so much further to go. We have barely begun our sojourn
through Jordan’s soul. There is no distance we can’t cover. Not with his skin. He will guide us through this experience. His
injuries chart our course—look at those wounds, the constellations of discolored skin—and we realize it is only through him,
his body, his wounds, that we will reach our destination. So we ride on.
We will ride together. Journey as one.
We roll over the bed. Our back finds the wall. Instead of stopping, we continue to spin. Our bodies remain intertwined as
we tumble up the wall. Now it’s Jordan’s back pressed against the plaster. He buries his face into the nape of our neck, rutting
for flesh, as we ascend. He doesn’t notice, lost in his passion, in our body, as we carry on our ascent.
Our skin scrapes over the wall in an upward roll. We defy gravity, as if the room itself tilts and now the wall is the floor,
and we are merely spiraling along. Plaster cracks beneath our backs. Feel the Sheetrock crumble to dust under the weight of
our bodies.
Jordan pulls away from our embrace, reeling his head back to discover he’s now suspended in the air, pinned to the wall. Our
limbs hold him up. Elevate him. He lets out a gasp—“Oh God”—but we don’t let go, continuing to tumble upward until we reach