A Lonely Dream
I wrote this after I realized I was in love with a friend. Obviously, this will have to go in the “romance” section, R.
We’re laying there, wine bottle in hand, slowly passing it back and forth from one to the other. We’re talking a little, but mainly our focus is on the film. The light from the television set is the only in the room, it flickers across our faces. The pillows against which we rest are dimly visible.
Your arm is across my chest after a little while, your head on my shoulder; we’re drunk, quite drunk. I have another sip and pass you the bottle; yes, I know what I’m doing; I’m going to have you, we’re going to kiss, we’re going to break off, as if we’re worried about the friendship, and silently go back to watching the film, except now we won’t be thinking about the storyline or the plot, we’ll be thinking about our own little drama, how good the kiss felt, how enjoyable, a little homely, a little passionate; a soft glow, like that on the pillow, warming our misty minds.
All this happens, exactly. I pretend my shoulder is a little tired and weak from your head, and adjust it a little. I’m testing you. You lift your head slightly to allow my movement, then settle back on me, moving a little too much for just the comfort. Parts of us rub; your shoulder on mine, your hand across my chest and stomach, your head on my cheek. You cough slightly. I press a little against you with my arm, like a mother warming her child, but only slightly again; our pretense of friendship watching a movie has not quite worn off yet.
I take another drink, pass you the bottle, and you sip silently. It feels like the moment is passing, like it never or shouldn’t have happened, and I despair: so close! It’s always been so close. But left alone. Now, it seems the kiss has changed nothing. But joy, perfect joy, perfect timing, the director has decided this moment calls for another joke, something to lighten the mood a little more, something that catches us, and we both listen to each other’s laugh; what state of mind is the other in? We both sound comfortable, and that’s enough. We look at each other again, except you’re looking at my eyes, and I’m looking at your mouth. I feel guilty, what am I thinking? For my presumptuousness, for my lack of concentration, I have lost my façade, and now you know; it’s make or break! But a mere second, one small second after I realize I’ve been rash, I try to look you in the eyes, hoping it’s not too late – but heavenly joy; you’re already closing yours. I do too, and we can no longer see each other. We touch. In the darkness I feel your lips question, I push onto yours, one lip over the other over the other over the other, I pull my tongue back, and yours is further inside, I lick a little, move my head to the side, you move your hand again, and there, we’re embracing.
Now it’s not a joke, it’s not a mistake. Carefully, not to startle each other out of the blind reverie, we test movements, responses, likes and dislikes. It’s our little game of risk, both amassing armies, one border between us that’s always shifting, slowly fading. Now, we’re locked together, arms and legs, and I’ve gone for the only place I know that’s both excitable and loving; the top of the neck, just behind the ear, under the ear, behind the jaw. You’re mine, I’ve done it, this has done it, you start pulling at clothes, and finally I’m no longer wondering. Neither of us fearing. And we make love.
You still can’t look at me, but I look at you, and I think; I am the luckiest man in the world right now.
