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Vanishing Rooms “I wanted his hands on me. I didn’t mind the cracked, chewed skin, the broken fingernails with flecks of dirt along the ridge. I wanted those hands on me, the blunt knuckles, the wrinkled skin, the bony joints, the tiny hair sprouts curling out. I wanted his hands on me. And wherever those hands led, I’d follow. I’d ride the tracks of his feet and the rough guardrails of those hands. Five fingers and five more. I wanted the electricity of his touch, his hands on me. How many times did I tell him, “Just touch me. Dance your fingers on my chest, my thighs. Press my flesh. Take off my clothes real slow.” But when he touched me, my excitement dwindled into fear. His hands fluttered, suddenly unsure of themselves, of where they would land and do their marvelous work. I bent low and let his fingers drum on my belly. Then calmly they stroked where my secret skin was softest. He lifted away his hands and hid them. His lips found the tender places left aching by his touch. And when my hands kneaded him in return―everywhere―nothing afterward felt the same.” — Melvin Dixon, Vanishing Rooms (1991)  "Men need to hunt. She obviously understands this. She’s offering herself as prey. Not easy prey. But willing.” |
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Beautiful  "Men need to hunt. She obviously understands this. She’s offering herself as prey. Not easy prey. But willing.”
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   "Men need to hunt. She obviously understands this. She’s offering herself as prey. Not easy prey. But willing.”
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9/5/2021 6:21 am |
Lovely...
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Beautiful
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Lovely. "Men need to hunt. She obviously understands this. She’s offering herself as prey. Not easy prey. But willing.”
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