how it all began

For a long moment I am in a box with nothing but my forehead and your fingers moving across it onto my hair. Keeping the pressure of your thumb on the corner of my eyebrow, your index finger sweeps diagonally up onto my tightly pulled back strands of hair.
There is a strong deliberation to your movements that I find wildly distracting. I have forgotten that I had been touching your back, my hand still moves I think, but really I am just thinking of the finger. I concentrate intensely on it, loath for every millisecond of mind wandering that loses the full effect of your trajectory. I wait desperately to catch the beginning of the path your finger takes, not wanting to miss the middle, savoring the end when it begins again, my heartbeat rising with it.
How I’ve wanted you, but I find myself hesitating, wondering where this will lead us.
My resistance shatters slowly in four crystal phases of breathing.
I breathe quietly, know you can’t hear.
Your hands on my bare back.
I breathe louder, hope you don’t hear.
I reach for below your shirt right where your skin rests above your shorts.
I breathe louder, abandon myself to being heard.
Your hands on my legs now.
I breathe loudly, I want you to hear me. So that you don’t stop.
And I am free.
I haven’t looked at you in so long. I wonder at the untouched spots you seem to be finding on me. I am awash with curiosity, fascinated by how I’m responding, intrigued about where you’re traveling.
As you touch this place and that, I am connect-the-dots, I am rainbow-brite, I am alight and flickering in parts all over, your hand moving on from one spot but my mind not forgetting any until I feel like from the inside I am one of those satellite images of New York that can be seen from space.

Oh and finally on my shorts, your shorts, my shorts. Finally to find you there.

No no no I could never be uncomfortable at a time like this.