exercise 6

As one flies into Porciúncula, the expansiveness of the city is accordion. It contracts and expands with the heat of the mid-day sun and the cooling off of the desert night. The bellows have been stretched for some time now. The contractions have become more and more minute fluctuations in the fabric. The city has surrounded itself from within and without with people. A cut-throat sort of people who live off and on top of one another but they never get to find out details about one another. Encapsulated in eggs. Residents trying to live up to the moment that the beautiful weather provides but always coming up short because the city is driven by work. He worked on me, but failed. He has already moved on to the next girlfriend. She did not spend the night last night. He is laid out on the futon to watch cartoons or whatever is on. The sun comes through the tall East-facing windows lighting up the whole of our 70’s contemporary living room. I can barely make out the coyote chasing the roadrunner with all of the ambient life. He stares off absent-mindedly. I come into the living room in a t-shirt and Gauloises blue pajama bottoms. They remind me of Dad pajamas, though soft and worn. The futon is the only comfortable spot in the room. The rest of our furniture is hand-me-down or garage sale, not very comfortable. Just as he is about to scooch over onto one side of the futon-couch or the other, I lay face-down beside him to watch cartoons. He scoots back to make room and presses his back into the upright section. We lay there for awhile. Enjoying the sun in the room and the calm start to a Saturday morning. I doubt that laying here, he will be able to keep his hands off me. I have learned this over the course of our nine months living together. He is built with massage hands, and after endless years of rolling newspapers for his paper route, he has the strength in his fingers to roll skin. I don’t have to wait long. He starts by running his right hand up one leg and down the other, just to warm me up and get the blood flowing. He presses back further into the cushion. His long arms are a gift from God. He can reach all the way to my feet to rub the arch, massage the heel, pinch my toes. Fingers rotate around my ankles, ever-so-slightly moving my foot. He moves up to calves and gets in deep, almost to the point of pain. I wince only a couple of times during his plying of my calves. He occasionally gets excited and forgets how hard he is pressing. He alternates from one calf to the other, always maintaining contact. He gently pushes on the space behind my knee. It feels weird, almost like a funny-bone jolt but less startling and more releasing. The thigh is where I lose all control. His hands slide up my thighs and his hand seems to encompass all of my thigh from side to side to where he can’t reach anymore. His pressure here is more delicate, more right on the button or should I say buttons. The tension I carry on my thighs melts away as he works into deeper and deeper tissue. He crab-walks up and down my left thigh over and over. He then presses his thumb into the center of the back of my thigh and runs it up to the curve of my ass. It sends electricity all the way to my head. My hair is on the end of a needle. He traces the line in the center of the thigh more times for good measure and moves on to my right thigh. As he leans in to grab my thigh, I feel his prick poke me with wet intentions. He aligns the pleasure of my tingling left thigh with the right. Fingers on the outside, thumb on the inside grasping my thigh like he might elevate me with the pure power of levitation. He releases muscles from their entrapped position on bone. I close my eyes and resort to gentle purring. His hand moves down the outside and his thumb forages up the inside. His thumb gets closer and closer to the curve of my ass. I anticipate the deep rub on my ass more so than the luxurious touch on my thighs. He attempts to tease. Just as I think he is going to cup my ass in his hand, he proceeds down to my feet and back up without quite as much fervor or anticipation but still damn excellent. He gets back to cupping my ass again, but then sprinkles rain trickles down the back of my legs to my feet. At this point, I resort to gentle moaning with the stroke of his hands on my tanned highways to his unpromised lands. I ask him if its okay if I moan a little as he’s turning me on, as if he’ll say no. I let him think he has control and I know it gets him off too. It’s the only noise we’ve heard all morning between us. This time as my moaning urges him back up my leg, he finally reaches my ass once again. I almost squeal as he pushes his palm into the flesh of my butt. Pushing deep to the hip muscle, releasing all sorts of tension and pension from the ball and socket. It feels damn good. He enjoys spending time with my cute curved ass. And spend time he does. He rotates around that joint like the moon in orbit encouraging all aspects around the bone to release and be free. He scrunches flesh in his hand, let’s go and then scrunches again. My pussy is wet. He moves over to the other cheek and starts the orbits of circled passion showing the way. His hand pushes and slides off the side, pulling week-long contention from my sore muscles. He turns to incorporating all his squeezing and pushing and plying with his hands and fingers. I know what’s coming next. The massage becomes a bricolage of all the other elements. He sneaks them closer and closer to my hot, wet vagina. He brushes her and her brushes her, always retreating elsewhere. He thinks he is teasing me and he is. I wish he would just go after her. On his way up this time I slightly raise my hips as he gets close and slide down the couch to make sure my pajamas get soaked so he knows. The brushes on my lips become longer and longer until he begins to circle my clit with his middle finger gently placing pajama friction all over. He slides his finger between the soaked lips of my vajayjay and by this time I can feel the whole inside of my pajamas are soaked. I can feel them on my inner thighs. He slides down and around and down and around. Occasionally escaping for further butt rub but coming right back to driving me straight to orgasm. He circles and circles moderating his pressure from light to pushing just enough to roll my clit lucidly in its hood. Sheer delicacy. At this point I have lost myself in the world of this ensuing orgasm and am ready to allow him to have his way now. Continuing to moan, continuing to prod him on by the slight movement of my hips, putting my butterfly right on his stem. Pollinating. All of the sudden in one quick movement, he’s flipped me over and my pajamas are now laying in a pile next to his knees. He grabs my knees and dives right down before I can even catch my breath or realize I’ve been flipped like a grilled cheese with his spatula. And I lay splayed to his every giving pleasure. He turns his head and kisses my lips and kisses and kisses until it becomes a French kiss of the cunnilingus sort and his tongue reunites with my clit like long lost lovers. I wonder if he had a vagina in a previous life. His tongue circles my clit and he gently sucks with full trombone lips. I can’t imagine another mouth I’d rather have locked on my pussy right now, male or female. He just knows, but how? I grab his head and push him deeper into my wetness. He uses lips and tongue to get me almost there and then almost there again. He backs off ever so slightly just when I am about to have my orgasm. So I repeal the moaning, gently cooing so he doesn’t know. So he places his palm on his chin and slips a finger in. He gently curves his finger up to my G-spot, which will put me at climax in a matter of moments. He times his finger thrusts with the pressure on my clit. The rhythm is engulfing with back and forth and back and forth. I let go and let go. The wave rushes over me. My body oscillates with release. Another wave. I can feel my heart pounding and the blood flushing through blood vessels. It is hot. I am hot and sensitive. I pull his head from my pelvis, by his long curly hair. His face is wet and shiny. He stands up. I can see his shorts stressed by his hard dick, but he walks away down the hall and into the bathroom. The shower starts up. I lay there basking in the half-intense light, half-naked, enjoying the release of his freshly procured orgasm. I sigh and fall back on the futon contemplating why his working wasn’t quite enough. The sun of the city pulls light from the room. The above ground is decorated with its mood ring space needle, giving its inhabitants a clue as to the temper industry of each day. But when going down below, an inhabitant will notice the smoothness of the underside seeing as it doesn’t face the wind, sun, or effacing citizenry. The underground, a journey as worthy as the upside, lures with its own lush luster and sheen. It may take more time to acknowledge. In this city of mortgaged souls and brokered dreams, sometimes the best thing to hold on to is in your hand. This land of just cant get enough sometimes shows that there is. dc