Page 31 of Way Down Deep

That made me smile. Knickers. That makes me sound about eight instead of thirty-four, but there you go.

This is strange, isn’t it? Or rather, talking like this isn’t strange at all. What’s strange is how it’s taken us so long to get here. To text like normal people.

Ialmost said panties. But that wouldn’t be me. And yes, it is strange. Strange that I don’t feel as scared as I thought I would, talking to you so directly. It’s easier than it should be.

Iwonderwhat it says about us that we took a medium designed for haste and abbreviation and smiley faces and back-and-forth-and-back-and-forth and used it the same way we might carrier pigeons or letters sealed with wax. That we’re scared? Or perhaps that there’s some pleasure to be found in the composing? The crafting and curating of thoughts until they’re just so, worthy of offering?

Or perhaps it’s the waiting. Anticipating.

Ithought it was fear. But now I don’t know. The need for editing seems so silly in light of how easy this is. It makes me wonder more about that one sweet word: anticipation. I can’t deny that I’ve gone to sleep full of excitement at the thought of what might be waiting for me when I wake.

Now I feel like Santa.

The world’s grown very instantaneous, hasn’t it? We want everything now, right now.

Maybe we were meantfor a different era. Parchment and quills and seven oceans standing between us. Carriages caught in the rain and boiling-over words said too soon for fear that they will be the last ones. Like Beethoven: my thoughts turn to you, my immortal beloved.

Very romantic, stranger. Very poetic. Very you. Makes me wish my fingers were stained with ink.

I wish for other things, too. Now that we’re not editing… If you were here, I wouldn’t want to feel you, edited. No going back, exing out a fumbling touch or a messy first meeting of our mouths.

You wouldn’t. I don’t think I could edit myself if I were there or you were here. The second you said fingers stained with ink I thought about them on me, making patterns over my skin.

My brain wantsto come up with some clever, poetic simile involving Rorschach tests, but my body’s too overheated and impatient to give many shits about cleverness.

I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve waited. That it’s been days. Over a week.

It’s been since before we first met.

Then be impatient with me. Show me what a week of torture has done.

I’m bringingyou into my room. Hang on.

Shall I tell you about it? My room?

You can, but if I were there I wouldn’t pay any attention. Every inch of my focus would be on you.

Then I’ll giveyou just one detail: the window’s open. Just above the head of my bed. If you want to feel that, you know what to do.

Iwas already laidbeneath it before you said a word. I can practically feel the rain on my bare skin as I lie there waiting for you.

Good. I’m on my bed now. I’m going to undo my belt. I think you’d like to know about it, my belt. That’s a detail you’d want, like how you might want to know what the wrapper of a candy looks like before you open it, what color, and is it metallic or striped, does it crinkle? So I’ll tell you. It’s just old, worn, dark brown leather. Thick and cracked. Silver buckle. Nothing fancy.

Nothing fancyjust made me flush hot all over. I can see you with that buckle in your hands. Hear it clink. Hear the slow slide of leather.

You’re exactly right. Such a small sound, the rain just about swallows it, but you wouldn’t miss it, would you? You drink up that tiny nothing-sound, leather sighing through metal.

I’d tell you about my jeans, next. How I’d undo the button, and about another tiny sound, the one the zipper would make. But if you were here, I have to imagine it’d be your fingers there. Fumbling and eager.

I’m so primed, I think I can hear your heart beating from here. I doubt there’s any sound that could escape me, but that zipper … oh if I heard that zipper. I don’t think I could stop myself from pushing your hands away. From finishing it off myself.

Jesus, you’re sexy.

You’ve never touched a man before, have you? Not in any way?

Isthe sexy part that I haven’t, or that I’m so greedy anyway?

Both. Neither. It’s just you. How you are. You’re ten thousand things, and I can’t predict a one of them.