The subtle incoherent taping of distant raindrops, made individual acute experience to recede. Feelings, expressions, colors, and noises were treated like a rhythmic carousel to the rain. While there; blue tipped greens, half remembered conversations from a decade past, and the warm smell of cinnamon mulled to make a warm mold wine of experience. Pleasant, but completely out of season.
Tap, tap, Tap: The close drops crashed into awareness, moist rainlets clung to arm hair, and skin like rats trying to escape a sinking schooner. The pleasant lantern awareness of comfort broke, not unlike that same ship the rats were trying to flee. Sight narrowed, skin, white, red, straw, and a pale salmon. A question was asked. It awaits a reply! In an attempt to recover a meek, “wha?”
“You weren’t even listening to me, were you?” the warm voice ejaculated playfully.
“Yes, I was! I just… the rain is nice. that is all,” the reply was firmly assuritive.
“If you weren’t just stairing at my tits then what did I say?”
“I, uh. remember the orchestra bake sale? I was thinking of that.”
The tone took on a sheepishly tone of antagonism that faded back into informative,”So you *were* looking at my tits. It’s one of the benefits of having kids. I was *saying* we can leave soon to the campsite. The drive is over an hour away. By that time the rain should be completely done. At least until we set up.”
‘Yeah.”
“What about the bake sale?”
Unsure how to reply, the first predilection was to assassinate the moisture on the arm as a defensive gesture. “It was fun. I liked your cinnamon rolls.”
“Then you liked *my moms* cinnamon rolls. All I remember was how we had our last good talk. I missed that, and you.” She said reassuringly as she contorted into a stretch, or maybe it was suggestive. Never being good at assessing these situations the newest solution was just to ask flatly if there is an intent in the gesture, Old behaviors died slow for old friends. The older the worst, and the knowledge that this person has been a meaningful artifact for over half a lifetime lead back to rumination; and lechery.
The amalgamation of colors had long left their enchanting kaleidoscope. As if the field of vision were a quickly filled in color by number painting all the hues filled in, lines were never crossed. There was stark distance in the contrast, though in that creeping areas of pigments there was a quiet seduction.
She use to only wear, shirts she gathered from Christian summer camp, maybe a school dance or two, jeans were no real article of interest. All of that was old hat. What was appeared now was the new.You catch the distinct notion the person she was now would have been scandalized. The black field of the training bra was accented by the vivid red trim. Sure, training bras were probably something she had worn in the past in highschool during gym class. This bra had a suprising quality besides being prominatly seen.
Even in her early 20s the size of the bra would have constricted her chest like a python of umber and scarlet, while she heaved for breathe. Back then she wasn’t fat, she did however, have a softness to her arms, thighs, cheeks, especially for her midriff. Her midriff has completely changed. The once baggy t-shirt has surrendered to a fitted egg shell tank top with a fabric thick enough not to betray anything underneath. That is until now.
The flexion and roll of her shoulders combined with the soft lighting of the front porch now gave reference to the soft shadows. Her body became alive in the undilation. With her arms lifted up high never before muscle definition confirmed a new tautness. The same with her quadriceps which were clearly displayed by shear navy shorts that began well after her knee cap. A garment that would have almost had been unfit for underwear.
She had announced via text she had become a bit of a gym junkie after the divorce. This burst of movement had not only confirmed that. The display enunciated it with the lifting of the tank top to show a small divot under her belly button.
The loss of roundness in her face had heightened the striking qualities in her face. Though while talking to her you still notieced her teeth were still slightly crowded. Not unattractively, so; it had a grounding affect. This was still the same her, just a different version that had finally started working on those things she had confided that bothered her. That confidence was also on her face as she smiled warmly with her teeth slightly tugging on her lip. “Mind if we go inside? It still hasn’t warmed up today and the rain isn’t helping.”
A confident,“ Sure,” was planted as a phrase that could be relied on as neutral. The touch however was different.
Typically this was a bold move in general, however, history informed the movement could be taken as just reassurance; as an escort through the front door. A strong grip with the verbal response at the elbow could also confer strength, and intimacy. The litmus test was as the hand almost imperceptibly releases on the elbow riding up the arm only well after her foot crest the door jam. To a reserved nature this was a shot fired off the bow.
She was cold, and rough, as if living flesh made textured steel. Individual hairs flowed like wheat in a spring wind under the delicate touch of the palm, and fingers. Her skin being moist resisted the upward movement of the clasped hand an amount that felt awkward, crap.
Watching the step inside, eyes focused and downswept on the potentially treacherous curb. Now has the familiar scene up now up close. The salmon was a quality that rested atop of the cleavage, which visually had the same effect of the arm; goosebumps. Eyes darted up into, pale cerulean within onyx pools; her eyes. Cheeks even more vital in opacity than the bussem. A gentle tug of the bare forearm slides to the wrist. “It’s too early, let’s get some coffee.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/c1rfkc/poes_westermarck