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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1296658
by Genix
Rated: ASR · Draft · Experience · #1296658
Reflections on a steamed-up wall.
So. Here I am. Sitting in a steam-filled room staring at the mirror opposite. The steam and condensation obscuring half of what I see of myself. Blurry and distorted. It is as if my face has turned to liquid, dripping off to the one side and smearing down the wall.

Probably exactly how other people see me.

The water is warm, actually just right.

I lay back slowly and it gushes up around me, warm and inviting. Spilling over my arms and my chest, exciting my nipples just that little bit.

It feels almost, familiar in some strange way. As if we’re the best of friends, having spent so long apart and just seeing each other again after such a long time. Warm and welcoming, with no thought given to the time we spent apart.

I lie there for a while. Feeling the warmth of my familiar-found friend spilling across me, over my stomach and between my legs. The rushing sound as it spills over my face and fills my ears.

Weightless. No sound. No feeling. Just warmth. Nothing.

Beautiful and enticing, I tell myself. Wonderful. But it will not last forever. It cannot. I will not allow it.

I am here for a reason. I have committed, and I come here with purpose. With intent.

I sit up quickly, not allowing the gentle warmth of my friend to pull me back. Longingly she tugs at me, her gentle caress on my back; but I resist the temptation to follow.

She lets go of me now, almost knowing what waits ahead. She knows I’m sure, maybe even more so than I do. And she waits patiently, to carry me onward.

Looking to the side I can see you, just within arms reach where I left you earlier. My body tingles with electric anticipation. Picking you up you’re cold for but a moment, almost immediately responding to my touch and drawing warmth from my fingers. Still, razor sharp.

I’ve read about this a thousand times; down, not across. Hollywood isn’t a great teacher. And it just makes things messy I’m told.

There is no need for formal introductions tonight. There will be only this one dance, two lovers pressed up close against each, feeling the others’ breath and moving together as one. And then we say part, we say goodbye.

You move so easily, so effortlessly becoming one with me, moving swiftly, outside and first and then deeply inside me.

This dance is short, quick and precise. There’s no time for dallying in the moonlight or longingly wondering what may have been. Time is short as my very being gushes from my arm, rejoicing at this new steam-filled world it has now come to find outside of its veined confines.

And onto the other, almost as if the first dance meant nothing in your silver-blue eyes. With as much charm, the introductions are waived, and you continue on your journey. Leaving a trail of crimson and copper in your wake.

I look at the gaping tears as my essence cries freedom and escapes its drudgery. You, the dancer, lying spent and used between my legs as my once-clean friend is turned to bloody pallor. So many friends I have tonight it seems, all coming to see me this one last time. To bid me farewell, and yet, welcome me at the same time.

So. Here I am. Sitting in a steam-filled room staring at the mirror opposite. The steam and condensation now obscuring most of what I see. But I do see, only just. And there are tears.

I lay back, falling at last into the arms of my patient friend, feeling her warmth of her as she holds me tightly and comforts me into the darkness that awaits.
© Copyright 2007 Genix (nadersno at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1296658