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The Stone

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We are walking.

Down a driveway.

An ordinary, heavily traveled, gravel driveway. maybe not a home. A work place. But not too urban. A long driveway of a university building perhaps.

We are speaking of something else, vague. Work related. Perhaps we don’t know each other well- – – perhaps we do.

You stop in the center of the driveway and look at me closely. I wait. Meet your eyes and then drop my eyes. Temperature shift.

You breathe in slightly . . . having a thought, making a realization.

I wait.

You say: Pick up a pebble from the ground.

I do.

It is hard in my hand.

You say: Put it in your mouth.

I . . . hesitate. It is filthy. Small. I . . .

You say: Put it in your mouth. Now.

I . . . do.

I taste salt first. I gag. Hold it with my teeth.

You say: You keep that in your mouth until I see you tonight.

Then you walk to a car, get in and drive away.

First hour: Filth. Could be anything, oil, piss, dirt, yuck. Salt for the snow. Tastes awful. I spit Maltepe Yabancı Escort while not letting it leave my mouth. My jaws ache as i drive my car. I want to rebel, to spit it out.

Second hour: I feel how hard it is. I become willing to swallow some of the taste, the dirt soil, rock taste. Will I choke on it? My mouth waters. I swallow more and more of the taste.

Third hour: The taste is better now. More familiar. Now I feel how hard it is.

Fourth hour: It is slightly pointed, slightly rounded. I wonder what color it is. I think of the song from Godspell about the pebble in my shoe . . . being willing to walk.

Fifth hour: I try it in different places. My soft cheeks. My teeth. Between my lip and my gum. Will you make me keep it all night? It starts to bruise the inside of my mouth. I talk to people at this point in the day. I find a place to tuck it that lets me talk.

Sixth hour: The secret starts to turn me on. I am hot. You are with me, hard in my mouth every second, no matter where I am or who I am Maltepe Yeni Escort talking to. I miss the taste. why didn’t I love it, pay more attention to it when it was so fresh and sharp? I mourn. I roll it on my tongue.

Seventh hour: I think about saints and martyrdoms. The complicated icon stories of torment and faith and patience. This is not torture but it is a kind of bondage. A strange, lyrical martyrdom. What color is the pebble? I can’t imagine being without it. Does it miss the driveway? Am I losing my mind?

Eighth hour: I am tired of it. Will you free me? It seems huge like a giant stone. I am frustrated, a fish on a line.

Ninth hour: I am desperate to see you. To show you. I realize I could have looked in a mirror and seen the color at any time . . . but I do not. I want badly to swallow it, all of a sudden. I feel out of control.

Tenth hour: I drive to meet you. My heart pounds. The stone is the center of my body. It feels like it has gotten smoother over the course of the day, as though it were rubbed Maltepe Masaj Salonu by time. Or a river. I think about how I have described my clit as a stone sometimes. A hard, wet stone in folds of smooth flesh.

I wait. Outside. I sit on a bench. I am early. I am afraid I’ll just spit it out, that I won’t be able to control myself, now it is so close. My mouth goes dry and it hurts more. I look down and wait.

I realize you might take it away. I’ll miss it terribly. I say goodbye with the tip of my tongue.

At last, you sit beside me. I keep my eyes down.

You hold out your hand, palm up, in front of my mouth.

I wait. You wait. I taste a little of the filthy driveway again.

I dry it and suck it clean and spit it gently into your palm.

You take it warmly and quickly and put it in a shirt pocket.

I exhale. A great, peaceful, silent exhale. Perhaps this is the feeling I am after. Always chasing. The exhale after.

Later-much later-time passes-3 weeks.

You give it back to me, when my eyes are closed. You’ve had it set in silver. On a long chain. It is greybrown.

The chain is long enough for you to wrap it around your hand and pull my throat close to you when you like.

And when I am alone, I sneak the pebble into my mouth and the chain dangles from my lips.

I wear it always.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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