You were breathing hard. I could feel it in the flutter of the pulse at your throat and in the shuddering of your body.  You rolled away, and I waited for your heartbeat to slow down again. A single deep breath, and then your back was suddenly straight, all signs of weakness gone. I studied you but could read nothing in your face and eyes. You looked, if anything, slightly bored, almost disconnected.

​

Your face was pale, your lashes a dark charcoal smudge against your cheek. I reached for you, feeling how your identity dissolved, your body nothing but a puppet in my hands. The hairs on your arm stood on end as goose bumps rose on your skin. I lay my hand on your shoulder, which was cold and unreceiveing; not even a slight resistance to my invasion of your private space.

​

With my left hand I traced the curve of the ear that was turned towards me, then moved my hand back to your neck. I could taste you in the air I breathed. Your taste enveloped me. I pinned your shoulder to the ground and felt the pulse in your neck beating beneath my fingertips. I started pushing, careful at first then harder. You averted your eyes and did not look at me.

​

Looking at the sky I could see the heavy cloud cover breaking up; a clean white moon appeared between the dark shadows, then vanished again. Your body, submitting to my touch, lay still and unmoving, neither flinching nor offering. I ran my hand along your back, along the nape of your neck, and cradled your head. There were no more barriers between us.