Angel (Exercise 1)

Here we are, lost in the glow of the brilliant light highlighting the room. It is an angelic glow,

falsely claimed by the sun and sleepy afternoon sky. However, this gorgeous illumination does not

belong to the world for it is far too extravagant to be a part of the earth. No, this glow is put forth by

the wingless angel underneath me. Her soft hazel eyes flutter and search mine for answers. They ask

for direction. Where do you want me? How do you want me? What do you expect of me? I expect

nothing for I am the mind, the thinker, but not the one who puts forth action. The fingers attached to

the palm, the clitoris hidden between thick mocha lips, they are in control. They are who she should

be asking. I’m simply the follower, the computer, given orders to carry out.

The fingers roam over the soft butterscotch skin, each dark spot, healed scars that sit upon the arms and legs. They feel like cocoa butter. They roam over the brown nipples, not as dark as my own, more like peanut butter than chocolate. She shutters, breathing broken, but says nothing. Her arms are at her side, her legs are slightly parted. She has offered herself to me. She is mine for the taking.

The fingers walk over the plain of her torso to the valley between her thighs. She stops breathing. Don’t stop breathing. Inhale, I say. She does and the fingers enter, not roughly but not softly. No bullshit, no playing around. The goal was to get inside. The goal was accomplished. She gasps, places her small hands on my thighs. I give her my eyes, gateway into me, the mind.

Breathe, dear, while the fingers do their bidding. Breathe while they explore and extract your essence. Breathe while they get to know you. Breathe.

She breathes, hands sliding up and down my arms, grabbing my wrists but cannot reach my hands for one is planted palm down on the bed. The other is familiarizing itself with the sacred crevice of an angel. I keep the gateway open though outsiders try to break our connection like the singers crooning from the radio, horns blaring from the filthy streets underneath, or the pedestrians, loud, annoying, shouting stop! without saying that exact word.

Her lips part and emit a soft soothing sound. My eyes fill from the joy and excitement. I must hear more. The fingers have become slicker and as a result go deeper and move faster. The more they explore the more the sound slips like a forbidden curse during a heated argument. And like the antagonist, the fingers push her, assault her. She releases a louder hum, a sweet musical on the edge on her lips. Like a Taser it stretches to me, sends electricity through my body but never leaves her lips.

Her grip on my arms is tight to the point where the hands begin to slip causing her nails to dig deep into my flesh. The pain is intense. I want it to stop, but the fingers continue to explore. They continue their extraction of her essence until it pools in the palm of my hand.