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MOUTH
It was his mouth that broke me. Never mind that it was sweetly shaped with a hitch at one side for a smile. Never mind that the slim twin line of lip revealed that he never revealed anything. Never mind that I’m a big girl and should have known better. Maybe I could have kept him in the Big, Beautiful and Dumb category if he’d never moved that mobile mouth. But once he did, I was over the edge.
Imagine for a moment I never noticed his length of body draped across a chair that seemed suddenly inadequate. Pretend he wasn’t wearing introspective black and third chakra yellow, and that shaggy loner look that drops my stomach like a too-fast elevator every time. Every damn time. In the end, though, I was caught by THAT MOUTH.
Words fell from that mouth like exotic blooms tumbling out the door of a florist shop: a velvet rose, an iridescent orchid, a cluster of delicate violets. He played the texture of language, tossing out “adorable” “delicious” “fragile.” In a time when “Yeah, baby,” is the most descriptive phrase most men can manage, how could I, I? -when language is my love my weakness my fatal flaw- be expected to stay safely far from that thrilling treacherous edge?
He pushed me over with a voice that felt like a fox fur pelt, stroking rough and smokey over the back of my neck. His weaponwords, both banquet and assault, dove straight and clean through my senses, nothing but net into my erogenous zones. What organ it is that arouses prickle tingle shiver of hotcold anticipation, I don’t know, but mine was plunging into uncharted depths. Appallingly obvious as I always am, no wonder I got sandbagged, snowed, seduced. And him a capital O Operator.
I couldn’t say with certainty the color of his eyes. We didn’t talk books or music. I’m not sure he knows my name. But that luscious, lethal mouth of which a taste was just a tease… wish now I’d taken a bigger bite.
Evidence of premeditation notwithstanding, I still enjoyed the fall.
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