And he fucked me as a Government without Opposition

Within seconds we stumbled against the bumpy stairs of our only time together surprising each other as lovers after we met by chance at the station. Half an hour more or less to give us the you, touch our hand and look for a pension in that place full of snow on a Monday of a white week.
I don’t think I spoke or acted to make something happen, but I don’t think I resisted that north wind blowing behind me. For months and years I had been looking for two eyes to dive into and shipwreck at the first sign, carried by the sea current, drinking water and pleasure. We stumbled into an ocher sky at sunset, finding ourselves stretched out and naked, transparent and perfectly in symbiosis with our mutual desires. Our pleasure was all there, magnified by the simple discovery of ourselves, more solid than any prudence, stronger than any imagination, more overwhelming than any desire masturbated at night and denied upon awakening.
And with the explorer’s eyes on the edge of the boundaries of unknown lands, I saw several times in slow motion images of imperceptible sensations recorded by my mind on the tape of my thoughts. It was my teenage dreams that surprised me naked in bed to imagine how it would happen and what remote reason would lead me to convince myself that it was this, this very moment, exactly this situation that the waiting had inflated, peppering her with how not to it would never be. He told me several times that I was beautiful, almost to boredom he made me believe that he had never seen anything more enchanting, like my perfect legs or the regular arch of my ass that full of modesty expected nothing but caresses and compliments to return as majestic as all the times that alone reflected in the bathroom mirror.
He pointed out to me the harmony of my body, the precise features of my face, the result of crossings of peoples and religions that had given birth to me, a brunette with a dark and celestial gaze hollowed out by protruding cheekbones. I didn’t know anything about him, if he was married or if a woman was waiting for him, enamored by the same desire as mine, in another pension right next door. If he had a daughter, maybe blonder and older than this little woman who, confused in her bed, abandoned herself to fate. She never looked at her watch, she never mentioned that it was getting dark outside the window that the men were coming home or making them…

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Odyssey; written by Roxanne Barbour; poetry; poem; writing; haiku; tanka; fiction; science fiction; fantasy; Medium; Contest; short story; short form