Page 13 of Isolation
I stare at Raven’s face on my chest. It’s covered with bruises, just like her hands and legs. Her upper lip is puffy. Her leg has to stay elevated on a pillow with a compressor around it.
I can objectively state that her face busted open. Our family members cringed when they saw her after the fall.
Yet, that very face can capture my attention like nothing else ever could. Even now, I could stare at her for so long that I’d forget to eat, drink, or sleep.
She has the kind of face that you use words likemagnificentandbrilliantto describe like you would for an art piece. She defines the word aesthetic.
I want her.
I want her so fucking much.
I want her with every fucking fiber of my being.
She has an intoxicating hold on me that I can’t fight off. It’s the same as an addiction.
A familiar gnawing under my skin is back. It’s itching to get out, itching to touch her. It’s hard to breathe till I can.
I tell myself that I can’t. She is in no shape for my depravities. I know this is a terrible idea. Yet, I can only watch as my face moves down to her mouth.
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Raven
Right after moving to Paris, I hated being touched. But my curiosity over why people chase sex as the desired form of physical contact sparked my determination to get over it.
I liked sex with Milo because it provided me with oblivion. Was everyone else also trying to reach oblivion? Is it just about a physical release, or is it about connecting with another human?
I started exploring the physical realm, hoping that the same experience could exist with anyone, not just with Milo.
Alas, it was never so mind-numbing or intense with anyone else.
Your first sexual experience can define your later sexual preferences. In my case, that is definitely true.
After going through a string of lovers, I finally gave up on sex completely. It’s been a couple of years since I have had sex.
It just doesn’t interest me anymore.
Until now. Now all of my senses are heightened, and every touch is driving me crazy. My body is buzzing and covered with goosebumps. I can’t help but make a small humming noise.
I don’t recall the last time I had a sex dream. They are not usually this vivid. The dreams stay inside my brain. They don’t transfer from my subconscious to my skin.
Yet, this dream has. My mouth, cheek, my jaw, my neck; all of it is being kissed. The most sensitive part of my neck is being sucked on.
An arm grips my waist tightly, and I feel my head hitting something soft. The kisses are now complemented with gentle nipping.
I reach my arm around the warm neck to find support in a headful of hair. I moan loudly and feel a hand fall on my mouth, muffling my sounds.
“Shhh… baby, we have to be quiet. Your Dad will retract his blessing if he hears us.”
“Mmmm,” I hum, and the grip on my mouth loosen.
Even if I don’t understand, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters as long as these sensations don’t stop.
The hand travels south and inside my shorts. Within seconds, two fingers are inside of me, slowly circulating and then gently thrusting.
I moan even louder, and this time, I hear a chuckle.
“Fuck it. I don’t care. Be as loud as you want. Let them hear. Maybe they'll learn a thing or two from us.”
