"Wait." I am frustrated when he pulls away. I sit up and straighten myself a little, hands shaking. When he returns there is a moment of silent, and then he is undressing himself. My pulse is trembling in my throat as he pulls his tunic off, his body lean and muscled and - beautiful. Yes. Beautiful.
And desirable. I would reach for him, but he says: "Take off your clothes."
It is a command, not a request. I think of balking at it, but he assured me he wants me as a man, and I have asked him to lead me in this. I stand up slowly and remove my own clothes. I should not feel so self-conscious in front of him, when he has seen me naked so often, but I am aware of the comparative softness of my own body, the heaviness of greater age. I do not see that he can find me lovely to look upon.
I let him see me, though, my stance open, and I cross to him. I put my finger on a scar on his chest, lightly: "Which wound was this?" I am so very hard.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2010-10-21 10:54 pm (UTC)And desirable. I would reach for him, but he says: "Take off your clothes."
It is a command, not a request. I think of balking at it, but he assured me he wants me as a man, and I have asked him to lead me in this. I stand up slowly and remove my own clothes. I should not feel so self-conscious in front of him, when he has seen me naked so often, but I am aware of the comparative softness of my own body, the heaviness of greater age. I do not see that he can find me lovely to look upon.
I let him see me, though, my stance open, and I cross to him. I put my finger on a scar on his chest, lightly: "Which wound was this?" I am so very hard.