April 11: Jalfrezi (a Rite)
With a deep bow to @DirtyLittleW and
The light of the dying sun reflects over the tiles in the kitchen. On the stove the large pot diffuses paradise scents: we have refined this dish for years, every step further along the path of… perfection. In the dining room I hear you setting out the cutlery. Already I imagine the Sancerre, in its cool majesty, nestling in the silver ice bucket. “Another ten minutes” I announce with pride: I hear your smile, and something stirs, deep: this rite is also getting to a point of refinement just beyond normal description. Slowly I recite the mantra: “I will wait, I will wait for ever, I will freeze” – of course I never have so far waited for ever, but, still, I know you have perfected your act too. As for freezing…
Solemnly I bring the dish to the table. The harmony of colours strikes me: the black dahlias in the porcelain vase, the dark spices, the deep red of your hair, your lips, the reflections of sun light and candles on the crystal glasses, the black silk on your o-so white skin. I position the dish precisely on the slate slab. It has to rest a little now.
I turn towards you: you’re standing still, radiant, a smile of expectation and amusement on your o-so full lips, this black silk does not cover much (freeze!). “On your knees, jarhead”, and as I kneel, where I belong, submissive, disciplined, I pull lovingly down this silk, ensuring nothing will hinder the rite. Parting your thighs ever so slowly, my palms seize the faultless orbs of your cheeks. In awe, I survey your thin red landing strip. Your fingers caress my short hair. “Take your time soldier”. Heart beating a little faster I seek your lips, the outer door, with infinite care. Your fingers are now around my neck: just asserting your property rights, as a careful tongue explores the hinges of your door. The smell of the flowers, your scent, and Jalfrezi… With infinite care I progress along the path, one small step at a time, following the narrow lane to your ecstasy, obeying the rite, inhaling your rising pleasure. The pressure of your fingers on my neck is stronger: soon I will seize the prize, a light flight then hold on your precious, erect, jewel: then time stops as gold flows through my lips. Eternity flies by…
When time resumes, you fill our glasses: not before kissing me deep, as I stand, suddenly back to earth, just the cool guy who cooked this dish for you. We eat, slowly, savouring the wine, then Aphrodite’s eyes turn towards me, “up you go now: your chance or never!” As we climb the stairs your giggles ring clear around the house: “Now you’re gonna show me what you can do jarhead!”