#Geometries: Lieben

nascent love like –

the new moon turns

its face away

 Beginnings glow, and often fail to spark much longer. When we met we knew a few things, that experience was not measured in promiscuity, that love is for most of us a mirage, that looks and bodies change – over time – and “bien fol qui s’y fie”, as le bon Roi Henry reputedly said…

Our geometry evolved, by trial and error, infinite patience, a shared belief in waiting, respect, and, yes, tenderness, without which physical love declines into hell. Early on you decided you’d be on top, mostly. I respected your will to be in control, to decide when, in the end to rely on this man to be what he claimed to be – nowhere to hide, the armour-less knight. One night we became what we are now: lovers for the long haul, interminable foreplay, exploring the far away shores. Once, I could have made the mistake of dreaming to tame the panther, and was saved by humour, and you showing me the way to understand myself, the feminine side of me.

For now, every time, we discover more, those secret paths that lead to new delights, the beautiful corners of ourselves we have not yet explored, in new geometries of body and soul…

mountain summit

how easily reached

by the autumn wind

– Johnny Baranski

#Geometries: Schlafen

Asleep Sleep is one of the great pleasures of life: the one moment we surrender, safely, relax our body, release our pains, and if we sleep alongside a loved companion, the prelude to, or conclusion of, other pleasures.

For us it is a ritual: I am ahead of you, our clocks being slightly out of perfect synch, and when you lie down, I may already be dreaming. It is intended: you have a choice: let jarhead to his dreams, or wake him up for work, that is for love, that is for what you want, as you want it, as is your privilege. But this is about sleep, for now.

You lie naked, nestled against this great bulk of husband, your slender back offered to him, unconscious, but all-knowing. Later you may stretch and spread your legs, and if I happen to be ever so lightly awake, leaning on my elbow, I will admire your intimacy, the cherished treasures of our togetherness. You may then sense my preying, pull the sheet over your body in your sleep, or turn round and, triumphant and bright-eyed, challenge me to prove my devotion: later still, as you lie again deeply asleep, at day break, I will look out at the sunlight playing over the oak trees, from our window, in wonder at this miracle: the geometry of our dreams.

Saturday morning

 As I sit at the keyboard I hear your footsteps: you’re standing behind me, and I can feel the warmth of your smile. Turning towards you I see you are already wearing your running gear, the knee-length black leggings, the light blue t-shirt – o my. “C’mon jarhead, time to shake your bulk!” The sun is out, a little breeze waves through the long grass, as we warm up on the path that follows the railway line. I am following you, dreaming, my eyes riveted on those lovely oscillating buttocks and legs. Of course, I miss a step, trip and nearly flatten my “bulk” in deep mud. I hear the crystal bells of your laugh, now well ahead of me: catching you up, my love, is no easy challenge, but I try. Now we approach the motorway bridge, which flies over the railway, leaving just enough space for the path to pull underneath to the other side, then there is a gate and a little hill. Running up the hill you clearly show the advantage of lightness: at half my weight there is no way I can compete with you – but you don’t expect me to, you slow down and blow me a kiss: the sunlight plays in your hair, slowly I catch up, and we run now next to each other, over the footbridge, now above the motorway, through the sports fields, following the road back to our house.

After showering we stand naked in our room, you applying some cream on your beloved face… and I suggest: “I have a plan for the day…” But you have another priority… looking at me in the mirror: ”Just behind you, is where you start Dupuis!” Behind me is the bed. Funny thing, it has been in my head all the time.

#AtoZChallenge: April 11 – J is for Jalfrezi (a Rite)

Jalfrezi Curry For Dinner

April 11: Jalfrezi (a Rite)

With a deep bow to @DirtyLittleW and @tinynibbles

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!”

#AtoZChallenge – April 10: I is for Ibuprofen

“Ibuprofen works as a painkiller by affecting chemicals in the body called prostaglandins. Prostaglandins are substances released in response to illness or injury. They cause pain and inflammation (swelling). Prostaglandins that are released in your brain can cause a high temperature (fever or pyrexia).” (From http://www.nhs.uk/Conditions/Painkillers-ibuprofen/Pages/Introduction.aspx)

He knew he had been hit: instant darkness, the excruciating pain in his back. There was dust everywhere, he was half blinded, deaf, and he also knew that the warm liquid he felt all over him was his blood, and probably that of his comrades. Gradually he recovered some sight: a marine medic was close by, holding a metal bottle and trying to get him to swallow some brown Fallujahpills, another guy was doing something with his left leg. He could now hear small arms fire, not far away. All around him he saw the bodies of his platoon.  Suddenly he felt horribly hot.

“Welcome to Fallujah corporal” the medic said, as he swallowed another pill.