What did she want after all?

Breakfast.











She took him in.
A decision based on the way of his smell.
It was a scent she had never known in a man. Clean, but not from soap. The scent of his sweat staying buried in his dark armpits, irrupting from the depth of his movements surprisingly sharp yet enticing, pure, clean, innocent - of him.
It made her go back to a time when she played doctor with the boy next door.
Of hidden places in the back yard, the musty smell of wet earth in places that remain shaded. Could he be that boy ?
With him, she sensed his awareness to the warmth that almost attacked him as soon as he entered.
Hers was a shrine of personal collections, soft and rough in a contour of throbs that came and went.
Watching the moment form outside herself she felt that overwhelming wave that seemed to begin in her inner muscles and spread out in circular motions all the way to her heart.
The slightest of touch was enough to transport her into his existence, 180 degrees from her own. It made made for another wave of circular muscle emotion wash over her.
His, being unaware of anything besides the focused physicality of the flesh.
Completely engulfed in the totality of the now.
Always watchful she had grown old with herself, time and time again. Bored with her inability to participate.
He was in her protectiveness now.
All hers to keep warm and safe from the hurtful world - of course, that was her job.
She couldn't help thinking it, feeling it, as hard as she tried to resist, the maternal instinct.
Close to her breast she was too aware of her nipples contracting hard enough to hurt.
She couldn't suppress the thought of milk, of holding a baby boy, this warmth - unearthing a connection despite what should be an alienating difference. This, which sucked the marrow out of her woman's soul time and time again.
This knowing, that came with cradling an entity so different from her own - a man's.
She touched the taut soft skin of his arms, shoulders, back, his movement inside of her so determined, guided by a force beyond them, unstoppable, programmed sometime so long before now.
His face buried in that place between her shoulder and neck. The scent of his hair taking her to the balcony of her youth, to that hot summer night with the blossom of the plum tree mingling with the the new scents of a night after which everything would change forever.
A young girl yearnings for the love in a life ahead of her not knowing that the seeds of change had been planted already. From withing this watchful observation she was almost there again, experiencing her young self, allowed a precious peek into her long forgotten innocence, what it felt like to be untouched by the maligning nagging of a more experienced self. A self that never turns off, a constant noise that cannot be shut down. Why was it that she needed to be outside of herself to be inside of herself?
He would never bother to be so interested in going back into past moments. No, how pathetic, what purpose would that serve?
But she wanted him to look into her eyes right now, if only for a moment. It was she living this moment, even it was a repeating moment in time.
If he did, , , , had he looked in her eyes - the moment would freeze.
The scents, the memories would crack like icicles.
Would fall off and pierce her heart.
She wouldn't like it.
She would avert her eyes and turn cold.
She would die.


So what did she want?