It was in the early hours of the morning. The sun was coming up and I was no longer cold and damp from the nights fevered dancing. The host had provided us both with a warm top each. Mine was a faded blue Gotcha top, but his was an off white cable-knit jersey which made the feeling in my solar plexus burn that bit brighter. He sat behind me with his big arms around me, and his interlaced fingers against my centre. I felt the vibration of his voice against my back as he chatted to the guy on his left, and I sipped my whiskey and smiled at the shaggy cat, come to roost on my right. I was drinking in the moment in large gulps, because I knew how rare it was. I held my belly in, where his zipped fingers pressed against me, and gradually relaxed so that he held the softness of my belly in his hands. The place I was soft, where I had so often strived to be hard. And he held me and pulled me into him, without discontinuing his conversation. And in that moment, I felt beautiful.
Posted on: Tue, 16 Dec 2014 12:33:40 +0000
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