From Max to Nell, Part 1

Dear Nell,

I found your missing sock! Jack had taken it deep into the hall closet, way back under the shelf with the board games my aunt left me. I saw him sneak in there with a dishrag last night and decided to go in after him. Wow. I don't know what a dog needs with all that stuff, but Jack has squirreled away quite a stash. A veritable Salvation Army store, filled with used bits and pieces of our lives. He has the sleeve from one of my old flannel shirts. Mind you, I can't for the life of me figure out why there's just the one sleeve. There were a few of his real toys — chew bones, rubber balls — and then the sleeve, your sock, and a pair of panties I think you lost when you were here in March. Purple, satin trim?

Do you think Jack wants all these things for a reason? Does he like having our things, so that he has US even when we aren't here? I let him keep the sleeve. And you can have the sock when you come down next month. You'll have to fight me for the panties. I have my own hiding places, my own stash of pilfered totems, my own reasons.

So, yes… I found your note when I went into the pantry for the honey. I should have known you might leave something there. We're such damned slobs, Nell. I had to leave the water running on the honey jar for ten minutes to get rid of the playful stickies. A hot sponge sufficed for the bedposts. Your note, on the other hand, was impossible to clean and may be permanently stuck to this desk by the time I'm through. It is, however, legible… and probably edible, depending on one's mood.


You've given me an assignment to write about, eh? I haven't had an assignment in years now. I wonder if I can stand the pressure. Writer's cramp, headache, stomach trauma… This isn't for a grade, is it?

1. "How did it feel the first time you were inside a woman?" Wonderful. Frightening. I didn't even move for what seemed like the longest time. I just stayed there, looking in N.J.'s eyes, feeling her vagina contract around me. She told she couldn't help doing that. She said she could feel my pulse beating inside her. And every time her pussy tensed, it was like a series of rings tightening around me, starting at the base of my cock and moving up, slowly, smoothly. Then I couldn't help but tense up — my cock suddenly pushing upward with nowhere to go. In the end, it was too wonderful, really. I came almost as soon as we started to move. Afterward, we kept still, waiting for my erection to return. It never did. I suppose it wasn't such a poor start to my sex life. It was what it was and it was good. Nothing could have been better than that warm, wet grip she had.


2. "What's your favorite part of my body?" Definitely your legs. More specifically, the backs of your thighs. There's this arc to your thigh when your foot is raised up on something — like when you're drying yourself after a shower and you put your foot on the edge of the tub. Right then, the back of your thigh describes an arc, sort of like a French curve. Curves one way. Curves back. I want to draw it, every time I see it. Does that surprise you? But, you see the way I watch your every move. I memorize the curves. I salt them away like Jack salts away items of clothing. Even now, I can trace that curve in the air with my finger. I own that curve; it's mine.


3. "If you could change your body, how would you?" Oh, gee. Why ask such a thing? I don't want a bigger cock. This one works fine. I'd like my feet to be less ugly. But then, everybody wants that. I want less padding around my middle. That's it. That's what I'd change: my love handles. I don't want them. You asked.


4. "What's your favorite way we make love?" There's a hard question. What's your favorite way? Each time, each way is so different. It's as if it's never the same way twice. However, if I have to choose one thing that stands out — and that does seem to be the purpose of this assignment — then it would be this. Do you remember a year ago April?. Outside? At night? In the grass. In the rain. Distant lightning made your skin a pale blue. We both sat upright, with you straddling me, and my knees pressed against your sides and back. Rocking back and forth, we fucked the storm to sleep. That's my favorite way, Nell. Giving us back to the world.


5. "Write me a poem." Ooo. An imperitive. Fine. Here's something I wrote about your trip here last summer. A bit of doggeral, but heartfelt:

July 4: what the Jaycees don't know

what simple celebration, this sex!

each kiss a star, our shadows striped,

the pillows smoke from rocket shells

and breath like fireworks, exploded light.

joined freedom to freedom,

all day, my 12-ball roman candle

shooting sparks into your jellied night.

I know you didn't mean for this to happen, but all this has me sitting here now, missing you terribly. I've traced the curve of your thigh on this desktop a hundred times since breakfast. I walk to the front screendoor, check the mail (which isn't due for several hours), and walk slowly back to my chair. I miss you more than you know, Nell. When will you be back? Do you really exist outside this house, our bed, the Hampton county line?

It's clouding up, Bee Girl. I hope this finds you missing me, too. That would be fair. But, in case you have any doubts, we'll be here, Jack and I, when you return next month. Until then, Jack has his sleeve and I have your bikini briefs. And we'll each take what's ours to our secret place and hold them close, remembering, twitching our way into dreamy contentment.

Fondly,

Max

Comments:

• Wow… that was wonderful. 

  Posted by devi  on  05/06/05  at  01:46 AM
  
  
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