Tuesday, 27 September 2011

Work in Progress : Stonehenge

A snippet from a work in progress - one for the next collection of short stories:

He slid his arm around her and leaned in to her neck. She lifted her head, exposed her throat to his warm breath. He breathed in the smell of her and she of him. Noses snuffling each other's napes and ears and throats, they explored each other like animals. Getting the scent of each other, learning the warm musky odours, the sweet stale sweat of bodies not yet washed but not unpleasant.
She caught the perfume of marijuana on his clothes, of incense, and patchouli. She wondered if he could detect the sandalwood oil she annointed herself with daily. When he sighed in some kind of ecstasy, she thought he must.

He touched the skin beneath her ear with his hot lips. Drew them, dry and trembling up over her raised chin as she tilted her head back, eyes closed. The sun burned red through her eyelids, dazing her, drugging her. She was no more than a mass of sensations: warm skin, tingling nerves, trembling groin.
When he caught her mouth with his she tasted honey and hot tea. Eyes still shut, she returned his first gentle kiss. They leaned against each other, propped up by each other. Josy felt her legs go numb beneath her, pinpricks in her toes. When he pushed his mouth against hers more firmly, she answered with her own forceful lips. Swaying and rocking together, they explored mouths and tongues and teeth.
When he pushed her down onto the spreadout cloak, she did not resist. When he lowered himself over her, his shadow blocking the sun, she knew it was right. Relaxing, she lay back and he covered her with his body. The feel of him, the weight of him, the wanting of him, crowded her senses. Midsummer day. The high point of the year. A magical time.