A Collection of Erotic Stories // Josh Kiszka

The Meditation Room

He just wouldn't stop talking.

You knew his voice was going to echo into your dreams that night, talking about the universe and how mankind simply hasn't tapped into the spiritual knowledge at its fingertips. He spoke fluently about opening consciousness to the vast spaces and dimensions of existence. It didn't seem impossible the way he said it could be achieved. But still, it had been almost an hour since he had first opened his mouth and you could feel your eyelids begin to grow heavy. Not through boredom, but for the fact the hour was almost at midnight.

"Well?"

Your eyes flutter open, as if straining against the need to close them. Josh is looking at you expectantly with all the enthusiasm he carried into the evening when it was a more reasonable hour.

"I'm sorry, what?" You muster, coming back to your senses.

He muses over you. With immediate realisation that you're exhausted.

"I asked if you'd like to meditate with me sometime." He repeated, in a quieter tone.

His face carried with it all the sweetness of a child-like innocence. A smile that shrouded a row of pearly white teeth and a solitary dimple in his left cheek. Whisps of hair above his lip sat, almost twitching, as his smile changed from child-like to coy.

"I'd love to." You respond, as excitedly as you can, given your tiredness. "When?"

Josh had crept into your life on tiptoes. His shy demeanour had meant you didn't notice him at first, sitting at the back of the Spiritual Development group you'd been attending in an attempt to combat the grief which had burdened you for so long. But when finally, he'd found the courage to raise his hand and offer his insight, you'd taken note of him in far more detail than you usually afforded.

You began to grow excited for each meet, your heart a beating mess as you realised that sometimes he would be there and sometimes he would be wholly absent. The days on which he was absent you sat in a melancholy you couldn't fathom, listening to the others in their wisdom and wishing it was his you basked in. Until, when you had given up on him returning, he appeared in the doorway in his usual white sweater and beige jeans and the universe spoke to you for the very first time.

Since that moment it had been a flurry of musings. You, hanging on to his every word and he in return giving you space to be vocal about your grief. Your friendship had been born through these tangible moments and when he'd asked you to start meeting up away from the group it was inevitable that you'd find yourself on the edge of love.

Josh was not a constant in your life, though. His absences were long and drawn out, peppered with long winded text messages from the road he travelled. You, staring at your phone in the dark reading them like a novel you never wanted to put down. If love was beginning to stir, you took the spoon from the pot and hoped it bubbled away to nothing.

"Not tonight." He said, breaking into your reverie. "I can see how tired you are."

He leaned forward across the table and began to blow out the centre candles. He gathered his books and went to return them to the shelf.

"I am tired." You agreed. "But I find myself not wanting to leave."

His bashfulness piqued. A rosy hint emerged on his cheeks as he put the books back onto the table and in the new darkness tried to seek out your face.

"You are always leaving." You add, the darkness giving you a boldness to speak more honestly.

You see his outline shift weight from one leg to the other. "I always return."

He seems to have retreated to his initial shyness. You hear his breath grow shallow and wonder if you should approach. You have never known Josh deny himself the touch of another, offering hugs and comforting arm squeezes to your fellow group members. If you approached him you were certain he wouldn't shrink from you.