SWIM Book 1 (Complete three-hundred pages)

Day 26.3 Thursday, December 14, 2017

I don't know when I started to think during this full-body experience, but in a moment as I was on the floor with Craig, under him, I thought it would benefit us both, as the temperature in the room dialed up to the spice of a hot tamale, that he rip off his shirt, so I helped him. My nails cut and raked and I know I made him bleed as he made a sound with his mouth but I aggressively kept on kissing him. Locking my legs around his upper waist, feeling him grow and then--

Kapow!

The lights went out. We stopped and my eyes ripped open to the sight moonlight hanging like a tablecloth over the wooden table beside us. He pulled his lips from me and stood on all fours, his shirt torn with my fingers still gripping his white shirt, or what was left of it. There was blood dripping down his back where my nails had dug into his skin. My fingers could feel it warm and oozing. I could taste it somehow. But I turned my head, trying to reel in some oxygen in the air that Craig wasn't already sucking, and there on the window, rippling over the glass like an army of ants. . . was the rain. And the rain made a magical sound in the dark silence. And Craig and I looked up out that window as the moon began to blur as the rain increased in measure upon that window. The library was even more relaxing under the sound of the soothing rain than it was in the silence, and I turned my head back to face up at Craig's face in the moonlight, and saw over his head on the ceiling where the vanilla candle shed a soft yellowish light by where it still flickered and smelled deliciously on the reading table by where I remember Craig left the bible. The chandelier above was somehow out of light, the bulb must have burst during our kissing, possibly the moment I tore Craig's shirt in a heated hunger, and then Craig dropped his face down slowly and kissed me again, in the sweet way that admiration and gratefulness does when nostalgia for a shared childhood transforms into an adult conversation of the skin.

I suddenly began to cry. And it was because I suddenly loved this boy more than I knew I had underneath the noise of a high lifestyle life of spending and shopping and consuming and socializing and texting and all the nonsense of an internet world. In the peace of island solitude, on the brink of death by hunger or other devastations unknown, I had found something hiding underneath the folds of my chest over a decade old. . .

I looked at Craig up on me, and in my smile, contagious it was so, that mine spread into his, and together we peeled off the rest of the layers to make our skins free, and I felt at his bulge, touched in long, lost control of my eyelids as I directed him like a pilot in the sky and let my eyelids droop as he melted into me like a basket into a clearest riverbed. . . he was all in, as was I, and we opened our eyes to the realization. . . if this was heaven, death should have come first.

But it would come at the end.