Capricious

22 - Meridian

"Music is a moral law. It gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and charm and gaiety to life and to everything."
- Plato

Blood clotting like cream, brain heating like steam. This was going to happen with or without you. Flashing lights underground, white centre stage. Madness with every million stinging boundless waves of fierce bass and extortionate grace. Lost within the colourless world. My fracking face, shaking at mind-blowing pace. We can't hear ourselves scream. Music penetrates everything. Pouncing up and down in all our raving glory. But you are there in front of me. The darker grey of gold hair collar short, thin and feline, you paw at me, meow at me. Pink ribbon in your hair, black dress, thick lips. Immaturely taking me into the next stage through tunnels of background noise we go. My country girl, some space I fly, lips pressing you to the wall. Light wet soft warmth, rivulets of snaking bliss through my mouth, our chemicals mix. The night goes black.

Those friendships you see less often, yet without a miss. Amazing days every few weeks, charging me on to the next. It is cuddly fun sparking electric inside. Yet we still see one another in each other's influence, in the world or internet groups, some reason to have to talk one-dimensionally still. So we make do, we get the balance just right, to never have enough of any one of us.

The Hyde Park sun, red tee, yellow blouse, touching hands along the gravel. Boat ride on the canal, rowing to the bridge. We listen to each other's songs just floating in the water. Her round cheeks and copper painted skin; googling eyes and silent smile. Iced coffee and pizza, climbing up trees. I don't even know what we're doing.

I regret nothing.

Bathing in the thick Middle Eastern sun. Bricks between desert and gulf sprinkled about me. Sea salty and warm, sun setting to our edge, sky a perfect electric blue. Sun cream, cocktails and flip-flops. Water slides, burning feet and inflatable rings. My hair shocks blonde, skin bursts olive, body bare to the crowd. Her mischievous giggle so sweet, touching each other in the pool. Cheeky her fingers flavour me, my own pressing into her, she bites her lip. We swim underneath the plastic castle. I wave her bikini to the side and slip inside her. We bite each other's lips, her arms and legs hooked around me. Mouth wide, silent moaning she exhales, eyes crossed into mine. My iron rod burning with pleasure, absorbing her delectable gasps. Her hand grips my shoulder and we slow. Staring, panting like beasts, tips of her fingers stroking down my face. Then into her sudden and swift, thrusting to make her explode in slow, rhythmic torture. She crushes me, I melt. She lets go, I catch her.

My rushing heartbeat slows. Each beat of the metal drum in pure rhythmic monotone, perfect to hear. Sounds so elemental, that rise and fade in their constant tone. Glowing to the pick of a singing harp. Then the spring of a guitar, back and forth, sounds breaking in another frame, blending their changing tone for the breaks in their flow. Then that exploding electronic flavour of exponential blended artificial sound sends my heartbeat a running. Evolving sounds pleasuring so intense.

My head fitting perfectly in the crook of her neck, chin resting in her collar. Hair pressed gently into the side of my face, cheeks touching. Her so brilliant naked back smooth against my chest. Arms locked around her. High pitched jests and counters, each daring and teasing, testing our skills. Exotic warmth and fiery promises. Complete honest spicy sex.

The era of summer afternoons and childhood friends lost. The spiral haired girl across the road, the sweet copper friend down the way, the pretentious rival never coming close, and the freak with which I used to play. And I was always the winner.

Days messing around with that girl hard of face that dared to dare with me at ages young. Why did it stop? Where did she go?

The triangle on tricycles, love even between all three. Racing along Battersea Park. Leaning back under gates. Gravel, tile and path, and tickling her leg. Music and sweat and sex and holding hands. Mad I was, mad I made them.

I have returned to the age of deluded grandeur, wild day dreams and confidence galore. Return me to that scene. I have risen out of love, free to venture on, sunlight spraying my endless grin. I'm back. Just be around me I dare you, and you will fly with me, I'll show you how. I want to create love. I want to mix in friendships once more. I want everyone to feel like me, this perfect ecstasy. They seem taken aback by how free I am, but envy my happiness they do, and aren't a couple curious to try? Who says madness is a bad thing? I love it.

I look back at the closest years of my life as periods group into light and darkness. Mood I am on three cycles at least. My underlying pole, my swinging by circumstance, my current obsessions. Emotion and mood and worth and will. I am what the combination chooses. Biological mood, psychological mood, sociological mood. It's all chemical. Dopamine swings.

I stroll up, look into her eyes, smiling, jesting lightly. Ever the gentleman. Polite, engaged, provocative. I tease so gently. And if they look back into me, if they smile in return, if they play along, then suddenly I'll dive straight in with confident madness. And if they are mad as well, then what a game we'll play. The essence of foolish charm.

Voluptuously and sensuously plump flesh so soft and juicy, against my desirous exploring limbs. Fingertip caressing circles over the scarce bitty bubbles of her satiny misty-rose buds. Mouth scratched as my lips savour her bright red orchid, tongue lathering and lapping her slight tang, sucking vigorously on her veiled secret.