Mercy

She has the left side of her body draped over mine with her head resting on my chest. Her body jerks, which tends to happen when her muscles start to relax in preparation for sleep. It is startling, but terribly adorable. I hold my breath briefly to make sure I’m not the reason she might be waking up, but she returns to relative stillness and I exhale. I stretch my neck forward, like an awkward turtle, to reach the top of her head with my lips. I kiss her gently and inhale deeply.

She smells faintly of suntan lotion and happiness. At least, that’s what she smells like to me. It’s probably something from one of the strangely shaped and brightly colored glass bottles on her vanity, but that doesn’t matter to me. I’m smitten. She could smell like hot garbage and farm animals and I’d probably still find her intoxicating.

She slides her left hand up my torso and rests it on my shoulder. The warmth from her touch drops my blood pressure and slows my respirations. No one has ever had that effect on me. Most of my previous girlfriends kept me anxious and on high alert for disaster. To be fair, I’m just an anxious person in general and my brain is always in doomsday overload. But, for the first time, I’m with someone whose silent presence is gentle enough to quiet the racing thoughts bouncing around the television static that I assume occupies my insides.

Man, I hope she likes me. I mean, I know she’s naked and sleeping on top of me but, that doesn’t prove anything now, does it? I’ve been in plenty of skin to skin situations where neither of us really even knows the other person. This one knows me. She knows the dark and the light of me, the weird inner workings that keep me awake at night and keep my therapist busy.

There is no reason she should like me. I bet she just feels sorry for me or something. She’s so beautiful, and kind, and smart, and I’m a lump. No, I’m not a lump. I just don’t have a well-defined idea of what my future should look like, other than I want her in it. I’m not ugly, but she is definitely out of my league by a considerable amount. I’m relatively charming, after a stint of extreme awkwardness, or a bit of alcohol, or both. I can blend into any background, but she illuminates her world. I can sense when she enters a room before I can even see her. Dear gods or goddesses, please don’t let her get bored of me. Don’t let her realize she could do better.

These thoughts cause my stomach to twist and it’s as if she can tell. She does that weird reverse stretch and draws up into herself for a second before moving her hand from my shoulder to my face. Her thumb lightly strokes my cheekbone and I smile and lean into her caress. She can feel my smile and smiles in turn, eyes still closed tight.

She pushes herself up so she is sitting on top of me, her knees on either side of my ribcage and her hands on my shoulders. She finally opens her eyes and I’m struck dumb, again. One slow blink and the one corner of her mouth curls up into a smirk. I know what that look means.

She leans forward so her forearms are resting on my chest. She reaches over to the nightstand to get her phone and pairs it with the speaker in the room. I can hear the first two or three seconds of each song as she skips to one that suits her mood. She tosses her phone to the side and resumes her position. She places her hands on the sides of my neck and runs them up so that the web of her thumbs rest under my ears as “Mercy Street'' by Peter Gabriel starts to play.

[“She pictures a soul, with no leak at the seam.”]

It’s not a love song and it’s not conventionally sexy, but it works for her. A large part of what I find charming about her are her quirks. I had to forget all of the traditional ways to woo a woman and just follow her lead. Her fingers lace at the base of my skull. My hands rest at the tops of her hips and trace lazy circles around the dimples in her lower back. I bring my hand towards the front of her to press my thumbs against her hips, right where her legs join her body, and she starts to slowly grind her pelvis against me. She closes her eyes, once again, and slowly starts to drop her head towards me. I swiftly take my opportunity to lift my lips to hers.

[“There in the midst of it, so alive and alone, words support like bone.”]

I run the tips of my fingers up her spine and she inhales sharply through her nose, never disconnecting her mouth from mine. I impetuously press harder into the kiss. The tip of my tongue finds hers and she moans into my mouth. Her right hand weaves through my hair and holds my head to hers, making it impossible to separate our bodies. She balls her fist up, still tangled in my hair, causing gentle but desperate tension on my scalp.

[“Dreaming of mercy, in your daddy’s arms again.”]

I place my right hand on the small of her back and use it to secure her body to mine. I push up on my left elbow and use it as leverage to roll into her and reverse control to my advantage. She drops her hands up above her shoulders and I take a moment to digest the scene before me. Her hair puddles around her head and she looks like she’s floating. Another slow blink and she focuses her gaze directly into mine. It feels exhilarating and uncomfortable.

She knows exactly how it’s making me feel, so she smiles broadly and gives one slight chuckle, puts both palms on the top of my head and then slides them down the back of my skull. She drags me forward until our lips meet again. There is urgency in her kiss and it triggers an ancient part of my brain. My id kicks in and I need to claim her, to make her mine, physically. My developed brain knows that owning her is an impossible feat, as she has never been one to willfully give up her autonomy and, to be quite honest, she definitely has the upper hand currently. I’m still going to try though.

I break our connection and kiss my way along her jawline. I nuzzle into the crevice where her ear meets her neck and can feel her breath stutter. I alternate my lips and tongue down her throat. My left hand anchored to the bed and my right hand under her back. I lift her with one arm to be closer to my skin. My front teeth graze her clavicle and I soothe the scratch with a kiss. Goosebumps start to form on her skin.

[“Tugging at the darkness, word upon word.”]

I kiss her chest, directly above her heart, and can feel her bounding pulse through my lips. I relax my arm and lower her to the bed. I slide my hand around her rib cage to her breast. I stop just under it, almost afraid to go any further. So I move my finger-tips down her body and make her stomach jump as I tickle the soft skin there. I switch direction and run my hand back up her body, between her breasts, to her face. I kiss her on the mouth and I get brave enough to touch her breast. My thumb brushes against her nipple and I rotate my hand so my four fingers are tight up against her ribs right under her arm. That leaves my thumb to continue its motion. The gentle attention to her now erect nipple makes her flex her pectoral muscle to press my hand harder into her flesh. My thumb has a limited number of moves available, so I break away from the kiss and draw her breast into my mouth. Her fingers dig into my back. I acknowledge the wordless affirmation of a job well done by moving my mouth to her other nipple. My right hand still planted firmly on the original mammary. I make a mental note to add “original mammary” to the list of potential band names, but then remember that I’m not in a band.

I press myself up back to her lips to steal another kiss, but I hesitate for a second. My lips hover millimeters away from hers. She lifts her head to reach me and I retreat slightly, leaving her to give chase. We both smile into the other’s grin and finally make contact. It is soft and warm. It is just the shot of oxytocin I was craving. I move my lips down her neck, then to her sternum, and down her stomach.

I get to her navel and I stop to ask a burning question, “Do you like me?”

“What? What’s happening?” She was breathless and confused.

“Do you like me?”

“You stopped for that?”

I shrugged and said, “Well, kind of. I mean, I know how I feel about you.”

[“Confessing all the secrets in the warm velvet box.”]

“Baby. I’m so sorry if I’ve made it hard for you to know that I love you completely. Because I do. With everything I have.”

“Oh no, you show it. I just don’t know why you do.”

She sits up and pushes me back so I am sitting on my ankles. “I swear, if your anxiety ruins my orgasm… Look at me.” She grabs the sides of my face and looks into my very worried eyes. “When you hold me, the world disappears and it’s just us. You make me feel like the most important person on the planet.”

“Because you are.”

“Shush. Let me finish.” She playfully cuffs me upside my head and I chuckle. “You are the kindest and most thoughtful person I have ever met. Not just to me, but to everyone you encounter. I can’t even think of a time you walked past a small child without waving to them. I’ve never seen you pass up the chance of befriending an animal whether they are wild or tame. So much so that I almost dread going to the zoo with you. I have debated on just stocking the fridge with rabies shots. My heart flutters everytime you look up to the night sky and say, ‘Hey, Moon.’ You always think of everyone else before yourself, even the not so nice people. I want you and your heart in my life because it makes me kinder and more observant of the magic in this world. I love you.” This admission makes a lump form in my throat and I can feel my chin quiver, so she finishes with a playful, “Asshole.”

My maudlin brain immediately switches to delight and both of us start to snicker. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“I don’t care why, but I’m thankful you are the way you are.” She kisses me but, this time, there is a tenderness that makes me melt back into her. “Now, I believe we were in the middle of something.”

“Oh, I’m ‘bout to be in the middle of something.” She wraps her arms around me and I haphazardly and loudly kiss her neck and chest.

“Please, just, stop talking.”

“You going to tell me what else I should do with my mouth?”

“No more words. I’m not going to ask you again. Hush.”

[“Dreaming of the tenderness, the tremble in the hips.”]

We laugh into a kiss and now it’s my turn to push her back onto the bed. Her arms hold me tightly but I’m able to navigate down her body. My lips meet her neck, then her sternum, her solar plexus, then her navel. I kiss each crease in her hips. I use my shoulders to push her legs further apart and I slide my hands under her ass and up her lower back so I can bring her closer to my face.

[“Dreaming of Mercy Street, where you’re inside out.”]

I made her sing that night. Several arias, in fact. Eventually, it was my turn to rest my head on her soft, warm stomach. She gently combed my hair with her fingers and drew a quiet “Thank you”, from my very tired mouth. She tapped the top of my head in an ineffectual reprimand that made me laugh. She thought I was thanking her for the sex, but it was for her words and warmth. It was my gratefulness for her understanding soul. For feeding my fractured ego and looking past my trauma brain. It was gratitude for her love.

[“Riding the water, riding the waves of the sea.”]