Secret Mirror
NC-17. 08/10/2005.

"Tell James to get out."

Phil gets like this sometimes, all testosterone-fueled possessiveness and hunger and need. He shares me as much as he can, but sometimes he has no restraint. I know the feeling. Walls crumble and buildings fall when built to part us.

I send James home, all politeness, and he knows the routine, probably knows way more than he lets on, and he leaves.

Pillowed together under the canopy of my bed, the two of us alone in the whole world, the stereo turned off and Mom and Cliff out for the evening. So quiet we can hear each other's breaths, heartbeats, thoughts. On our sides side-by-side, hands on each other's shoulders. Symmetry.

Twinness. We're fraternal, we're told, nothing in common with each other except a womb. As if a womb means nothing. As if all we can see on the outside is all we are. We know better than that. I look into his eyes and see a mirror (of a mirror of a mirror, hall of mirrors, reflecting between us into infinity) of myself. Mind of my mind etc.

We can move as a single unit, when we meld like this. Our hands sliding over our arms, down, to brush our hips, to slide under our shirts until we rise and remove them. His hands on my breasts are not my hands on his chest, but underneath are ribs and heart, the same. Our tongues in our mouths, chins knocking, teeth clicking against each other's in our haste. His mouth moves down to suck my nipple and I smell his hair, same smell, same shampoo, and count his vertebrae with my blind fingers. His hands make the Jacob's-ladder climb over my own spine when he rises for another kiss, mouth swollen red in imitation of mine.

Same count. Same number. Same.

With just a shadow of a thought from me, he's on his back and I'm turning. Nudging the base of his cock with my tongue, his tongue prodding my opening.

Gemini. Water-twins, our mouths liquid on our bodies, sea-salty tastes of each other mingling in our mind(s) until they might as well taste exactly alike. Pulling on him as he pushes in me. Yin-yang tug that can't be anything but balanced. Swaying, sea-rhythm, rocking, building like tides. Ebb and flow.

Sea-changes. Sucking the head of his cock, sucking the swell of my clitoris. We are the urgency of dawn, day to night in a matter of moments. Fever-pleasure-heat-togetherness rising like the sun in us, in we.

And lightness. Brightness. Completeness. Behind our eyes, in us, in the unified thing that we become in this moment.

One.

Us.

Twins.

Two formed from one, to form one again. That's what we secretly are. Doctors don't know everything. He is my/I am his (we are our) soul.

PhilandPoppy. PoppyandPhil.

We.

End.

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