It’s Pride Mo. and Lovers are in the Air. I’m releasing and re-releasing a few stories to connect us all to the sensuous design we are. Love is love, and right now the liberated expression of love is under threat by a governing body who aims to strip our bodies of autonomy, of breath and wonder. Pride was a protest before a parade and it returns to riot, rightfully once again. I invite you in to join this space. And since it’s a reader-supported publication, I’d invite you to stay with me for the next year.
...and late One Night
She lit up her cigarette. The smoke drew its line in the air. Her face ached. Her lover snapped a photo.
They were both falling madly in love, but she was struggling.
Transitioning from her old world into a new one, "they" she thought, would never really accept her, or so she perceived.
How could she explain a love they couldn't understand? Did she feel free in herself to be with her lover, a lover she loved so deeply? Was she brave? Or crazy? Would she stand up to them?
She took another drag.
Slowly.
Her lover, then, delicately lifted the cigarette from her hand and inhaled the tightly rolled tobacco.
A drawn out drag was one of knowing, a drag of solidarity, non-judgment, an energetic kindness, perhaps, held in briefly and exhaled through pursed lips. White air evaporated against a black sky filled with faded stars and against the sound of crickets.
Her lover could see inside her soul, even without a word.
They absorbed the cloud around them. Her lover placed the cigarette back in her hand, and then picked up a camera, snapped another photo. Her lace bustier hugged her skin, she didn’t quite understand what her lover saw, but she felt ruggedly radiant from the inside out.
Maybe it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the moment, right? They both peered at each other and leaned into a kiss.
Their kisses were like sharing a suspended savory flavor of a rich delicacies, indescribable to those who weren't there. Soft lips, pulling each other in. Her lover’s breathy sough in between their kisses gave her chills.
This love was more than sensual. It was something Spiritual. It was tender. It was real. It pierced her soul, just as the Oracle said it would, but she would have to be open. It was the kind of love meant to last. Or so she wanted to believe.
It had the potential to grow, she thought, she felt it. They would build together, wouldn’t they? She wanted it. She craved it. Or was it she craved her lover’s body? Or both? Could she get past her own fears? Would she step into this love fully, unabashed?
Her mind raced in a calm, playful moment with her lover. She was...oh, so terrified.
With each line of smoke, her eyes grew more weary. She rubbed the final stub of her cigarette into an ashtray and took a deep breath, exhaled, again, slowly.
Her lover watched with a soft intensity, eyes that moved as she moved, smirking with genuine pleasure. She was almost embarrassed, but she relished the attention in her lover’s eyes.
Her lover’s eyes were playful. Her laugh rasped with a mischievous invitation.
They got up and chased each other, one room to the next, tearing off another layer of clothing, pulling each other in, dancing to the sounds of jungle outside.
Her lover held her hand up so she might twirl on the stone washed floors. She tumbled onto the couch and her lover gently straddled her.
You want to make out? she asked her lover, playfully.
They both laughed. She pulled her lover’s body a little closer, chest against chest, skin against skin.
She brushed her lover’s chest, and whispered, I want you inside of me.
Her lover smiled, kissed her a little more deeply as she leaned back to lie down and they moved in rhythm, wet with sweat, cum and saliva, only the sound lapping and tapping against each other’s bodies blended with breathing played between them.
In the following days, they romped on the couch, in her ex's old room, in her room too, and in the guest bungalow next door. They traveled an isle of the gods, from one place to the next. Dips in the ocean followed by whispers in the night, a light and a drag, and a long release sung with pleasure.
They went to dinner parties, where a little weed, wine and homemade chai were a regular part of the evening’s festivities. Many of her friends were supportive and even gushed over her lover.
Her giddy giggles, over her lover’s playful demeanor were the talk of the group, so much so, her friends' partners were worried they’d be replaced with all the flirtation and chatter.
Their story, fused with magic. For a moment in time, it seemed, their lives disrupted the world around them, even as they were being disrupted themselves. Her lover’s embrace under streaks of morning sun felt comforting, as if it might go on forever.
It didn’t, of course, but before it didn’t, she didn’t know.
She settled easily in her lover’s arms, held tightly around her, as she burrowed her head and her hair into her lover’s chest.
One morning, they lingered, with nowhere to go except into fantasies, places where it only led to existential bliss. After they’d kissed each other’s bodies with tired tenderness, she slid out from the bed, and left her lover to sleep.
She perched on the step with the door open. She lit a cigarette, and dragged it, always slowly, always thoughtfully, wondering what it all meant. Her Lover would fly away in a few days. The house was quiet. And brisk breeze brushed her face.
No matter what, she thought, she was happy, she was present. What more could she ask for?
Nothing, she whispered. She exhaled in a circle of smoke, nothing at all.
Ash is poet, advocate and storyteller. To connect, intv for podcast or work with her on finding your voice, send her a message.
