Saturday, May 17, 2014

His hands go in, searching playfully for her feet, touching the creamy skin

"I imagine my father standing right here, in my place at the foot of the bed. I step back and in my mind, picture him taking a step forward, lifting the edge of the blanket, which is still settling over her. 
His hands go in, searching playfully for her feet, touching the creamy skin, fondling her toes, rolling each one of them ever so slightly between his fingers; which makes her arch her back, stretch out her arms, and twist her body around until she is turned over, on her back. She points her toes towards him with a cry of pleasure. 
Anita utters a groan as he applies gentle pressure to the soles of her feet, caresses the arches, the heels, the ankles. Her knees spread open and fall apart, until she takes control of herself and brings them together—only to have them spread open again.
I close my eyes because this way, I can see with greater clarity. The entire blanket is coming alive, folding and unfolding, stirring with their passionate tangle. From time to time the ripples rise to mark the line of his back, or the curve of her embrace."

Ben in The White Piano


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