A Cappella
Keywords: A, Cappella,
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I've never told you this when we were spending serious time together, but way back when I was about ten, it was about this same time of year when I stopped dinner conversation cold one night. I thought my mom was going to drop the holiday ham, right there on the green shag.
I had just piped up about a peculiar dream I'd had the night before, when time seemed to freeze at the table. The clanking and chatter had abruptly given way to an arresting silence.
If music had been playing somewhere in the background, you would have heard a needle dragging across vinyl before that silence.
Grandma recovered first, beaming and starting to say something, but mom cut her off with a smile I knew was fake, even back when I was ten and didn't know that green shag carpeting was awful. With a bit of a forced-pleasant tone in her voice, she told me "I'm sure it was just a dream, Parker".
Her look at grandma was the same one she reserved for me when I'd let a stray curse word slip out in front of her. It didn't happen often, and neither did that brand of smile.
I remember later on that evening, Grandma passed me in the hallway on her way up to bed, and deftly whispered in my ear: "walking the soul is not a dream, Park," before she ascended the stairs, that same wide smile on her face.
That was the only time she ever mentioned it, and I never brought it up after that dinner. What she said had made me stop a moment and think, but it was sometimes hard to put much stock in what Grandma said.
She spoke to cats. Conversed with them, actually.
Come to think of it, though I never heard the cats respond, they did behave as if they understood.
Anyway…
This was long before the internet, and though I was a curious kid I had no way to really follow up on what she had said to me. Though the experience I brought up at dinner did happen in bed at night, looking back whenever I managed to pull it off it was always with the same kind of "this isn't a dream" awareness you'd have when you were surfing, or driving a car, or sharing a deep kiss.
I'm older now, and still "walk the soul" occasionally. I've gotten "very" good at it, and as an aside I'll say that while I haven't started talking to cats, I have a new found respect for them.
…
Today, all day long, you were on my mind.
I'm not sure why. It could be that some subliminal cue crossed my senses; a girl with thick I-thought-it-was-red hair caught in the corner of my eye, maybe. Or a whiff of your perfume. But come to think of it, maybe it was the same hint of perspiration I remember from you, sometimes. Certain aromas have always driven me wild, and the woman-scent I'm thinking of definitely qualifies.
It's something you can barely put your finger on, but hangs in the air deliciously. Subtle and captivating, it's the smell that lingers after waking you up on a Sunday morning, slow and sensual and delicious, and then urgent and energetic. And then all the covers scattered over the floor. It's the kind of primal essence that makes me want to run my tongue behind your ear, pull your hair back to expose your neck, so I can sink my teeth into you there, very caveman-like.
I can't smell it on a conscious level, but you know how it affects me.
And that's how I was, all day long. Walking around with a throbbing hardness, images of you playing in my mind. I sat in a meeting where other techs were droning on, and I didn't hear them at all. The voices of balding men with glasses talking about insurance software all around, but I barely heard them.
Instead I'd hear you moaning, that first intake of breath as I'd run my tongue over your soft folds, and the way you mewl as I start teasing you there, my palms on the inside of your thighs, spreading you wide and letting you feel my warm breath on you.
My day was not terribly productive.
But that didn't bother me. As I drove home, you continued to be on my mind, sprawling nude and spreading on the bed, beckoning me in my daydreams with that smile of yours. A naughty girl who's free to show it, to "be" naughty, now. By this point I could almost taste you, and my hand absently dropped to my jeans during my commute, vainly trying to tame the tightly held tool as it throbbed.
The rest of the evening was much of the same. Of course you were far away at, so I couldn't ravage you as you I walked in the door, maybe finding you just in from a workout, that scent lingering just out of my perception but definitely affecting me. I couldn't take the gym bag out of your hands, spin you around to the kitchenette countertop and bend you over like I wanted to. I couldn't take hold of your hair, gathering it up into a firm handful as I whispered in your ear that I wanted you, needed you. I couldn't breathe in deeply, and take in a whiff of you, of that feminine incense that had been driving me wild all day long, despite your being so far away from me. The spandex of your workout pants wasn't there to pull down around your ankles, and I had no thong to wrap my fingers around and pull aside, before I got down to the business of taking you.
I could have called you… but we haven't talked much lately, and I know many times it's not good for you to take a call.
Helping myself was always an option; I could lie in bed and immerse myself in the sensory splendor of memory and imagination, arch my back at the end and shoot spurts of cum onto a tshirt as I imagined having you, hearing those moans, but only listening to my own.
I decided to walk the soul, instead.
…
I was still, sitting up on my large bed. I'm sure it would have looked a bit odd, had anyone been there to see me. The light of the moon high in the sky filtered in, as well as the ambient brightness from the snow on the ground. The bedroom was very still, when I started the rhythmic breathing.
In and out.
Slowly, I drew the air in, held it for a number of heartbeats, and then blew it out for that same amount of beats. As I worked through the routine I'd refined since I was about ten, I could feel myself slipping more into a state of total calm. In with the good air, out with the old air. In with the calm, out with the stress.
And then I no longer heard the neighbor's dog barking. I no longer had the random, delicious thought of you rubbing your wet sex against my face, smearing my cheeks, taking up the forefront of my mind. I barely felt my own legs, crossed underneath me as I sat; that faint impression was fading fast.
I was only really aware of the breathing then, slow and automatic now, my body finding the familiar pattern without my having to manage it any longer. Not too long after that, the vibrations started.
I could feel them throughout my whole body; they were the precursors of my "walking". It was as if my whole body was a beach, and these waves were crashing upon the sand of my being, breaking and receding, growing stronger and louder. Of course I was still breathing, but that was a distant thing and rapidly fading as the vibrations became more intense, and that sound grew like a freight train passing by.
Now and then there'd be some odd variance at this point of things; my name being called out, music playing, wind blowing, but tonight, there was none of that. My body was asleep, my mind wide-awake, and my soul about to walk. Or dream, if you're inclined to believe my mother.
And then it happened. *"Snap!"*
The nearest thing I can compare this to is breaching the surface after being underwater for a long time. In the water, your body moves through the thick liquid much more slowly and with more resistance than through air. You get used to it, and stop noticing it after a while. But then when you come up out of the water, it's like you're "free", able to move much more easily. More aware.
Or imagine you spent all day in a heavy body suit that weighed you down as you moved about, hindered all your senses, and then you took that suit off. After the snap, that's what it felt like. Except that heavy suit was my body. That state of being underwater, moving through a thick fluid was how I was all the time, except now.
Now it's just after the snap, and I am floating above my bed, rolling and free of some enormous weight, no longer chained to the physical. Casually I note my body on the bed, sitting and I assume still breathing quite rhythmically. With a bit of will I put a bit of distance between my body and my awareness, floating outside like a newly freed genie caught in a breeze. Sticking too close to my body after the snap is a sure way to get drawn back in. Also, if something happens to my body, or the phone rings, I'll feel that snap again, and I'll "wake up" inside my body, mid-convulsion.
Not particularly pleasant, but it's rare this happens.
Outside over snowdrifts, I roll and stretch my figurative wings. My senses are heightened in this state; in fact when I do this, you could say that my senses are all I am. I'm aware of the world around me in an amazing way, as if the encumbrance of my body filters what's really there, and acts like a dark prism. I can see things that, in regular life, seem to be hidden from me, only just felt or hinted at. Also in a fashion this new and elevated perception doesn't seem to include my rational mind. I could pass right next to a billboard high overhead, and know that it's a billboard, know that it shows happy people on it, and that it was colorful… but I couldn't make out a single word that was on it. One of the tradeoffs of leaving one's body behind, I suppose.
Confident that I'm now past the point where I might snap back in, I clear my mind and form a vision of where you are. I'm on a quest, and I again feel the stirrings begin again from the center of who I am. Thoughts of you and I savoring one another, drinking from each other's font start to strum me like an erotic chord. I acknowledge the building desire, but then focus.
Palm trees and sand.
The ocean, and the beach.
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Keywords: A, Cappella,