We Smash Our Faces Together Because I Don’t Know What Else We Could Possibly Do

She takes the whole of him in her mouth. She thinks, ‘I want you to be inside of me, not through my vagina but down my throat. I want you to curl up inside my stomach and dissolve into my blood stream.’

He feels her teeth around his neck, his hair stands on end and his penis stiffens. He wraps his fingers around her spine and squeezes, just to remind her he is paying attention. He is filled with her saliva and she is filled with his skin. They both smile, but not noticing the other does, they think, ‘I hope I’m not making a fool out of myself,’ or, ‘I hope I’m doing this right,’ or, ‘I don’t want to be a disappointment.’

He holds his breath so tightly, feeling around inside of her, that his nose begins to bleed. She laps up the blood, which has slid down into the creases of his mouth. She draws everything in together. If you were to write a taxonomy of kisses, this would be counted as, ‘an extreme kiss you perform with desperation, like your first kiss, or your last,’ or ‘the first time you wanted to turn each other inside out and touch each other’s insides.’

When they find themselves separated, when he has been shat out by her and put together, perhaps slightly different, they cannot quite look at each other in the eye. They think, ‘I hope I didn’t make a fool out of myself,’ and, ‘I hope I did it right’, and, ‘I am not disappointed.’ They both smile inward, her at her hands and him at the space between his feet.

Her body shakes from the sound of itself, from its unintentional clenching, its resistance to speech before him, just waiting to make sure everything is okay. He feels her body staring at him, coughs, once, maybe twice, and then they both laugh, out of nervousness, collapsing into each other’s relief.

She thinks, ‘I want to do a strip tease for you. I want to dance slowly and pull at the skin at my hips, and when the music crescendos I want to tear all of it off so you can marvel at my dark red muscles and strong bones,’ so she says, ‘that was nice.’

He gets on the train home, thinking about her rapid blinking and the straight hairs matted on her pelvic bone. His penis starts to stiffen again as an announcement is made, then repeated, broken, ‘good evening passengers, good evening passengers, good evening passengers…’

Emma Rayward is a 2014 UTS Honours graduate with a thesis titled “Topology of Abject Bodies”. She is interested in holes and surfaces. You can follow her on @afinedeadsound.

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