We did great at maintaining a safe distance — even meanwhile our bodies collided and merged. Meanwhile my tongue was in your mouth, meanwhile your fingers were deep inside of me.
A distance safe enough from feelings, romance — keeping the moment purely carnal, feral. A distance safe enough from confusion — trying hard not to mix anything more than our burning bodies.
But as the night settled in, even if we both carefully sticked to our respective side of the bed — falling asleep, unconsciousness took over — that’s when something imperceptible and delicate happened.
As I turned around in my sleep and stretched my arm underneath the pillow next to me, as per my habit, my hand found yours. The tip of my fingers found the tips of your fingers. None of us pulled away, yet both of us felt it. I, oh so slightly, gripped the tip of your fingers — and I felt you gripping mine back.
In the most insignificant move we created the most significant moment.
It was soft, gentle, caring. It held all the things we both knew but never expressed. As it is usual with us, we did not need to communicate through words. What we share in delicately embroidered in the fabric of time and space — of our own — of love. But a kind of love that is not loud, because it doesn’t need to be.
It was like saying — I’m here for you, I got you. I feel you, I feel it. It’s forbidden and impossible, but it is real.
And the next morning, as we both emerged from our slumber — regaining consciousness and hence distance, you breached it. I had my back turned to you and you softly placed your hand on my shoulder, checking if I was awake, prompting me to turn around.
As I found myself laying on my back with my hands resting on my belly, slowly opening my eyes — you reached out for my hand and grabbed it within yours. After a few seconds you turned around, dragging my hand with yours — making me de facto the bigger spoon — and placed my hand in yours on your chest.
This felt wonderful. Our stolen moment, suspended in time. No one will ever know — but us. No one needs to know — but us.
I’ll carry it wherever I go, hold it whenever I feel low. It’ll remind me that happiness is only real when shared — and that in these small moments, during these hours we stole from the world — we both were, happy.
Tenderly yours, sometimes — after the spanking.