It wasn't her that was circular, it was the paths she chose. And then, in what was to be her most defining moment, he offered his world to her. Their lips met and their hands grasped for the air the impact took from them. All the voices that had made her head a source of great discomfort were now saying only one thing. Again and again in harmonic unison they whispered, you, you, you....

addendum

you're both the teacher and the worthy opponent. it doesnt get much better than that.

in the dream, it's me and you.

in the dream, there's a difference between skin and flesh.

in the dream, it's real.

Sometimes I wonder what or who is running through your mind, Brick. Here we lay or, are again. You say, "The best part of this is when you lose yourself Jenny". Forever, I always thought how beautiful that was. Today, I'm not as sure. The picture I painted years ago was my idealism. I realize now that it has no border. Why won't you let it have a border? You missed me for the wrong reasons. I remembered the painting. It brought me back here, yet again.

she turned to look at him while he slept. watched his soft lips breathe. jealous of his eyelashes.

he opened his eyes and saw her. he smiled. she smiled.

she was nervous. or giddy. were they the same thing?

he rolled onto his back and expelled a breath of air. he stared at the ceiling.

somewhere "the girl from ipanema" began to play.

shit. he said.

he got up and walked over to the cluttered desk, searching for the sound...

"And when she passes, each one she passes goes - ah...."

I made loneliness a home, thanks to you. Your ghost moved in next door. You should come get your stuff.

mother always said "men will fuck a coffee table if they could figure out how to do it."

so, i'm less attractive than a coffee table?

They were olives. Six olives to be precise. This was his concession. His version of a dozen roses, or a sappy Hallmark card. He thought he was being clever, the proverbial olive branch on a stark white salad plate. But to her it was as obvious as the lie she had spent the last two days trying to shake.

dictated by ec

where are you going?
it's hot
oh
did you still want the ice cream?
did i ever?

Who knew that this is where she was going? Make plans and make God laugh, right? She thought she was out to get ice cream and then she was here. This is where all the whys, the wheres and hows in her life had gotten her. All the best-laid plans had finally gotten her laid right. It sounded crass to her, but this is what happens when you follow the ice cream. She lets her finger trace his back as he sleeps. The skin is so soft and the slight dent of his spine leaves room for something so fragile and vulnerable that it makes her tear up. She hadn’t cried in months and now this boy was making her melt. Like ice cream. In this room, on this dusty street in Hollywood, on the hottest day of the year she found her deepest secrets and dirtiest thoughts buried in the skin of this boy she hardly knows. She whispers: “I will never pretend to know you.” But she knows, in this particular light of day, that she can’t keep her promise. She remembers her high school teacher saying something about skin being your largest organ and how all the boys had laughed. Her friend had said that it was the heart, but her friend is now the kind of girl who hears “hedge fund” and asks “how high?” Jenny looks at the ceiling. This large white surface now kept all her confidences. Sin is your largest organ. Jenny is not easy, but her body is. It responds like a good girl to bad things and all her correct answers become lost in that hot excavation between sugar and Brick. Her eyes lazily follow the soothing white walls down to the floor and she notice the ice cream has become creamy and soft, creating a puddle that looks like summer a cloud. Her clothes are scattered, forming a complicated geographical map in the white open bedroom. She takes a mental picture and let’s the map of her clothes tell the truth of how fucking turned on she is. She wakes him…

she lay there. turned to her side, her hand underneath her cheek, she watches him sleep. she smiles.

the smell of him fills the room like a potpourri of sex. dirty boy things, socks and forgotten shoes, t-shirts never been washed, jeans in a ball.

this is it. that primal thing she read about, spoke about with knowledge, knowledge she didn't have. she felt it now. deep within her. a heat. a light. or both.

she calls him "trouble".
he calls her bluff.

and the heat breaks records.

it was hot outside. too hot to be outside. too hot to be inside. just too hot.

standing outside of his door, she remind herself that she just needed ice. he was a neighbor. this was fine. "do you have some ice i might have?" "yes, i do" "oh thank you" and that would be it.

just ice.

the door opened and she splashed a casual yet friendly smile on her face. though her heart pounded into her chest. her fingers began to tingle. and her throat was dry.

the smell of sleepy boy floated out of the apartment and wrapped itself around her. his eyes became alert upon seeing her.

"oh hh--" his voice cracked, he rubbed his hand through is hair - "hi. what's up?"

The buzz of the booze. The smell of the crowd. The sweep of your hand. My sweating brow. Relax. Not long now

When you think like you do? You make me want this even more. Just stop.

i will not be ignored, dan.