Feedback: archaeobard
A Game
By
archaeobard
This love is all new to me, all fresh, like waking up from a thick sleep being unable to identify dusk from dawn. I feel her presence. It is like she has said. There is a thread between us. It is a fine thread, but it pulls as the current of a river pulls when we are apart. I seek her out wherever she might be so the thread does not pull too tight. For I fear it may break and then my light would extinguish.
How this feeling gushes through me with my very blood. I remember how she winked at me once, like a boy. It was a saucy wink. And now when I sometimes catch her gaze across a room she might see my look and wink again like a boy. I would colour for I would know what would follow.
She would step to me, surely with a twitch to her lips. She would stand before me, close but not touching, just looking. Her gaze would fall upon my eye, my lips, my neck, my shoulder. Wherever she looked would burn with a blush. She would smile at me, perhaps tilt her head ever so slightly. I would smile back, tremulous. My breath would catch, the pulse in my neck would beat a little faster. She would watch it thud, thudding against my throat and her smile would grow. She knew that standing so I could feel the heat of her would raise desire in me. She would shift slightly, moving closer, our skirts rustling and quivering together.
She would touch me then, lewdly, running a thumb over my lips; her fingers down my throat. I had taken to wearing less restrictive clothing and more times than not my shoulders would be bare. She would trail her fingertips over the exposed tops of my breasts and I would shudder, my skin rising to greet her.
"You trollop," I would whisper, all the while leaning in to her touch.
"Me, Miss?" she would say with a curtsey, "I ain't no trollop, Miss, I'm a good girl."
Then she would smile coquettishly and withdraw from me. She would occupy herself with some mundane thing, poking at the fire, twitching curtains. She would force me to follow her about the room for she had started me off with a saucy wink and I could not leave it at that.
"Oh Miss!" she would say as I'd come up behind her and place a kiss at the point where her shoulder met her neck, "What are you doing?"
"Kissing you, Sue," I would say, my hands upon her shoulders. I would turn her to me.
She would search my eyes a moment, "Why would you do that?" It was a script we had devised long ago.
"Because you have started me and I want you."
"Started what?" she would say with an innocent look, "And I am right here if you want me."
"No," I would move closer, "I need you."
She would smile, "Need me for what, Miss? To fetch you a cool cloth? My, how flushed you look!"
I would shake my head, "You know for what."
"Truly, Miss, I do not," she would say crossly, breaking from me again.
"Will you come," I would say, "so I may talk to you squarely?" I would gesture for her to return and she would come to stand before me with a curtsey.
"Yes, Miss," she would say, her head down.
I would raise her chin with a finger and meet her eye, "Touch me, or I shall die from the wanting of you."
She would swallow. Her breath would catch and a blush would spread to her cheeks.
"Yes, Miss," she would say, then all pretence would fall.
END
Sometimes Sue would look at me and I would know what passes over her eyes. It is a desire as she drinks me in. It is a want as she latches her gaze to mine. I cannot help but respond for it is a primal thing that grasps hold of me. It pulls me to her. I fear it for it for its ardent nature. I revel in it for it makes me alive when for so long I have been as a ghost.