Day 8-
All writing is manipulation, maybe not as obvious as blackmail, or withholding, but any writer worth his or her salt uses their words to show the "what", but the truth, the 'why", the motivation is always in the subtext, and THAT's where the manipulation occurs, behind the words. So yeah, I am a manipulator, and yes that extends to mannerisms and behavior, my demeanor is as much a construct of my own intentions as it is a product of habit, learned behavior, genetic predisposition etc. And it is absolutely the result of a skilled series of manipulations that put Jennifer's naked body in the chair in front of meand it is manipulation that is responsible for what happened next but not my own
"Why did she leave you?" came a little voice creeping like a dandelion parachute across my face into my ear.
I was entirely unprepared for that question, not offended, it didn't even seem inappropriate, it just wasn't a question I had faced quite so bluntly before. I was tempted to lie, but I have this "live honestly" policy that I've adopted as a result of some fairly problematic mistakes I've made in my past, which I'm sure I'll get to, in time. No Jennifer's exposed body and relaxed form expressed a vulnerability that, offered safe haven. Her arms hanging freely from each side of the reclined studio chair were an offer of sanctuary to me. Their message being -"Anything you say, anything you expose, here and now, will not be used to hurt you, only to understand you. You are safe with me".
"Why did she leave me?" I repeated her words, both in ponderance and avoidance of the answer. Truth is beyond the bullshit excuses I've made over the past year, ergo "It just wasn't working" ," We both think we can find happiness elsewhere", "We made better friends than spouses" etc. , I really didn't know exactly? There was nothing scandalous, we weren't cruel to one another, neither of us cheated on each other, but the truth was .
"We just went too long without checking in" I said.
Without asking me to explain any further, I could see in her eyes, she knew precisely what I meant. This woman who was just seconds ago a conquest of the flesh, had in the asking of one empathetic question become the first woman, in too long a time, that I had felt I could fall in love with, that's when she put the chilled palm of her hand against my cheek, raised her chest from out of the chair, turned her pert pink lips in my direction and kissed me with a gentility and affection that left my eyes misty, and my heart full of tears. And there it was her manipulation. All the power that was mine in that bathroom, or while I was holding my .03 mm pen, was hers now, to do with as she wished. And she did the most curious thing, the most wonderful thing. She brought her hand down from my cheek patted my chest like a comrade in heartache, and lifting herself from her lounging comfort, placed her hand in mine, calling me to follow wherever her tiny pixie feet led.
Our nude forms were a black silhouette crossing a grey room, through tiny shafts of light spit out by the imperfect seals of the windows and doors. I reached in gesture only, as we stepped closer to the bedroom, to touch the back of her head, and let my hand fall slowly without reaching it's mark , knowing that the gesture, was enough.
She climbed into the bed first and did that excited nervous dance we do when cool flesh meets fresh linens, and I followed dancing just the same. I tried to speak just once, and she put her finger over my mouth to prevent the breaking of what I now know, was a necessary silence. She kissed me again gently licking the crease between my lips as her tongue left my mouth, and I sighed careful to remain as inaudible as possible. I touched her faceI wrapped my arm around her and stroked her back she touched my face. She wrapped her arm around me and stroked my back as best she could given the considerable shortness of her arms and uncommon width of my back. And finally she sighed, and gently turned over sinking into my body, her ass found a home in the crook of my pelvis, her back rested snuggly on my chest, her feet met like the joining of two Danish children's blocks with my own, her headperfectly set on the pillow before me, left me the glorious scent of her hair I reached behind myself where I knew that old down comforter remained from last nights slumber, and pulled it like the dramatic drawing of a silent movie villains cape over the two of us, and as our eyes closed in unison, just before we both fell asleep peacefully and for the first time in a long time, content I thought.... "this is fine silk indeed."
All writing is manipulation, maybe not as obvious as blackmail, or withholding, but any writer worth his or her salt uses their words to show the "what", but the truth, the 'why", the motivation is always in the subtext, and THAT's where the manipulation occurs, behind the words. So yeah, I am a manipulator, and yes that extends to mannerisms and behavior, my demeanor is as much a construct of my own intentions as it is a product of habit, learned behavior, genetic predisposition etc. And it is absolutely the result of a skilled series of manipulations that put Jennifer's naked body in the chair in front of meand it is manipulation that is responsible for what happened next but not my own
"Why did she leave you?" came a little voice creeping like a dandelion parachute across my face into my ear.
I was entirely unprepared for that question, not offended, it didn't even seem inappropriate, it just wasn't a question I had faced quite so bluntly before. I was tempted to lie, but I have this "live honestly" policy that I've adopted as a result of some fairly problematic mistakes I've made in my past, which I'm sure I'll get to, in time. No Jennifer's exposed body and relaxed form expressed a vulnerability that, offered safe haven. Her arms hanging freely from each side of the reclined studio chair were an offer of sanctuary to me. Their message being -"Anything you say, anything you expose, here and now, will not be used to hurt you, only to understand you. You are safe with me".
"Why did she leave me?" I repeated her words, both in ponderance and avoidance of the answer. Truth is beyond the bullshit excuses I've made over the past year, ergo "It just wasn't working" ," We both think we can find happiness elsewhere", "We made better friends than spouses" etc. , I really didn't know exactly? There was nothing scandalous, we weren't cruel to one another, neither of us cheated on each other, but the truth was .
"We just went too long without checking in" I said.
Without asking me to explain any further, I could see in her eyes, she knew precisely what I meant. This woman who was just seconds ago a conquest of the flesh, had in the asking of one empathetic question become the first woman, in too long a time, that I had felt I could fall in love with, that's when she put the chilled palm of her hand against my cheek, raised her chest from out of the chair, turned her pert pink lips in my direction and kissed me with a gentility and affection that left my eyes misty, and my heart full of tears. And there it was her manipulation. All the power that was mine in that bathroom, or while I was holding my .03 mm pen, was hers now, to do with as she wished. And she did the most curious thing, the most wonderful thing. She brought her hand down from my cheek patted my chest like a comrade in heartache, and lifting herself from her lounging comfort, placed her hand in mine, calling me to follow wherever her tiny pixie feet led.
Our nude forms were a black silhouette crossing a grey room, through tiny shafts of light spit out by the imperfect seals of the windows and doors. I reached in gesture only, as we stepped closer to the bedroom, to touch the back of her head, and let my hand fall slowly without reaching it's mark , knowing that the gesture, was enough.
She climbed into the bed first and did that excited nervous dance we do when cool flesh meets fresh linens, and I followed dancing just the same. I tried to speak just once, and she put her finger over my mouth to prevent the breaking of what I now know, was a necessary silence. She kissed me again gently licking the crease between my lips as her tongue left my mouth, and I sighed careful to remain as inaudible as possible. I touched her faceI wrapped my arm around her and stroked her back she touched my face. She wrapped her arm around me and stroked my back as best she could given the considerable shortness of her arms and uncommon width of my back. And finally she sighed, and gently turned over sinking into my body, her ass found a home in the crook of my pelvis, her back rested snuggly on my chest, her feet met like the joining of two Danish children's blocks with my own, her headperfectly set on the pillow before me, left me the glorious scent of her hair I reached behind myself where I knew that old down comforter remained from last nights slumber, and pulled it like the dramatic drawing of a silent movie villains cape over the two of us, and as our eyes closed in unison, just before we both fell asleep peacefully and for the first time in a long time, content I thought.... "this is fine silk indeed."
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
For your encouraging words, and for the picture. I've seen that image before, but have never been able to find it again. I really enjoy it. Thank you.