8/17/10

Anonymous

Shadows

Were shadows over his head. The boy did not raise his chin nor cant his eyes or search with the eyes overhead. Her foot was in his hands. One leg fell to one side and he shouldn’t have. He had heard of this before. The boy had heard before and he had touched a girl before, and this one’s neck hung to the side and he could not see the face from her hair. A khaki patch ran between her thighs. And there were lines between her toes. There were cunts in the gaps between her toes, he saw. He spread a toe from a toe and pushed his finger in there. He branched a toe from a toe and slipped his finger in. It was moist in there where the powdery skin had collected. Her neck hugged to the side and he slipped his finger from there. He smelled his finger and slid his finger back in there. He put a finger between two of his toes. It did not count, he said. He left it between his toes and put another between hers, and he felt them together and he felt. She exhaled a slow caught breath and he breathed this breath along with her. There was a catch in her breath when she exhaled. He had already touched a girl before. He had imagined boys’ toes as being drier than girls’. He had thought boys’ toes would be dry in the hot days of summer. He remembered friends he had had. He wanted this one to like how he liked when he touched her. No. That was not it. He wanted her to like that she liked when he touched her. This was it. He wanted her to feel how he softly he touched in her sleep. See how softly she sleeped? See how softly, he whispered. See how soft, he whimpered. Even to sleep; he felt a feeling like he felt in his pants as a boy. He remembered feeling it when he stood and when he sat and when he kneeled. He remembered when to kneel and how to sit and when he stood. He remembered a statue up front he prayed to when he kneeled. He remembered its cracked and putty skin. He wanted to know what it was like for a girl like her. He wanted to touch and press and put his thumb inside. But there was no place for him to put his thumb into. There was only skin and it was flesh and there were bones. He thought how to sit and when to stand and when to kneel. He stared at the khaki crotch and did not want to even put his thumb up there. He did want to want to touch this girl up here. What kind of boy was he who did not want to fully touch up there? Who only wanted to what? He was a sweet boy and that was it, he thought? Everyone liked him? He remembered how he had rubbed Mother’s feet when he was young. He thought how he had sat and how he stood and when he kneeled. There were shadows that moved when he pressed his thumb. He watched her closely and her neck stayed to the side. Her neck tightened and then it hugged and then stayed to the side. He did not know what it was like for a girl like this. He breathed when she breathed and he liked it here. Maybe she liked this about him, too, he thought. How softly, how softly. Even in sleep, he thought. Even to sleep. He had prayed, that was all. He had prayed. And he stood.

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