Mid-morning. Reviewed the newspapers since last Friday and read today’s. Eye appointment time but they are closed today. Tomorrow either you are going up to Mary Lou’s or she is coming down here. A movie is planned, you hope it is “The King’s Speech” as it just arrived in Cincinnati last Saturday.
If I didn’t hear King George 'BBC live' (I think I did) then I heard him on a recording in my youth. I like period films as does Carol, plus it has very good reviews as well as excellent actors.
Mid-afternoon. On the way home from a grocery errand you thought . . . .
True. I thought something about the books other than working on this scene thirteen and getting it done before the year is out. I did. But I don’t remember – drawing a complete blank.
You recovered your mind enough to re-draft another ‘incident’ between Sophia and Salamon. Here it is:
A Scene 13 selection - redrafted
Salamon fell asleep semi-solid still chuckling . . . as he awoke Sophia stirred and mumbled, “Why am I not exhausted? I wake up and feel refreshed then the old storm in the back of my head rises and I wonder what this being Dead is all about.” She added, “I wonder about this rebellion.” Are the gods behind this, she thought, then quickly concluded as usual, there are no gods. We are here just like we were alive. We have no control over either circumstance. What we are makes us who we are first.
He formed a seriousness in her words on the rebellion and commented, “The bridge is a form of justice. We are building it by our own design. All of the Dead can walk upon it and we will take it as far out onto the River Styx as this nature will allow us.”
She asked stubbornly, “Who is this Supervisor who is supposedly constantly observing and controlling this nature we survive in?”
Salamon stretched then casually placed his hands behind his gathered mind-in-his-head. Sophia gave him a look and threw a blanket over his nakedness below.
He smirked, “Why’d you do that?”
She smiled politely and replied, “To warm you up.”
He closed his eyes, sighed, and suddenly felt surprisingly alive. With those self-directed feelings to slow to light nerves Salamon resurrected below the navel and in the immediacy forgot Sophia’s question.
Mattress on the floor in the evening. Salamon is lying with his back arched at thirty degrees leaning on his right elbow and forearm, his legs are stretched mostly together and flat out with his tensioned toes slightly spread. He considers the self-generating thought: ‘if we were real’.
His left arm and hand lean straightforward with his large-knuckled long fingers spread fan-like across the full of Sophia’s lower belly enwrapped in a fantasy designed for gently lifting her soul into his own. Salamon’s thumb is calmly threaded teasingly between her semi-swollen outer lips onto the tip of Sophia’s cozy Gibraltar-shaped passion. A mirage of flowing life energy settled on the spiritual union but that was not to be.
Pressure-parted, Sophia senses a memory of sexual energy wanting to disperse in gentle shivering shocks and quakes above Salamon’s slowly methodical push-and-pulling. To become whole and full bodied is her desire more than the sex itself. To feel auto-stimulated is to become shaman-like, sparked and inner tingling with a wild-minded woman’s intensity of the here and now. Oh, and oh, again.
Meanwhile her softly curved bottom rests on the top of his thighs so she might lightly brush the movement of his well placed cullions. Sophia anchored her raised back with her outstretched arms with palms mattress flat with legs spread, her left ankle touching the back of his partially raised right hand while her right foot with heel raised is well toed for support and pointed away from his narrowed waist. Oh.
Sophia’s neck and head arch forward for a centered peek of male viewing further south between taut breasts swelled. She thinks, I am up here, she thinks and down there too. Two places at once, such as it is, oh, making love and being Dead both at once – oh, oh my.
***
Methinks it may be too much, but that’s how it is for now.
I don’t have a problem with it, orndorff. At least you didn’t have either one of them exclaiming, “Oh, my God!”
Coming from you that's funny, Amorella.
After twenty hours and you have completed another selected draft. You are also wondering if this may be enough. Add it here and tomorrow we’ll put it together as one whole unit to see how it looks.
Selection of Scene 13 redrafted
What are we doing here? I have too much to do, thought Sophia. Too much Mother, too much me. She glanced down at the deeply sleeping stone crusted Salamon. She wondered, what is this all about, Salamon? How long is this relationship going to last?
Such a question. Sophia looked up into the dark sky and grumbled, “Forever sunless. Whenever will we see the light?”
She probed Salamon’s cold left arm thinking – marble. I am here making cryptal love with marble. Transformation with a fingertip’s touch. De-stoning, Salamon said, “You’re awake?”
Sophia grinned, “And, now you are too.”
“I should be tired.”
“You were,” she replied, “stone cold.”
He quickly reflected, “Every new day is a resurrection.”
She quipped, “It’s not yet morning.”
“Another go?” smilingly slipped out.
You are kidding, thought Sophia. What would be the purpose? Where is the meaning with matters overdone?
Grinning, Salamon reached and gently pulled her down. “We can cuddle.”
She teased, “You need to get warm.” On their chosen sides, rotisserie-like, the two easily lay arm in arm and feet contentedly caressing. Sophia whispered matter of factly, ‘We two warm the heavens.’
Mattress on the floor, late. Salamon lay flat and rested on his back. Sophia stood naked above him.
Sophia inched slowly down. To coordinate Salamon rose into a sitting position with as much anticipation as he could muster. Shortly, he pleasantly found her sitting on the focus of much of his warm semi-solid anticipation. With the fingers of her right hand she spread her much exercised lips and nudged him into place. Then she sat tall with her back parallel to his. Her taut breasts front and center to his neck Salamon quickly found himself bending his mouth instinctively forward to a potential taste of awaiting spiritual nourishment. Lips and tongue, a twist of pleasure mutually felt. He did not notice her more experienced eyes were observing contently above his own.
I feel him within and without. Who is changed more in this parallel frontal positioning? The flesh, the thought of flesh keeps his mind busy on the essentials of fingertips as his right hand appears fresh with a single finger heading towards my bottom just far enough for me to tingle of playful entrance. Erection or finger, I don’t know which counts more in my present, private bottomful of two-way joy.
Contentment is staying this prayful way until morning. Heaven is in the one of being.
***
Post. – Amorella. 
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