
Subject: SUBMIT jea06_the_touch.txt
To: david huberman <dhuberma@nickel.ucs.indiana.edu>




Copyright 1994.  Feel free to distribute in its unaltered form.  If you 
keep a copy or pass it on, consider dropping me a line and letting me 
know.  I'm curious. :)






				The Touch


They were walking downtown together.  Cindy was talking a mile a minute. 
Something *very* important had happened to So-and-so, which led of course
to such-in-such.  She was listening closely, but forgetting the words
almost immediately.  She held her slim briefcase next to her chest,
hugging it with both arms, and gazing at the ground as they walked. 

As Cindy came closer to the heart of the matter, Hallie happened to look 
up into his eyes.  They were dark, impossibly so, and she might not have 
looked away from them except that he touched her.  His finger was on her 
wrist, and as they walked past each other in the street he ran it along 
her arm to her elbow.  And then his touch was gone.

For two steps it was like it didn't happen, but then she stopped and 
turned around, looking for him.  She saw him starting down a narrow 
staircase underneath a storefront.  He turned at the last moment, and she 
found herself looking once again into those impossibly dark eyes.

"Hallie?" Cindy said, jarring her from something that felt like a 
trance.  "What are you looking at?"

"Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"Nothing."

Hallie fell into step next to Cindy, who had started up her monologue 
where she had left off.  Hallie could feel the flesh along her arm 
tingle, as if he had burned her with his fingertip.


				~

That night she dreamed of him.

It was happening all over again, but slower.  The details were exquisite 
in their clarity, in their sharpness.  Out of the corner of her eye she 
could see the other people streaming past them.  A taxi blew its horn 
impatiently.  The earing dangling from Cindy's ear was twisted.  She had 
time to think it might fall out.  Her skirt was blowing slightly in the 
wind.  She would feel it bunching between her knees, outlining her legs.  
The sun reflected off of the rearview mirror of a parked car.

His eyes were dark.

She saw his hand.  Impossibly slowly it came towards her, and she 
noticed the barest hint of a thick chain of silver links on his wrist, 
covered mostly by his sleeve.  His wrist was beautiful.  His hand was 
large, his fingers long and graceful.  She noticed every wrinkle, every 
crease. There was a slight cut on one knuckle, a scar on another.  

When he touched her wrist he possessed her.  He moved his finger along 
her arm, and it was like she was bare before him.  Cindy chattered away 
beside her, her earing glinting, ready to fall out.  But he was touching 
her, he was nearing her elbow.  Soon he would be gone.  She wanted to 
stop, to stop him, to stop herself, but she could feel her legs moving 
forward, the movement couldn't stop.

He was gone.  She turned to look for him, but the street was empty.  A 
bit of paper blew past her feet, tumbling over a fallen earing.

She woke up sweating.

				   ~

It distracted her during the rest of the day, the thought of his hand, 
the color of his eyes.  It was as if he had reached out that day, and 
taken something from her.  Now she couldn't help but think of him, trying 
to get that back, whatever it was. 

It was like he had seen her, and reached out, and taken something from 
her.  Taken it from her just by touching her arm.  With one fingertip, he 
had reached out ... and taken something ...

She dreamed of him again.  This time the street was empty.  It was just 
him, and her.  She walked toward him with the inevitability of dreams.  
Cindy's voice was blaring out of a loudspeaker, harsh, loud.  As they 
drew nearer to one another, he reached out his hand.  She could see his 
palm.  They stopped there in the street, facing one another.  His palm 
touched her cheek.  His hand moved farther back, his fingers slipping 
into her hair.  He cupped her head with his hand.  She closed her eyes.  
She leaned her head into his hand, and pressed her mouth into his wrist.  
She could feel his pulse through her lips.

When she woke suddenly, she was sitting straight up in bed.

				~

She rode the bus downtown.  She sat next to the window, peering through 
it at the people on the street, at the shops, at the narrow staircases. 
She saw his, and held her breath.

She dreamed of him again.

This time the streets were filled with people.  They were walking.  
Cindy's voice filled the air.  Something happened to So-and-so, which led 
to such-and-such.  Cindy's earing, twisted.  The wind was blowing against 
her knees.  She looked down and she was wearing nothing.  Her arms were 
crossed below her bare breasts.  No one could see her.  Only he could see 
her.  

His eyes were impossibly dark.  Only his eyes could see her.  His hand 
reached out.  His burning fingertip was under her ear.  His burning 
fingertip was trailing down.  His burning fingertip was on her breast.  
His burning fingertip was on her stomach.  His burning fingertip was 
between her legs.  His burning fingertip was inside her.

This time she woke screaming, shuddering violently from her orgasm.

				    ~

She got off the bus one block down.  She approached the narrow staircase 
from the wrong direction, not like in her dreams.  But it was there.  The 
people were streaming past her, it was as if no one saw  her travel down 
those few steps to the door.

She knocked slightly.  The feeling in her knuckles was like his touch.  
No one came.

She tried the knob, and like in a dream it opened.  She went inside.

She was in a large room.  City sunlight filtered through the windows, 
touching the edge of the bed.  She could hear water running.  She walked 
further inside.

She heard a step behind her, and when she turned she saw him.  He was 
there, wiping his hands on a towel.  He did not ask her what she was 
doing there.  

He crossed the room in only a few steps, and he was touching her.  His 
hands were on her upper arms, harsh.  He held her still, and his mouth 
was on her.  As if to consume her, he held her still, and his mouth was 
on her.

She barely noticed as he pushed her slowly and deliberately against the 
wall.  With his whole body he pressed against her until she was not sure 
where he ended and she began.  His hands were at her throat.  She felt 
the buttons of her shirt give away.  He pushed her bra up, out of the 
way.  He was kissing her, and his hands were on her breasts, pressing, 
molding.  His hips were moving against her.  She could feel him, hard and 
insistent, against her.

He put his hand on her thighs and brought them up under her skirt.  She 
felt him grip her underwear.  She pressed back at him.  She was kissing 
him, trying to get it back, whatever it was.

He was moving his hands near his waist, then lower, and she felt him 
naked against her.  She felt him probe at her.  She felt him inside her.

He was moving into her, and she was pushing back at  him.  She took from 
him even as he took from her.  He pressed into her, and she pushed at 
him.  She felt his cheek against her, and the wall at her back.  She 
gripped him as he pushed into her, rocked into her.

She held onto him as she felt the explosion rock through her.  He 
squeezed her against the wall as his own climax shattered inside him.  
For a moment there was no motion between them.

Then he moved away from her.  He was not supporting her.  She could not
support herself.  She felt the ground below her.  She sat at the base of the
wall and looked up at him.  His dark eyes held no question, no statement. 

She picked herself up and smoothed her clothing.  She buttoned her shirt 
as best she could.  

She didn't need to look at him again.  She crossed the room and went 
through the door and back up the narrow staircase.  What he had taken 
from her she had retrieved.

			          ~

That night he dreamed of her ...



=========================================================================
Comments always appreciated.		-Jea 9/94  an41381@anon.penet.fi


