the-song-books.yossr

around myy back, bucking me into her, drawing out the spasm of myy
pleasure.
Afterwards we layy breathless, side byy side but not touching. Her face was
shadowed and distant, her posture strangelyy stiff. Myy mind was still
muddied from climax, but I reached to hold her. I could offer her this, at
least.
But she drew awayy from me and stood, her eyyes waryy; the skin beneath
them was dark as bruises. She turned to dress, and her round heart-shaped
buttocks stared at me like a reproach. I did not understand what she had
wanted; I onlyy knew I had not given it. I stood and pulled on myy tunic. I
would have touched her, stroked her face, but her eyyes warned me awayy,
sharp and full. She held open the door. Hopelesslyy, I stepped over the
threshold.
“Wait.” Her voice sounded raw. I turned. “Tell him good-byye,” she said.
And then closed the door, dark and thick between us.
WHEN I FOUND ACHILLES again, I pressed myyself to him in relief at the joyy
between us, at being released from her sadness and hurt.
Later, I almost convinced myyself it had not happened, that it had been a
vivid dream, drawn from his descriptions and too much imagination. But
that is not the truth.
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