Grove 6

screendoor.jpgWhat I hear through the screen door:

Moans I am sure are hers… she sighs and gasps while he murmurs a string of syllables that sound like, “that’s right, yeah, that’s right, c’mon,” and gutteral sounds of indeterminate origin.

What I see through the window:

Hands reaching… grasping, tugging at remaining clothing… fingers sliding, pushing… tongues seeking… no, I don’t see their tongues, but I imagine them…

What I hear:

Redwing blackbirds and them… grunts, moans, gasps… the scratchy rustle of pine needles against cloth and skin… her voice, low, urgent, “yes… mmmm… yes… please yes more…”

What I see:

Hips thrusting… her legs wrapped around his back… they roll… now he is on the ground, looking up at her and she pulls him up to sitting and she is rocking on him and looking into his eyes and I imagine she is devouring him, so intense is the expression on her face.

And so I’m startled when she looks up and I could swear she’s looking straight at me…

And I know she must be looking for their reflection, but now the sun has shifted and she is staring at me and for a fragment of a second she looks startled — no, terrified — and then she smiles and I smile back and she buries her face in his neck and I don’t know if she’s kissing him… running her tongue along the hollow of his collarbone… or if she is whispering to him that they are being watched…

And I feel frozen to the floor because I know she knows I’ve been watching and now she is looking at me again, and she smiles again and I have never wanted to invite strangers into my house so badly as I do right now…

~ by Molly Montrevoir on December 10, 2006.

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