|
v u l v a l i c i o u s Siren I can't get Mirah out of my head. The last song ends, and I rewind the tape to get it again, turning the volume higher and higher until my body vibrates with the banging rhythm and her smooth voice. There's something in the air that is turning me into a siren. It feels silly and strange to say it or think it, but there it is, in front of me: Siren. I told a friend that I will call people to me, that they will show up on my door step by the end of February, and I won't know what to do with them. I asked my friend what to do if she, the great dominating she of the moment, were one of the ones to appear to me. The answer was obvious to her, but not to me. I am imagining a new energy between us. Mildly electric, but not in a sparking way. Gentle currents, pulsing, maybe, winding through and around like water meeting rocks. We are two sturdy individuals, she more than I, with something there between us. "I've been intuiting really well lately," I told my friend. "I think I've been making things happen, too; that I'm putting out really powerful energy right now, and that things are taking place because of me." I think of stopping her when she walks by, of pulling her to me and kissing her. Will thinking it make it happen? If I imagine the scene enough times, will it occur? I had a dream while I was away that I hugged her, and that suddenly there was magic; she asked me into her room, and she wanted me. In the dream, it was strange. The look in her eyes was not her own, and I didn't want her anymore. Her familiar intensity was replaced with a new kind of intensity, a kind of bizarre sexual energy that was almost predatory. Did I succumb to her in my dream? The ending was caught in the misty cobwebs separating sleep and waking life, and I cannot remember. Something tells me yes. Something tells me that if she were to want me, I would let her have me. Something tells me that it would be less than what I want, but that at the moment it happened, it would be heaven. The feeling of her eyes incredibly close to mine, and her mouth in gentle conversation with my own. Her touch, perhaps harder than anything else, but still soft, still tender. I'd like to be disappointed on most counts, and have her hold me down, bite my neck, and make me beg her to continue. Her eyes would still be close to mine, but is that the intensity from my dream? The strangely sexual one? And do I want that? Really? Can she hear my siren song, and does she know I sing it for her and for everyone? Is she Ulysses, captaining the ship, hearing the song while bound to the mast--restraints being the only thing to keep him from its call? I have a Wicked Dangerous cunt. |