What You Feel Like
I clean your nails, I use jojoba to massage your hand.
The pope invites me to the sistine chapel. "Can you do some touch-ups for me? We think you can brighten the space."
I kiss your full pink lips, and you kiss back.
In the Vatican, a high cardinal shows me his private font of holy water, an everflowing silver stream into a gilded basin. "You thirsty? Yeah just go crazy! Put your mouth right on the spout."
I run my hands over your strong shoulders, your jaw, your midriff like tight silk and you gasp at my touch.
The head curator of the Galleria dell'Accademia in Florence, Italy leads me into the chamber of Michelangelo's David. He is 17 feet tall. "Would you like to climb him? It's actually very easy to find footholds. Go on, sit on his shoulders, I'll spot you."
I run my tongue along your sternocleidomastoid, the muscle on the side of your neck that I know is most sensitive. I press into it, flicking back and forth, and this unfolds you, like origami with secrets inside.
The executive director of the Grand Egyptian Museum in Cairo leads me onto the empty show floor, to the case containing the sarcophagus of King Tutankamun. "It's beautiful, isn't it? Hey, we've just had the mask restored, it's clean enough to eat off. Do you wanna lick it? I'm serious, just give him a good long wet drag. You'll never taste anything like 18th Dynasty gold."
I slide my hand under your tie-dye sleeping shorts, slip a finger over your clit and into your cunt. You're soaking.
The king of Tenochtitlan, high seat of the Aztec Empire circa 1460, has invited me to the summit of his pyramid. I have been carried by palanquin to his royal court, in the center of which is a sparkling bowl of sapphire and gold, 10 feet wide, full of clear water. "Here is the Fountain of Youth," says His Highness. "My citizens wait many years to earn a sip. We have warmed it for you with incensed fires. Would you like a bath?"
I slide your shorts down your thighs, pull your legs apart for a better angle and fill you with fingers. I put calculated pressure on your g-spot and watch your eyes go wide as you start to swear.
I am in Hell. Hades, Lord of the Damned, has invited me to his drawing room, where he keeps a dark wooden chest on a table made of red satin and bones. "This is Pandora's Box," he tells me. "Ordinarily it's sort of spring-loaded, set to release all the tortured nightmares of human life the second someone is foolhardy enough to open it—but we've actually turned that off today, for you. Go ahead, pull the lid up. Root around. Feel what Hope is like, hot and wet on your hand."
I finger you until you cum, shuddering and gasping and clamping down with your kegels.
I am standing on a white sand beach, on the shore of the Pacific Ocean. I touch my hand to its warm waters, and a voice from the sea comes to me on the wind. "I love when you do that, Socksie. I love when your skin becomes one of my islands. I will show you tidal waves, if you ask me to."
I fuck with you and we are together and we are perfect. I sink into your eyes, storm blue and sandy copper. Your pupils are like the vastness of space, and finally,
I am an astronaut, hurtling in a shuttle pod towards the moon. For the first time in my life I can see the entire earth as a sphere outside my window, and as I am experiencing the Overview Effect, a profound change in worldview reported by some astronauts as everywhere they have ever been sinks below them into the void, as it happens to me the earth opens two infinite dual-tone eyes. "Come back soon," they say to me. "I miss you. I want you to touch me again."