Do Me a Favor

I haven't thought of that phrase in a long time. It's something an ex used to say when she misplaced something. So, when I see Anita looking for the mouse for her laptop, flinging pillows and books aside as she ransacked the living room, the first thing that pops into my head is, "Aliens took it." That hurts - looking at the woman I love, but thinking of her in the context of someone who had damaged me so deeply. My lips freeze as I try to make the words. Down the rabbit hole of recollection I fall, and my face becomes transparent.

"Hey, where are you?" she asks gently, abandoning her search.

Snapping back to the present, I start to answer, to explain the whole scene and the long story behind alien thieves, but that's not my life anymore, and I'm grateful that it isn't. I've fought long and hard to accept the difference between learning and dwelling painfully, and that story would just drive troglodytic me underground. Instead, I let her face, and the love inherent therein, fill my world. "Do me a favor?" I ask.

"Sure," she replies, concerned. To ask is abnormal. Our love is unconditional, and we care for each other eagerly and willingly. There are no favors, only tasks performed with loving glee.

"Take me upstairs and make love to me." She smiles, familiar with my oddities, and takes me by the hand. From the couch to the stairs to the bedroom she leads me, always gripping my hand, always with a loving smile on her face. She turns to me beside the bed and drapes her arms over my shoulders. Her lips find mine, and, for as long as I need, we are nothing but a kiss, pressed together, two into one.

When we become aware of each others' bodies, the shift is dramatic, and all in the space of a sharp breath. Her hands run frantic courses over my chest and shoulders, trying to touch more of me than her palms will cover. My greed is singular, and my hands clutch possessively at her backside, pulling her against me so I can feast on her whimpers. The kiss becomes a voracious contest of wills, each trying to devour the other. My shirt interrupts us, and I am furious, until she seeks me again and my mouth is placated. Her shirt is a fellow conspirator, and it is rent asunder in a vainglorious escape attempt.

Unseen magic whirls through the room to leave us mysteriously naked and desperately writhing. Hot flesh melts hot flesh until our bellies are welded together. Lovemaking is a study in contrast - wet tongue on dry flesh, smooth skin to a crinkly nipple, soft flesh to a stiff peak. Enveloped in searing passion, I feast on her, inch by delectable inch, toes to fingers to fingers to toes, all with the deepest of tunnel vision, always focused on the body below me and the time in front. A quick flip, and I do it all again, but now she giggles into the pillow when I kiss her toes, and moans into the same when my tongue finds her nestled center.

"Take me," she pleads when I have consumed her fully. "I need you." Beside and behind, a leg over mine, I sink into her. Serpentine necks push our mouths together while my hands demand compliance from her flesh. Her hips rock in perfect time with mine, while her luxurious grip drags me deeper and higher. "I'm so close. Are you with me?" she gasps.

"I am, my sweetest thing." My arms pull her tight as I stroke myself deeply into her. She shakes in my grip, and I dance along, pressed against her.

We lay still for many moments, breathing and being, as only we can be. "Do you want to tell me what that was about?" she asks. "You know you never need to ask for a favor, or act like..." She wiggles against me, and I groan, which makes her giggle. "...this is a favor."

"I do know that. The favor was the distraction, and not questioning, not making me relive something that's better forgotten."

She spins to look into my eyes, hands on my face. "Then let that be our sign. No questions, no hesitation. If you need to forget, just ask for a favor."

My lips find hers, and I pull a breathy kiss from her. I have much to forget. "Do me another favor..."