I was staring blankly at the screen, hoping for the words to come. Her voice distracts me like no other. “Yes, I know.”
“So what’s the problem?”
How do I answer her? Do I tell her my chair is broken, when it’s not. Do I tell her the AC is too loud. It isn’t. What excuse can I manufacture that will let me continue to stare at the screen uninterrupted?
“Why are you here?” I say, knowing full well why she is.
“I’m here because,… wait. you know why I’m here.” She flops down on my bed, curling her legs under her, propping herself up on her elbow. She smelled nice, some undisclosed aromatic perfume she chose for this meeting. Trying to lure me to her.
“Look, I’m trying to write. I don’t have time for this.” I didn’t turn my gaze from the screen. If I look at her I may forget, or want to forget, to write.
She says nothing to that. I can feel her staring at me though. That’s just as distracting.
I focus on the screen, begging the words to come. But it’s hard. My room is full of knick knacks, toys, snacks, all the things I want to look at but try to ignore. So many distractions. Am I using that as an excuse? It’s not like I‘ve run out of words. They’re in there, somewhere, in my head. I think I just need something to pull them out.
I hear her sliding off of my unmade bed. She approaches me slowly, kneels by my side, runs her fingers on my neck, near my ear. It sends shivers through me. If I look at her I will be lost.
“I think you need a break” she whispers in my ear. I feel her breath, warmth spreading across my cheek. Now she’s kissing me, just below my ear, causing me to tremble. I must stop her.
“Look..” I say, turning to her. That was a mistake. Her eyes, the lightest shade of gray, contrasting her perfectly dark skin in a way that always makes me giddy, melting my resolve like ice on a hot summer’s day. “I have to do this.”
“I know” she says. “Perhaps I can be your muse.” She took my hand off of the keyboard, placed it on her chest, letting me feel her warmth and her heartbeat. I fell into those eyes right then.
If it was just sex I would have at her and be done. But it isn’t. She is wonderful, beautiful, a source of nourishment that my body, my head, my heart, needs. I barely felt her pull me to my unmade bed, barely acknowledged my clothes coming off as well as hers. I fell, into her eyes and her scent and her flesh and her heart. We became one, melding in ways that could be metaphysical. It’s what she wanted. It’s what I needed.
Later, much later, the words came. I looked down on her sleeping form, wet from our sweat and love, glistening in the lamp light, glowing from within. I kissed her forehead, thanking all that was and is to have her in my life, rose from the bed, and got to work on my new story. She, being my muse, knew what I needed, and I’m ever so grateful to have her in my life.
I just hope her husband never finds out.
Arid Testimony 