Becci

Monday August 6, 2012 § Leave a comment

Her most erotic characteristic was the sense in which, she appeared to him, to be inexhaustible, and unquenchable, just in general. She carried herself with a tangible hunger attached, and what is more, it was a discerning hunger. Not picky necessarily (her impeccable democracy in all emotional and physical matters was another source for her erotic charge), but demonstrating nevertheless, with an openness and a lack of false modesty that was electrifying to Kevin, a willingness to assert her own preferences, to exercise her own sexual judgement.
     Not that it was about sex entirely.
     It was present in that way she had of chewing a length of her own hair when she was bored. And it was there too during those occasions on which she managed to remain resolutely unoccupied, unused-up, waiting perhaps for a screen to refresh on her work console, somehow outside of her own experience. And it was definitely there sitting in the bath, content in the lukewarm water, running a razor along the inside line of her calf, raised up out of the water at a grotesque angle, with a disinterest and familiarity with her own body that Kevin could only envy (and ogle – leaning in the doorframe, resting a cheek against a mug of warm tea).
     On all these occasions she contrived – although there was no discernible effort that Kevin could see – to remain abundant, and unfinished, to inhabit without a shred of self-consciousness her own lack of fixity, and to possess because of it that most tantalising of qualities: appetite. She was all appetite.
     If Kevin had possessed the inclination, and the vocabulary (the fault is not one of intelligence, but of interest – Kevin had no interest in thinking of things in this way, is all) he might have said, that such was her state of unwavering, and unrelieved potential, that she was more like a medium than anything else, a form through which he was able to experience his own character.
     (He might also have concluded that such a feeling was not untypical for man, and that it conveniently elided her character, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t true.)
     She was twenty, and he was thirty-six, and that helped. Because after all, this was about sex as well. And with her milky blonde hair –
suggestively taut, and darkened at the roots – and her darkened, painted lashes, and that slightly defiant way she had of jutting forward her chin in repose – a chin that was a little full in truth, and not helped by her habit of folding up her mouth into an upside-down smile when she was thinking (which was all the time – she was always thinking), she was to Kevin’s eye at least, as sexy as hell.
     She was also shorter than him. He was on the short side, but she was shorter, and she walked with the crooked brilliance of corrupt ballerina – plenty of deliberate actions, and all on the front-foot.
     As he approached from the garage shop, taking the longest short-strides you will have seen in a long time, the toes of his shoes never being allowed to come into contact with the ground, she winds down the window, and shouts over to him:
     “Kevin – did you get me my mints?”

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