"Let's get naked," I said. "After all, it's the largest organ."
"What?" she asked. She nuzzled her head into my chest and kissed my shoulder. We always did it this way in the mornings, kissing everything, every crevasses, goosebump, and lobe - everynothings but our mouths. I guess our breaths couldn't disguise the nocturnal decaying of our bodies.
"Our skin. It's the largest organ." I replied while I bounced my thoughts around. Stay or go. I've been meaning to go for weeks now. Like a dirty tennis ball against the wall, I faced my stony silent self with these type of decisions. There's never a clear voice, never a burning bush.
I miss feeling our skin together I said.
She unclenched her legs from mine. I kissed her thighs, her hips, the warm path between her breasts, her armpits -- her nape. She slithered her fingers down and gripped my desire to stay. I threaded my fingers through hers and pinched the shock of fuzz.
I like your morning proposals she said.
She wanted me to stay, but I hated the sticky sweet smell of the sheets afterwards. It repulsed me. I lost control because I needed to unload. Need. I didn't want to need. Food, sex, shelter – they're habits, like brushing teeth. Actions that I checked off regularly. Need was for the extraordinary.
There wasn't much to say. She knew I was going to leave. We never intended to stay together that long. We never intended to sleep with one another. She knew that I wasn't attracted to her. We had an understanding -- and sleeping together, in strange beds and under stranger circumstances, filled the void demanded by our molecules swishing around, waiting for some kind of electricity to get them charged.
Besides, she was bisexual. Fucking wasn't something she needed to worry about.