Are We Proceeding Yet?

A Story by Yuri Landis

A mangled look at late night hook ups.

The eyes. It always starts with the eyes. By some mysterious force working behind the scenes of reality, misconcepting our views of what is playing out , brings together the eyes of the two in which escalates to an arms race of breathes and rushes of adrenaline in the blood. The sparkles and bloodied rivers, upon those eyes, come in unison, words or no, the dance has begun without realization coming to either party, and whether it be consensual or forced, a show will unfold. Two parties gathered around and huddled in street corners, back seats, beds and bathroom stalls, hoping one another can feel the bitter-sweet taste of ecstasy.

Pressed bodies and sealed lips struggle to discover the mysterious within their universe. Soothing nibbles of the ear, kisses moving slowly down, tentative bites here and there reveal a colorful display of both love and violence, disgust and purity, thus a soul is stripped bare to its simplest form and displays an open book of worries and insecurities. Clothes are slowly dissolving to skin, fingertips expertly slide across the body, heart rates increase, blood and sweat are the only things that are flowing now. And when all is said, when all is started, the symphony begins.
Their voices tremble, moans and groans play and dance around each other. The heavy winds pushing out of throats as each pushes and pulls. The nails peel at the back of the other, in pain or pleasure we may never know. The once silence has escaleted to exoctic orchestras with a song that no one may ever appreciate. Again the eyes come into play as they meet contact, trying to understand how it had all come to this. Why are they doing this? Are they lovers? Strangers? The thought was never addressed until now, but its far too late for consideration as they climax approaches.

The final blow comes and goes in a flash.

The two parties now tired and panting are in the presence of their own filth and beauty, a distorted picture of nature and violence upon an old television comes to mind. An act of passion or aggression, who’s to say either or, no one will have the answers within this eternal moment. As final exchanges of breathes come, the two begin to pack and travel, literal or metaphorical doesn’t matter at this point as this is an end of sorts either way. And with this end does come qualms.

Will one party smile devilishly in victory while the other is a disastered mess of uneasy feelings and paranoias? Or perhaps is one lying silent and wondrous about all that is and the other is in a blackened state. Are they trying to hide their advance? Is one struggling to smother the pieces of what once was? The shivers will only continue down the spine and erect the hairs , giving chills that are so sensitive and unrestful. One thing is for certain and that is the act had happened, and to deny it would only be sinning against one’s self, for even if the mind won’t truth, the body always will. Whether love or hatred or simple lust is what caused a spark, we will not know. Where do these two go after? Are they happy? Proud? Scared? No one will determine their emotions but themselves, and when it does, a narrative will come a-light.

And it began with the meeting of eyes.

Inspired by: "As Estha stirred the thick jam he thought Two Thoughts and the Two Thoughts he thought were these: a) Anything can happen to anyone. and b) It is best to be prepared." - Aruhanti Roy, The God of all Small Things