According to Cora

coryphee- (n) a leading dancer in a corps de ballet

An Imagined Future

There are days you come home from work angry.  I see the furrow in your brow and dampen immediately; you want to fuck me hard, or I happily volunteer to relieve some of your stress for you.  You need the catharsis, the release, the physical expression of your pent-up frustrations from the day.

There are days you come home bleary-eyed and exhausted.  I brew you a pot of steaming tea, rub your feet, and we lie in bed for hours.  I distract you with tales of my day, and eventually you tell me about yours or fall asleep in my arms.  Sometimes we make love slowly, languorously, as our bodies slow down from the day.

There are days that you come home angry again, and I think you want to fuck.  You stop me, and say, “I want to make love tonight.”  I can hear it in your voice; I am a refuge, a well of affection.  I am the antithesis of your boss, your annoying coworker, who belittle you as a bug beneath their feet.  I admire you, need you, adore you.  You need to be loved tonight.

And then there are the days that you come home blank faced.  You don’t know what you want or what you need, so we don’t make love.  We don’t fuck, we don’t discuss anything.  You sit on the couch or in bed, pretending your day went well so that you won’t have to talk about it, so I take your hand.

You are my rock, my protector, and I love you for the man that you are.  I need you, and you are strong for me when I fall apart.  But I am your protector as well.  You, too, have given me your heart, and I become a wall around you.  I cherish you, value you.  You are allowed to be vulnerable with me; I will not judge you, I will not think any less of you.  Your weakness makes your strength that much greater.  It magnifies what I already know to be true of you.

I take your hand and pull you to bed.  I fold myself around you, drawing your head to my breast.  You need to feel my heartbeat, and I whisper “that’s yours”.  My fingers twist in the locks of your hair, and they roam over you, ghosting whisper-soft along your arms, your back, your hands.  I twine my fingers with yours, and we lie silently together, waiting this out until sunrise.

Together.

Category: Uncategorized

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

*