Let the Memory Live Again
Firstly, apologies.
My last post was not as well written as it should have been. It’s just that I felt it had to be verbalised as the escapade was bursting to be told and so I *may* have thrown cohesion, grammar and correct syntactical choices out of the window. But, it is nice to loose a little coherence once in a while! Whether it be in the bedroom or on the page, as long as you have good reason. Which I, of course, did.
Anyways…to today’s musings. Memory recall. Or rather, sensory memory recall. I often find myself drifting off at certain points in a day. Walking along to somewhere, it is easy to switch off and let your mind wander. Mine usually drifts into songs I heard in the morning whilst getting dressed. Hence an auditory memory. Another occurrence is when I’m bored rigid having people talk at me. Not to me, at me. This is when my mind – not deliberately you must understand – enters into thoughts of the previous night’s frolics, or if lucky, that morning’s. I think about my lover’s hands roaming across my skin…and in this case, nibbling gently at my neck; coercing me into a conscious state from my morning slumber.
At this exact moment I have a jolt run through me which stirs me from my reverie back to my present situation of being talked at. I sit upright, try to shake the memory from my head and pay attention once more. Yet the memory, or rather the sensation of hands seem to surround me…the memory’s ghost perhaps, haunting me. I begin to feel flustered. The room’s temperature seems to have risen a notch or two. My palms start to feel moist. I take the pen in my hand to try to focus my attention on something other than the memory, anything to cool the flush I feel on my cheeks.
Yet the memory niggles away at me and I have to close my eyes for a few seconds to let it wash over me. The feeling of his hands on my thighs, his teeth on my back. The sound of my voice in the half-way stage between a yawn of awakening and an aroused moan. His scent of our intermingled passion from the night before. A sensual memory, literally. I allow him to disrupt my concentration and the memory shivers over me.
Even when we are apart, he is still with me, and I revel in it.
