Crossing the Continental Divide

A short nonfiction from a few years back-

You were comfortable there, your head resting on the side of my chest behind your silky black ball of pulled up hair. Small snores, puffs of breath snuck from your mouth every other moment. There was not a rise or fall. Instead a gentle tightness, stretching against my side and chest as your body grabbed for air, waned and waxed. With it, came a soft, glowing warmth perfumed behind only the cloth my shirt.

The other hand, rested softly on the other side of my flat polyester chest. Thats why you laid against me there on the couch, you were too warm. Nearly naked, the blanket tossed off of nearly everything. I could see the long, shimmering lines of your legs, and just the side of your soft white underwear wrapped around them. You grabbed me because you knew I would be cold, and you could get rid of just a little bit of that warmth.

You made a soft sound, and moved your head, trying to rearrange my ribs and flesh. You did it tender, and I wondered why I couldn't kiss you. You did something to me there, that was wondrous. Feeling the heat running from your body into mine, clutched in your grasp, it was all worth it. The trip, crossing the continental divide, to have more machines stuck into me. Even the laughter of friends, the bright lights and shot glasses seemed small. But that... The dim light of the movie on the television, the scattered shadows, and your almost knotted hair pressed against me.

That was the closest I have ever felt to another human.

Your fingers tightened, dreaming of something worth grabbing. Oh what was a man to wonder of there, one who has no more dreams left. I could see your hair, floating in the wind, frail form of shoulders not far behind. I imagined putting your lips against mine softly, and smiled as I stopped keeping you cool.

Then the needle attached to the device ran against my hip bone, and I felt queasy. My body screamed to itself, there is something invading! I pushed it down though, and listened to you snoring again, and that was when the last trace of sexuality slipped away from my fingers.