Posted on: October 24th, 2010 Share Everything

by Sean Vivier

He stroked her arm and it brought stray thoughts like sparks. Nerves touched nerves. Where they met, messages passed as they would between nerves of the same organism. Skin on skin completed a circuit from his brain to hers and her brain to his. Touch became a bridge between their minds.

It had never happened with either of them until they met each other. Their first handshake at the political convention had dizzied them both. Kevin felt Sharon’s hunger. Sharon felt Kevin’s overstimulation and retreat from the crowd. In a heartbeat, they both knew to leave for food.

At the diner, their words only echoed the thoughts they shared by holding hands. The importance of intelligence, the need to help other people, the drive to work hard and the contempt for the centrality of money in people’s lives. The love came fast, for no couple had ever had a connection like the one they shared.

They went to her place without saying a word. As they kissed, they shared their beliefs and the arguments behind them. They were so alike, separated only by nuance. The hindbrain and the forebrain both lit with bright flashes of thought.

He took away her shirt, as the need to draw close became overwhelming. Lips touched nipples, and the sensitive nerves reached deeper. Dreams crossed the distance from one to the other. Kevin’s dream of a non-profit health insurance company. Sharon’s longing for a family she could raise without coercion, only loving guidance.

Their bodies needed to be as close as their minds. There was no stopping it. The gestalt of their minds had them both naked before either individual could make the decision. He moved inside of her, and both knew what the other wanted without any need for awkward tests or breathless words. And as they shared every inch of their bodies and their most sensitive places, their deepest secrets reached out to one another.

Kevin saw Sharon’s need to be defined by a man. Sharon saw a montage of Kevin’s many unfulfilling conquests overshadowed by his certainty that no woman could truly love him. Her abusive father. His contempt for the overweight. The fact that she’d only started to talk to him because of his biceps. The fact that her lips reminded him of Jen Miller’s from college, and that alone had first drawn him toward her.

Each mind recoiled. They had worked hard to keep the barriers of these thoughts from themselves, let alone others. They tried to pull away from each other, but the oldest biological need would not be denied, not in media res. Their bodies kept moving with one another with an instinct older than language or conscious thought, even as it bound together the darkest corners of their minds more and more.

The plagiarized papers that got him his degree and his cushy job. The men that she took home to feel better about herself. The poison he’d slipped into his grandmother’s fluids so she wouldn’t suffer any more. The dog she’d give small invisible cuts whenever her father hurt her, only to cuddle and whisper her love after. The boy he’d bullied because he was the one kid weaker than him. The girl whose reputation she’d destroyed just to see if she could. His secret fear that if he didn’t make enough money, it meant he wasn’t a worthwhile person. Her life as an escort to pay for college. His first time with an ugly woman he didn’t even like, just to get it done. Her need to work so hard because she feared she was ugly and could never get ahead otherwise.

They couldn’t look each other in the eyes when they came to climax. Their bodies rejoiced at the tension unleashed, even as they shivered.

They slept that night on opposite extremes of the bed.

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Posted on: October 9th, 2010 The Ice Cube Man

By Eliyanna Kaiser

Your heels stick to the pavement. All the shit of car exhaust and dust is a solid lattice. You don’t walk; you wade, and can’t bear the heat of a match to light a damn cigarette.

You’d fuck anyone for an ice cube. So when he isn’t altogether ugly you give him a blowjob, bite on the head, and make a show of swallowing. His wallet is full of ice. Your ice.

You don’t suffer, so they can tell you fucked the ice cube man. When they lust after what melts down your thighs, you almost forget to act ashamed.

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