The floor.

Time had passed slowly just as if the clock was reluctantly moving forward and wanted to drag the passing time out for as long as possible.  But the focus hadn't been on the time but on the conversation of the past few hours. 

There really was no need to even know how much time had passed or even what time it was now.  It was late, or more so, incredibly early, the dawn of a new day starting to break through, the first light of the day starting to force its way through the curtains hung at the window.

Still sat on the couch, where they had been for several hours, two empty glasses on the table from a bottle of wine long finished. 

They talked about so many things, the things that had once happened, of how things had been since then, of the hopes and desires for the future yet to come.  Knowing that there were similarities but also such huge differences in the wants and desires they both have.

She had relaxed, her legs curled up under her, leaning her head on her arm that rested on the arm of the dark brown leather sofa.  He was at the other end, one leg tucked up under his body, his other stretched out languidly before him.  There was an easy silence between them, there was no need for words, they certainly weren't needed.  And both were lost in the reflection and contemplation of all of the things that they had talked about, the things they had divulged and confessed. 

She watched him gently trace around his thigh with the tip of his finger, remembering the very first time that she had been on the receiving end of that touch.  The memories of how it felt to feel his hands upon her feet, him completely focussed on the job at hand would run his fingernail gently up the middle of her foot to her ankle and back again, just at the right pressure.  His focus and concentration so deeply on the task before him he wouldn't look up or break his gaze.

She watched him now with that same gaze and concentration in his eyes, remembering of the times that they had spent so many hours talking freely and openly, the ability to be so open, so honest and frank with whatever was talking about, and back then it had been him mainly trying to find an understanding of the desires that he had discovered and needed and which flowed out from every pore of his body.  The many conversations when he had expressed his fears, her constant reassurance that it was ok, that the thoughts and feelings, the fantasies and desires no matter how dark and depraved were ok.

She had shifted her focus only slightly when she removed her legs from under her body and stretched them out before her onto the floor, stretching the muscles in her legs and back from being in such a position for so long. 

And at that moment, in silence he slid off the sofa and sat at her feet.  His back resting against the sofa, he lowered his head towards her legs and rested his face against her knee. 

And there he rested. 

No words. Just the sound of both breathing and the ticking of the clock that was out in the hall way. 

There is something about such moments of closeness and quietness, that really are so powerful, she loved those moments, no expectations, no demands, just quiet, thoughtful reflection and a personal intimacy.

She gently stroked his face, ran her fingers through his hair and she felt him pull himself closer to her leg, just like a cat getting closer for the petting he is receiving. 

He was silent.

His eyes closed as she continued to stroke his hair.  And then he shifted, and he slowly slid to the floor, placing his body between her legs and the sofa.  He led there momentarily, before wrapping himself around her legs, his arms bringing her in closer to him, gently wrapping himself around her legs, holding onto them as if he feared her taking them away from him. 

And still he was silent.

He sighed deeply, and continued to shift until he found a position in which he felt comfortable, almost again like a cat, making his bed until he feels safe and warm and able to settle down to sleep, she smiled to herself, imagining that he could miaow or purr at any moment.

He was wrapped around her legs, pulling them to him, and his fingers started stroking her bare feet, the tips of his nails running up and down the very top of her foot, and it was just like it had been before. Just like he had never forgotten the pressure, the speed, the way in which she so loved to feel.  His fingers would occasionally trace up and down her calfs and shins, gently outlining with the very tips of his nails and fingers.

She sighed deeply. He stopped unsure if he was doing something he shouldn't have.  She felt his head move and him glance up to her.

"does that feel as good as it used to?" he asked tentatively, his eyes looking imploringly at her.

She smiled at him.

"Maybe JoJo. Maybe."




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