6 Mundane

I was always terrible at setting the mood for a night of intimacy. Whenever it was intentional, I seemed to mess it up, whether due to timing, mood, or my approach. Realizing I was overthinking, I pushed aside my stray thoughts and applied logic, recounting the important facts: We had been teasing each other all week and had openly discussed being more adventurous, exploring mutually desired ideas. After establishing our boundaries, safety, and respect, we had yet to try any of it. Until tonight.

I stood in the kitchen, quietly cleaning the dishes after preparing a light meal. My anxiousness was skyrocketing, my heart rebelling against my own wishes. Finishing up, I wiped down the wooden countertop. The silence was only broken by the faint noise of the shower.

She was currently taking a hot shower. We had decided to spend the weekend together, and the pure joy I felt as the weekend approached was akin to a child excited for a sleepover. Just the thought of holding her as we slept and waking up to see her beside me was exhilarating.

Still torn about how to approach the weekend, I opted for a 'wait and see' strategy. With the shower no longer running, I turned on the TV, choosing one of my favorite comedies that I had seen dozens of times, using it as background noise. I dimmed the bright lights for a more subdued ambiance with warm-colored lighting in the living room. Seated at the corner of the couch, I blankly watched the show, my mind playing out various scenarios.

Barely ten minutes passed before she emerged from the hallway. It was moments like this that made me appreciate my observant nature and writer's inclination. All the beautiful poems I had read and written, all the classic literature describing a woman's beauty, seemed pale in comparison to her. I struggled to find words to describe how breathtaking she was. For the millionth time, I cursed my inability to articulate her beauty.

Watching her slowly walk towards me, I feared forgetting this moment, her. She was dressed in black gym shorts and a white tank top, tiptoeing towards me with a lightness and ethereal grace, as if an angel had just descended. The slight tinge of red on her cheeks, knees, lips, fingertips, and toes added color to her otherwise jade-like, freckled skin. 'Pure and fresh' were the only words that began to describe her. Her barely brushed, faintly damp hair, though messy, added a charm I couldn't comprehend. The curvature of her hips incited unrestrained desire, and the gap between her perfectly shaped thighs left my mind blank.

In that moment, I realized that although I had seen models on magazine covers and interacted with widely accepted beautiful women and idols, none compared to her. Her presence brought comfort, her physical beauty surpassed all others, and her lips looked tantalizing, like an exotic delicacy. Her smile radiated warmth and comfort, melting away life's stress and trials. Her eyes held deep-seated affection, and upon closer inspection, I could see the hurt and painful memories she hid. In her eyes, I saw not just a reflection of the world but the promise of countless untold stories. I thought to myself, like a painter admiring a masterpiece, that it wasn't about meeting a physical criterion; it was about the person. Though I appreciated a certain aesthetic, comparing her beauty to others felt almost shamefully rude.

Time seemed to slow, yet reality remained as she reached the center of the living room. Standing in front of me and slightly to the right, she leaned over the armchair, a muted grey that matched the room's tone, to grab my favorite blanket. The bamboo fiber blanket, sakura pink, added a splash of color to the neutral tones of my living room. Sneaking a glance down her tank top, the soft glow of my lamp cast her chest in shadow, teasingly.

Feeling her gaze, I looked up, meeting her familiar eyes. Caught in the act, I felt like a deer in headlights. Her eyes sparkled with teasing joy, and a triumphant smile graced her face, exuding confidence and seduction. Feeling self-conscious, I panicked, not knowing how to sit, and adopted a comical posture with hands on my knees and a straight back, trying to deflect from my adolescent-like reaction.

Her chuckle was melodious, sending shivers of joy down my spine. Despite trying to focus on the TV, I couldn't help but watch her approach me with a sway of her hips, both lust and love swelling within me. Her purposeful steps enchanted me, and as she lingered in front of me, I nearly had a heart attack.

Now standing to my left, she looked at me expectantly. Confused for a moment, I finally understood her intention. Lying down on the couch, I rested my head on a pillow on the armrest, making room for her. Opening my arms, she almost hopped onto my chest with childlike glee. Unflinchingly, I kept my arms open as she lay on top of me, resting her head on my chest. We adjusted for comfort, moving my necklace out of the way, and wrapped ourselves in the blanket.

Using my left hand I methodically and gently massaged her back, while my right hand laid under my head. Barely even paying attention to the show, I put all my effort into soothing and comforting her. Massaging her shoulders, neck, and the middle of her back. Comfortingly I massaged her while also carefully working out all her knots. Remembering what my own mother used to do for me, I quietly and as secretly as possible employed the same technique.

Reduce tension in sections of her body, then gradually reducing the amount of force I used until it was a gentle touch, I recited what my mother taught me. I imagined the outline of her body, having got a general understanding of the amount of stress that is in her body, I pictured a deep dark flowing blue string the size of a thick rope, rotating and moving around and between her shoulders. Hearing my mother tell me "Now just imagine attracting all of that negative stress, energy, imagine it flowing towards your open palm. Imagine gathering it up, taking away their stress, worries, pain, and once you have a good amount, I want you to pull it away gently. Slowly. Pull it away from her and delicately throw it away. Now we repeat it."

Which is what I exactly did. I always believed this worked, I wanted to believe, and I didn't know if it was me or if it truly working, but I could feel her shoulders loosen. I could feel myself painfully smiling, remember what she told me next, "You have such great talent doing this. You know that? Much better than me. But I worry about you son. You're to empathetic for your own good. I just know you'll pull the stress away and you will take it upon yourself. And I don't want that."

I could picture my mother's worried face, and I can remembered thinking, she's scarily right. I could hear my own voice echoing in my head, how I would lie for her comfort saying that I kept getting better at it. That I wouldn't feel their stress. Still deeply lost in thought it's worth it. If I can help the person I care about. It is always worth it. Because I believe that someone who cares about me. Truly, would help me in a similar and or same exact way. And no matter how long it takes, I know the right person will come.

Never stopping I could sense that she was slipping into a serene slumber. Encouraged by this, like the scales used to determine which one is heavier of the two, my lust died almost instantly, while my affection grew with no bounds. Putting full effort into it I freed my other hand. Opting to massage her left arm, I could feel her breaths become steady and quiet. Time seemed to slip by, having worked most of the stress out, I simply held her. Carefully I ensured she was warm and comfortable. Knowing we had all weekend, I wiggled into a slightly more relaxing position. Allowing myself to peacefully drift off into sleep. Sleepily I thought to myself, "God, I wish this single moment would stretch into infinity. As this everyday moment, is something I know I will remember fondly."

Indescribable feeling washed over me, something I could never name but longed for desperately, enveloped me. Closing my eyes, I whispered "Goodnight."