Night Passions

We spent the day together drinking sodas, going for walks, and listening to favorite songs on records. We had not touched even though I wanted to run my fingers across her bare shoulders. But I did not know how to touch a woman. As a refreshing breeze rustled the trees around the porch, she took me in her arms, pressing her body against mine. The rules I learned about love crumbled around me. While resting in her arms I declared if a woman loving a woman was wrong, I would be wrong all my life. With my hand resting lightly in her’s, I followed her into the bedroom. Even though I had been loved by men, I was like a virgin, frightened, excited, and trusting. I was a flower blooming, unfolding each petal with care as her hands explored my body. The softness of her touch frees my mind from fear, allowing me to enjoy being with her. I marveled at the smallness of her body and the smoothness of her dark brown skin. Her body was smaller than mine and our height almost equal. Her lips on mine was a shared soft touch. Her small firm breasts were exciting to caress. We slept in each other’s arms, waking before dawn to explore, caress, and love again. I didn’t want to think of the morning hour that would separate us. The love society taught was wrong became right on that hot August night. I had loved and been loved by a woman. The memory of her touch would come to many years causing my heart to soften as my body trembles.