Overindulgence

I have a recurring habit of overindulging myself sometimes. Call me a hedonist if you will (but quietly, or you'll interrupt my typing), but every now and again I feel as if I have to. I just have to overindulge. I mean, if I can, I might just do so.

Take last night, for example. Lying on my side, spooning her. An almost total silence; my face buried in her hair, breathing in her scent; my hands wrapped around her - one under her neck, curled around to her chest... the other lightly touching her thigh; the radiation of warmth from her back, with my chest pressed firmly against it; my legs, kicking slightly backwards - an illusion, perhaps, of an awkward dancer's pose, leaning forwards, holding her upwards. Her breathing steady, with a slight crescendo every time I move my hands, an inch or so of soft skin under my fingertips, an unconscious appreciation of my subtle movements.

I stretched out and felt skin against the soft folds of her pyjamas. I could melt into this girl - willing her, with my mind, with my heart, to let us absorb each other. A couple. Two people acting as one. Having to split off for work commitments - but joined, in a quasi-Disneyesque spiritual knot perhaps. Two sides of the same coin? Who knows?
My stretchings ended, my body contracted. A small moan from her mouth as my hand readjusted itself on her hip.

I inhaled her scent again, rested my face on the pillow with her hair still tickling it slightly, and lay there on my back, breathing freely - indulgence, perhaps; but in our world, a respite from the suffocating darkness was all I needed.