Summertime. Sticky. Sweat behind my knees. Girls in white dresses popping up like daffodils in Fort Greene Park. Beers on stoops and mint juleps in backyard gardens. Cigarettes between my fingers. Watermelon salad and ice cream cones. Ice cubes sliding down my bare stomach melting from the heat inside your mouth. Cold showers. After I’m shivering beneath your fingers, then sweating again back in the bedroom underneath your body.
Putting my underwear in the freezer before bed and waking up with wet sheets. Laying around for whole afternoons watching the trees outside my window as you tickle my back. I have a body and I’m wearing as little as possible so you will see it’s alive and electric. Sheer cotton sun dress, no bra and no panties. Toes painted red. Tan lines straight across my hips. White, white bum and freckled shoulders. Mosquito bites beneath the hair on your chest. Sand on your back. You can see my nipples through my too thin tank top. You walk around without a shirt on and you smell to high heaven. You flash me sparkly smiles behind beards and sunburns. We turn on the fan and lie on the cold bathroom tiles not saying anything to each other for hours.
There are parties at friends’ houses who have air conditioning. There are blenders full of intoxicating creamy drinks. My red plastic cup is full of mistakes to be made. There is never enough ice and we go out to the deli to buy more. You catch my eye and then my wrist, dragging me out to the street to kiss. I put the ice between us as your tongue slips into my ear, trying to cool down the fire burning between my legs.
It’s too hot to lie next to you on my bed. The bed with the mattress that sinks in the middle forces us to always be touching. A blessing in the winter, but in the summer it reminds me of the time we stayed in a motel near the Grand Canyon and how angry we were with each other. If we moved the sheets too quickly we could see sparks, electricity caused from the weather being so dry. Or at least that’s what they said at the front desk. But, really it was because of the tension between us. It could light a room.
Back in New York it’s humid, and the air is close in my bedroom. I swing my leg over your body and let sweat pool between our limbs. I know you hate it but I don’t care, because I need you. There is a fever pulsing in my center.
I am shocked at your nakedness outside of the house. Shocked at your calves and thighs exposed in shorts. Shocked at how I could reach over and run my hand through your chest hair in front of everyone. Your body isn’t just mine anymore, the way I can claim ownership over it in the winter, then it’s something only for me as you get in and our of my bed. Now, in the summer, your body is for everyone. The way you share it makes me want you more. I like the way other women look at you.
Your hands are in my hair, pulling. Your skin tastes salty, like sun tan lotion, and like my cocoa butter that you steal when you think I’m not around. It’s finally the beginning of summer. Let’s lie down next to each other and let the heat come.
Follow Lacy Warner on twitter @laceoface