It would be one of those Southern nights that are dipped in humidity. There would be a sliver of moon’s gold amidst a sprinkling of stars, the moonlight so faint that we cannot see features, but only our shadow-silhouettes through it’s champagne light. The night would be warm enough, but moist, so that chill-bumps might dimple your skin where the breeze finds it. Or maybe it’s not the breeze dimpling your skin, but trepidation, the surprise of finding that bare skin alone in the night beside a strange boy. Maybe those bumps are because I am right here, so close that you can hear me breathe, the only other sounds the anxious cries from indiscernible crickets, and the rustle of black water stirred by four bare feet dipped overside of the dock. You might wish for a voice to break the silence, a single word to blanket the dark with security, just one word to relieve the tension that somehow hangs thicker on the air than the humidity. It is late, and we are very alone.
What if I found your hand in the dark? What if you were unsure, but didn’t pull away?What if, without that wished for word, I silently asked for you? What if our fingers locked in a lover’s grip, a grip that told you, “It is ok.” What if my ragged voice then whispered that the night is good, and the moonlight rippling the water, and you here beside me?
And what if a fish tickled your foot so that you jumped? What if I threw my arms around you, protectively? What if there was nervous laughter between us as we felt the warmth radiating from each other’s bodies? What if I touched those chill-bumps on your arms, rubbing my hands across them; gently, sweetly, like your mother rubbed them when you were a child and she thought you were sleeping? Your skin would be cool on my fingertips and in my palms, soft, so that I would not stop rubbing, so that I could not stop rubbing. And of course it would be dark; so dark that I could not see that at some point your eyes had closed.
Suppose I leaned in to kiss, pausing my lips next to yours, wondering, feeling your breath, pulling that breath inside before parting my lips to taste. You might even kiss me back, your pulse pounding your ears and drowning out those crickets.
And what if I laid you down under the swirling stars as the dock rocked and the waves lapped the sand? What if my hands explored you, and my lips followed... and what if you surrendered to them?
If you surrendered?
Could you love me then?