Black Short Stories : The Swing

Amun-Ra

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Feb 15, 2001
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Dallas
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During the day light hours, it just hung there from the ceiling in the arid zephyrs of Southeastern Kansas heat. Sometimes when the sun passed overhead Grandma would come and sit until dinnertime, undulating in a soft rhythm only she could hear. It was like that every day of the summer.

However, when the summer sun finally dropped beneath the horizon the swing became a teenage attraction much like the thrilling rides at the carnival. Surrounded by a wooden rail, the swing hovered over the open porch inviting all, who were bold enough to approach, because at night "she" sat there.

He knew that and had known it since he was a little kid. Every summer she sat there like a queen in her court as young men came there to win her charms. He saw them all and wished he was among them but he knew he was too young even to be considered.

They shared a bond that she was unaware of, although he was very much in tune with it. Although she never knew, she was the first female ever to arouse him directly. She probably didn't even remember it, but he had never forgotten.

A fresh coat of gray enamel had the swing shining and smelling of fresh paint when it happened. It was one of the star-kissed Kansas nights when it looks like the moon is close enough to kiss. She was sitting there alone in the swing, and, there wasn't anyone around except him.

He had been admiring her from across the street. Even in the dark, he could imagine her semi-sweet chocolate skin and her dark dancing eyes. Even from where he stood, he could make out the soft curve of her thigh and the gentle uplift of her breasts.

Feeling unusually bold he had crossed the street, walked right up, and sat down next to her in the swing. She was not startled. They had been friends for as long as either could remember. Unknown to her his friendship stretched much deeper. That night he told how much deeper, but as he suspected, the feeling wasn't mutual. She was very nice about it, but also very firm. She thought she loved someone else.

Nevertheless, he felt good about it all just because he actually had the nerve to tell her how he felt. She had been very compassionate and in her efforts to let him down easy, she inadvertently ignited a flame that the gentle breeze from the swing only enhanced.

She had moved close to him and accidentally the bare skin of her legs touched him. If she was moved by the experience she never showed it, but he felt liquid fire race through his veins, heating his face and settling in his loins with a warm fullness. As she leaned forward to comfort him her breast brushed against his arm.

In that accidental moment he turned suddenly and pressed his lips against hers. Her lips were soft and sweet. For just a brief instant, she returned the kiss as he felt her tongue touch his in a searching manner and then, it was over. Without saying a word she got up from the swing and went inside, leaving him alone with his thoughts swaying in the breeze to the soft squeak of the wooden seat. He knew that she wouldn't be coming back. So, he left. But, when he left, he took something with him.

As he watched the empty swing from across the street, he looked to her window, but there was no light. Turning back, he watched the swing sway in the breeze until it stopped. That was the last time he ever saw her sitting in the swing alone.

Life has moved on since then and as life would have it that swinging moment marked with an indelible ember. The rush of throbbing passion still swings just out of reach. It is tantalizing yet distant. It is the touch of oneness that is still out of reach yet palpable. Dreams and desires swing like a pendulum, crossing paths, evading capture but heightening the imagined reality even more.

The warmth of that summer night is a warmth that penetrates. The soft touch of thighs lingers like that evening on the swing. The dreams unspoken and the deeds undone remain warm fantasies. Yet, in some ways it is the best of all worlds. There is no disappointment, only pleasant memories. There are no angry encounters, only pleasant thoughts. When they make love and lock souls among the stars, there is no reality to spoil it.

It is clear a thought that makes the mouth water, the legs tighten and the body tingle. It is locked in another world and perhaps it is the purest of loves-a love that can't be ruined by the close contact of human frailty.

That swing is long gone now due to the ravishes of time and neglect. Yet, in their hearts it is still as steady as that first night breeze of summer.


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