Chemistry
“Why do you just write about sex?”
“Correction!” I interrupt politely. “I don’t write about just sex. I write about sex AND philosophy, AND fantasy!”
The buildup of tension is like the sudden crash of thunder that wakes you from your sleep. Its roar cracks like a leather whip against your eardrums, sending its seismic waves into your chest. Each wave thrusting the blood throughout your veins, and for a few moments, you can’t breathe. Your body trips and everything goes dark.
Chemistry is tension;
A catwalk in high heels over a smooth, tiled floor. You try to sway without slipping and turn without falling. It is the slow-motion exertion of lust!
It has no filter…
“It’s not the beauty of her face, but the look in her eyes.” He replied, the dimples deepening his smile.
It can be sudden:
“I followed your golden earrings through the crowd.” He laughed, white teeth contrasting against his full, dark lips.
…or slow…
“I like you.” I typed…and waited…my mind dreaming of his comforting embrace.
It amplifies with proximity:
“Ready?” He asked. His image caught my breath and clenched my thighs.
It’s primitive…
As his grip tightened and his tongue explored, my body tripped, and I let go.
And sophisticated,
“Hahaha! No! I haven’t had sophisiticated yet!”
What chemistry isn’t:
It isn’t love, it isn’t constant and it isn’t safe.
We all obsess over our bodies. Women over their looks, men over their climax. We all believe that chemistry is layered like fond de teint : the more ground we cover, the more we gain. Or like mascara: the darker the shade, the greater the pull into that deep, black hole of time.
It isn’t.
Precarious, transitory and paralysingly sexual, chemistry builds on itself. It moves when we move. You can breathe it, touch it and taste it. A picture perfect selfie exerts no force into a void. Yet with one look, flooded with intent, demanding to connect, you can release the sluice gates to desire, and quickly fill the emptiness.
Chemistry is tension and tension is pain. Like lightning, it seeks the higher ground for its energy exchange. And when it strikes, it brings you to your knees; a humble mess of human joy.
