This is an excerpt from a longer piece I am currently working on. I hope you enjoy it.
I loved the feel of Dinah’s cool, dry skin against me and the tight tangle of long dark kinky hair that tickled my noise and got in my mouth. Dinah smelled like a warm home on bitter cold day. Sex and intimacy were life affirming and in the days following her brother’s devastating diagnosis we spent more time cuddled naked under the sheets of our bed. At first we avoided the subject, silently rubbing against each other. I pushed myself in as deep into her as I could go while she tightly wrapped her arms and legs around me, tears of anger and loss streaming down our faces as we rode the waves of imperfect sexual release.
I don’t recall when exactly, but soon our grief found a voice. I would wake up in the middle of the night from a restless sleep Dinah’s long tapered fingers playing with the curls of my chest hair. She would lick and bite my nipple and then bury her face into my chest. I reached my arm around her and pulled her tight against me.
“I don’t want to lose him,” She said.
“I know. I don’t either. He is like an older brother to me.”
Dinah started sobbing. Silently at first and soon it rose to painful, mournful keening.
My tears could no longer be kept at bay and I started crying too, matching her sob for heart wrenching sob.