An Evening Retreat

The firm bookshelves stood still in the corner against the claws of shadow surrounding them. Brownish wood constructing those shelves emitted some kind of warmth covering the whole library. Trying to break the nocturnal stillness, a standing lamp in the corner buzzed its way alongside the warm yellowish light.

You entered the room and brought me a cup of coffee. Black, hot, smoky, and strong. Just the way I always liked it. Your eyes rolled and scanned the whole room, trying to check that there was no possible distraction lurking in the corner of our small library. I glimpsed at you, ensured you the calmness of the night, the soft embrace of mother moon, and the protection from stellar soldiers.

On my lap, Kafka laid down enveloped by brown leather cover. Did you remember how precious is this book? How we ventured the dodgy marketplace only to smirk gaily after laying our hands on this rare masterpiece?

You slowly tiptoed your way towards me with that cup of coffee. Call me crazy, but nothing beat coffee next to my books. You, on the other hand, were and still are quite fussy about the possibility of spilling the cup onto the papers. If only you knew at the moment, that your presence posed stronger caffeine than the coffee.

Shrugging your way next to me, I slowly moved my hand from the book and embraced your existence. Still, nervous, quirky. That was how you reacted at first. But then, I caught a glimpse of comfort in the corner of your lips. That bashful look, the cheeky smile, and finally the tilting of your head to my shoulder. All those gestures encouraged me to further divorce Kafka’s mesmerizing words.

My palm moved to your head, stroking your black hair. With no hesitation, you placed your head on my laps; your eyes stared directly to my eyes. As I moved my head closer to yours, your fair hand reached to the back of my head. I could hear the soft voice penetrating every layer and fiber in my ears. “Read it for me….”

That was what you wanted, us reaching brain orgasms together in the threesome with Franz Kafka. Your other hand reached the leather bound book and gave it to me. I opened the first hand and started reading it next to you. “As Gregor Samsa woke one morning from uneasy dream…..”

You shut your eyes and got ready to embrace the aural pleasure. Sometimes you sighed, sometimes you just murmured, but I know that you wanted me to continue.

And I continued……

And the lamp was still buzzing while the night was still.