Blood by Patricia Traxler

Author:Patricia Traxler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 2001-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

During this period Michael was traveling a lot, and sometimes when he landed at Logan, he came straight to my apartment, day or night.

“I couldn’t wait to see you,” he’d say when he showed up, hair tousled and shirt rumpled from the plane. I was adjusting to his frequent absences better now than I had at first. Of course I missed him while he was away, but more in the abstract lately. I really was filled up with my painting.

After a lifetime of secluding myself in my work, painting in solitude, I had to wonder how much of this renewed creative vitality was the result of sharing my work process intimately with a friend. Inevitably, whatever Devi and I talked about, if we talked during her sitting, found its way into the painting. The end results were richer for this unforeseen collaboration. I had art on my mind again all day now, like a lover; I often dreamed of it at night.

Still, whenever I found Michael there in my doorway looking like a pile of laundry, I was his. And it became a kind of rousing erotic duel when we hit the sheets; unlike many men, Michael was a leisurely lover and could linger for hours over my body with his fingers, lips, and tongue if I would let him. But as much as I loved his ardent tending, my body often grew impatient for climax before long, the way men are reputed to be impatient. Especially when we hadn’t slept together in a while, I wanted him to ravish me, wanted it to be hard and fast and explosive. And Michael knew just how far he could take me before I found the waiting unbearable. Invariably I was in agony before he finally put himself inside me, and sometimes my climax would come at the very moment he entered me. He knew exactly how to work me, and the erotic tension of our lovemaking was a good part of its explosiveness and, ultimately, its fulfillment. It was lucky I wasn’t a man, though, I often thought. I would have made a terrible one—I’d have been an absolute pig of a lover, the sort most women hate, and with good reason.

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