"Ice," he whispered, his hands slipping under my blue cotton blouse and then up to my breasts. His fingers moved in quick side motions over my nipples, hardening them. My back softened and I lowered myself as he moved over me. I felt my bra clip snap and then his fingers on my skin, making every place he touched feel like a tiny firecracker had been lit over it, exploding, the heat building up and down my stomach and my chest, circling my ribs and making me soften and soften until I felt so helpless, so willing to be touched everywhere, kissed everywhere.
I closed my eyes and felt as if I was sinking into the settee.
"I love you, Ice. There. I said it without singing it," he bragged.
I opened my eyes and looked into his to see the Great happiness. He kissed me again, his tongue slipping over mine and then he struggled with his own clothes until I felt his naked thighs and his hardened excitement emerging. It had the opposite effect from what I imagined it was supposed to have. It was more like a wake-up call, a quick splash of cold water or even an electric shock.
What was I doing?
Was this what I wanted to happen? And even so, was it what I wanted to happen now?
Had I already passed that moment when you could still think and decide, that moment before the heat in your blood took control and turned you into to an obedient slave to your own passions?
"Wait, stop," I said. "Please, Balwin. Don't," I cried sharply.
He lifted himself from me and looked down, his eyes so hot. I could see the fire burning inside him. I shook my head.
"Oh," he moaned and then looked down at himself as if he just realized what he had been doing. "Oh. I'm sorry," he muttered and struggled to get himself dressed.
I sat up and fixed my bra. He rushed about, getting his clothes on, hurrying like someone who had to flee the scene of some crime. I reached out to touch his shoulder and he stopped and looked at me, his face full of desperation.
"I'm just not ready for that," I said.
He looked like he would burst into tears. He nodded quickly and completed dressing. Then he rose and for a moment looked in every direction.
"Well... we... well... let's get back to work," he said.
I watched him hurry back to the piano and sift through pages of music, keeping his eyes off me.
"I'm sorry. I know that wasn't fair of me," I said. He
looked up and started to shake his head. "No, it wasn't fair of me. I wasn't sure myself." I admitted. I thought about a spiritual I often sang. "Youweren't the only one in muddy waters." I told him.
He smiled.
"You mean you never..." I shook my head.
He looked relieved.
"I'm no expert," I said. "but it seems to me it's better if it takes its proper time. If it's meant to be, that is." I added.
"Like a baby being born?" he suggested. "You shouldn't rush it. huh?"
I laughed.
"Maybe. I'm no expert when it comes to that either." I said and he laughed too.
"Back to the music," he said and I rose to join him at the piano.
It was truly as if we had rid ourselves of some cobwebs, some of the darkness and the shadows that always hung between us like Spanish moss, draped over our every expression, our every word. We had to get past the feelings, the need to touch and know each other in more intimate ways before we could draw closer to each other than we already were. Once we had done that, the music followed. blossomed. His fingers were freed and so was my voice. We sounded so good together, we both cried out for joy, both knowing it was special.
"If you sing like that, you'll get in that school for sure,' Balwin declared when we finished.
"I will if you come along to accompany me. Can you?"
"We've got to find out if they permit it first," he said. "If they do. sure I will.'
"Thank you. Balwin. You've given me so much," I said.