Here I am. Naked in front of a man for the first time in five years. For the first time since my divorce. I hope with all my heart this will be the last man who will see me this way. That I’ll be able to give myself to him fully, perhaps even more than he knows. There’s only one last piece of my plumage left to give way and though I see motion out of the corner of my eye, it takes longer for his touch to reach me than I’d expect, as if he hesitated.
But then his hands are roving the tightly wound scarves, searching for the place to start. He doesn’t ask for help, so I don’t give him any, but let him fumble until he finds the place where the ends are pinned. He unwinds the bound length and lets it rest against my back.
“I’ve been dreaming of this.” His voice is thick with desire or emotion. It’s difficult to tell which because I can’t see his face. “Every night for weeks, I’ve dreamed of you coming to me. I could imagine your body, but this…this was a mystery.”
Reverence. That’s what colors the timbre of his voice.