Legion

Daniel, sitting on the old bedside cabinet that belonged to his great, great grandfather, exhaled ever so softly as he looked through the old stained wooden window. He was, once again, in the great old loft of treasures. His childhood, the toys, the hide and seek, all there around him. So many memories, so many thoughts and with those thoughts, emotion.

In his hand, rested a small plaque that his family, as well as his own Father, adored. He’d read it a hundred times. Maybe, even, a thousand. Each time he’d arrived home from School, then University, it had sat just across from the back door. Like a whispering memory, the words haunted him with understanding, appreciation and so much more.

He smiled, as his gaze moved over the old granny smith apple tree just by the front gate. He closed his eyes, recalling, reminiscing the many, many thoughts. As his eyes opened, he looked at the plaque, reading the words one more time.

‘My name is Legion, for we are many’.

Despite loving the words, he deeply adored the meaning or, as far as he knew, the possible meaning. As a child, he’d been the one to run outside at every single opportunity, to bounce around, to play, to explore and yet, he’d also simply wished to understand everything. His ever-young heart, grasping at all and any opportunity to experience the wealth of wonders around every single corner.

He recalled his father, upon a random sun filled day, offering advice. “Danny, your mind will often be confused, directed, pulled, in different directions!” said his father, often with a glorious, little, odd smile across his face. His father loved the fancy tales of intrigue, fancying himself somewhat of a psychologist. He was a good man, a kind man, as well as a valuable role model.

He’d say, “Your fear will say many words, scold, you, hold you in place or ask you to run!”, followed by, “your faith will guide you, push you and make you explore and yet, many of your habits will keep you stuck, never to change, never to learn, never to become something more than you are at that point in time!”

He’d pondered the words. He’d scribed them a fair few times, upon many pages of work and then, just then, he’d finally reached something of a conclusion all those years previous. Each memory, each moment of his, created a flow of thought. Many, many thoughts. Over and over again. A legion, of sorts. Thoughts of faith, thoughts of habit and, of course, the thoughts of fear. Overwhelming, chastising, the habitual circular notions to feed an ego. Scattered, confused, the complete lack of focus clouding his moments.

He’d struggled through the years, seconds of doubt, tears of habit, but his thoughts still arrived back to that plaque. He could say that each thought was that of a shepherd, attending to his flock of thoughts, one after another and as long as he seldom allowed a member of his flock to run astray, he would stay strong, stoic, defined, refined and steady. That legion of thought, the hundreds, the thousands per day, all working, pushing, fighting, fending and offending the brief seconds of life they encompassed.

This was why the plaque held emotion. This was why, despite selling the house, his old home, the memories remained within him. Once he’d finally realised the message and meaning of the words, his life changed ever so slightly. He could let the thoughts float within his mind, removing their power, their emotion or, when needed, allow his passion and heart to feel every single second. With thought arrived strength or, destruction. His army, the legion of thought.

He returned his view to the plaque and, once again, read the words.

‘My name is Legion, for we are many’.

Frisson

She felt the dopamine, the aesthetic endeavours immediately informing her emotional intelligence that she was ready, willing, more than able and most certainly, aware. Her violation of expectation momentarily peaking as, he, him, that person who had changed quite a few moments within her life, did what he often did.

The music played all around, loud, but not too loud as to take anything away from any of her other senses. He’d found the tones, the audible sensation that set her body, as well as mind, into a calm, knowing sense of expectation. It was one thing to embrace her body, but another to think of more than just a moment’s indulgence. That, of course, was nice, but this… this, was something else. She smiled, as she placed her head onto the chair’s soft, comfortable covering. Her skin was already dancing with anticipation, the expectant notions swirling and whirling within.

The cushions surrounded her, comforted her body, as she felt the soft textures press gently against her skin. This place, this scene, the moments he’d subjected her to, were something to remember and recall. It wasn’t often that she’d meet someone so attentive and yet, it wasn’t about the act, but the art and performance behind his actions. Words meant nothing without the actions to empower them.

The room, warm, comforting, the lights turned all the way down with the faint scent of cinnamon rising around her, seemingly holding her close. There was a soft, calming sense to him and, as she knew, he brought that calm with him wherever they went. He was ‘for’ her, thinking of her, actually considering her needs which was a rare element.

He was also, unexpectedly, quite quiet. Charming. Aloof. Imaginative. Additional, most of all, delightfully physically toned as to peek her roaming subconscious. She was aware of her actions, to a point, as well as the nature of her own thoughts, desires, needs and most certainly, what she wanted. Almost, to a point, selfish in her endeavours for the pleasure of the soul. She’d been to some of there, had a slice of that, but as she’d just thought, this was it. The all or nothing, ever again. The sublime to the settling. The now and always forever type of connection.

She stopped her thoughts, slowing time, as well as her breathing as she sensed him. She wasn’t permitted to look. She wasn’t asked to speak, as right at this moment, it was all about feeling. The music, the notes, flowing over her as her expectations grew. He was always so unexpected, so very random and yet, mostly ignored in many ways. She couldn’t place her thoughts, as to why he was, and why he did what he did. He was a mystery, a quandary, a knowing that might never actually be understood.

She felt the hairs on her arms move as his fingertips found the outer side of her legs. She smiled another small, delicious, knowing, expectant smile, as he moved his fingers slowly up her legs. Just enough pressure, that little knowing touch, to stimulate her thoughts. He moved up and around, gently, running along her inner thigh and back out to the sides of her stomach. His touch, preparing her body, informing her senses, telling them to prepare for what would evidently happen.

He moved his fingers between her breasts, finding the sides of her neck, around her ear, until he massaged her head for a few seconds. She loved to be touched, as the music once again tempted her senses, the coiled spring within her tightening ever so slightly. His touch returned to her skin, moving along the outer side of her arms and then, as he returned to her sternum, she felt his lips upon hers. She kissed him, softly, tenderly, her body responding thoroughly. Her energy, rising, as her calmly beating heart found rhythm with her breath. His lips left hers, wanting, needing a little more. His touch moved around her breasts once again, the underside enjoying the warmth and movement, as he finally, knowingly, moved his attention to where she needed it most of all. He’d been teasing her for over twenty minutes and, despite eagerly wanting to rush ahead, she’d finally learned to appreciate the attentive nature of time.

He called all of this frisson. She’d forgotten the science stuff, lost within the implementation and practical implications of said word. His touch moved downward, exploring. The thoughts fell, immediately, as he pressed his lips to hers, his fingertips finding the underside of her legs. With ease, he swirled his touch around her lips, not too much, just enough for her body to tense ever so slightly at the sensation. The music, his touch, his lips and more importantly, his tongue, fed her body dopamine and in a few moments, that beautiful oxytocin would arrive.

He teased, swirling his random lips and tongue around her, not willing to start the inevitable dance towards that release of so much tension. The week, the moments, the utter grind of living, all let go within seconds. She wanted to put her hands onto his head, but she knew that she wasn’t permitted to do so. She would stay in place, confined to comfort.

He continued, placing his lower lip over her, just enough, just that little bit of pressure and pleasure for her legs to tighten. It was a little too much for her, but not enough for anything to stop. He moved his lip, over and over again, his tongue finding her, ever so often as to tease. She could feel the energy building, rising within her, the waves pushing her closer.

A few more seconds, his lips moving, flowing over her, her body finally convulsing as every ounce of tension and pleasure let go. She pressed her legs against his head, her hands finally allowed to move, pressing his head and lips harder onto her, as he back arched and gave in to the moment. She laughed, smiled, giggling to herself at the pleasure. Moving her hips, as he pressed his tongue against her, she moved up and down ever so slightly as the sensations continued until, at last, she could take no more.

Her body relaxed, her breath shallowing, as her mind started to spin with delight. She didn’t really care how, or why, as long as he continued doing exactly what he was doing. Surprising her, enticing her, pleasing and pleasuring her, with that thing he called frisson.