Trust

I am nervous with him here. Nervous and excited at the same time. His voice is soft. His laugh is loud. He fills the room with the words he speaks. I listen to everything this precious man has to say. I want to beg him to slow down. I swim in his language. The way he speaks on topics that I know nothing about.

I watch him rub his palms over his knees, wiping the sweat from them. I can tell he is nervous as well. He begins to talk again about things that don't have any place in the moment. I know what he's doing. He's filling the silence. I have grown to understand why this occurs. Silence can be uncomfortable between two people in a new situation. It speaks louder than any words can. It is the silence that reveals how we feel. What we fear. What we don't know.

He clears his throat. I long to touch the smoothness of his neck. I want to caress his cheek. See what his skin feels like. Remind my fingers of the sensation just in case they have forgotten. But, I hesitate. He must make the move. I do not want to rush this gentle man. One wrong move could drive him from me.

That is the last thing I want to do.

"Come closer," he whispers to me. And I do. I move as close to him as I can without crawling into his skin. I have kissed him before. Only then it was surprising. An exercise in exploration. No intent behind the act. We kissed to meet each other. To introduce our hearts to one another. This time is different. There is a purpose. A reason.

As our embrace intensifies, I climb into his lap and seat myself comfortably. I fit within him like we were made for one another. My curves match his. I hear the small noises he makes under his breath and I am excited to know that it is meant for me.

He breaks free and looks me in the eyes. He tell me he trusts me in a tone reserved for confessing love and desire. It is a small voice. An intimate one.  My breath quickens once more as he brings his mouth to mine. My pulse races as I beg for it to slow its rhythm least I miss anything this beautiful creature has to say.

"I trust you," I tell him. And I mean it with all my strength.  I try to tell him, to explain, that my trust for him began the night I heard his voice. It grew each day he spoke my name. I desperately wanted to say how I give thanks to God each day for him the same way people give thanks for good health. Or for the air they breathe.

"I trust you," he repeats as he rubs his forehead against mine. The gesture is as intimate as the words he speaks. I feel his emotions as I sense mine. I inhale his scent. It is familiar, yet foreign. I kiss his lips once more. Memories, alien to me even now, run through my mind. He belongs in my past, nestled within a long forgotten time. Yet, after all these years, my body knows his. Even though I can not remember. It is a contradiction in terms. One that I am accepting of.

I run my tongue down his neck. His hands lock around my waist. While my breathing is fast, his remains at a constant steady pace. He is in no hurry. While I am rushing over him. Ready to usher in a new experience with this man that has proclaimed his trust for me.

Trust. Such a beautiful word. It is sacred. Something that is fragile and strong at the same time. It is a word that should be held in a higher esteem than love. And used less often. I love everyone. The broken. The bruised. The mean and ugly people who try to bring all those around them to their knees. The ones who have lashed out and tried to see me humiliated. Shunned. I have loved those who brought tears to my eyes. Bruises to my body. I love them all. Even now. But, I do not trust many. Nor does he.

He gathers me up once more in his arms and pulls me on top of him. He is a rock. Solid. Secure. Strong. Whereas I am weak. Fragile. Small. As I lay on him, kissing, breathing, tasting his saliva in my mouth, I feel safe. No harm can come to me as long as he walks nearby. In his arms, I am trusted. Secure. Everything makes sense. Words have no meaning.

I have no ending and he does not begin.

"I trust you," he tells me.

Once again, I return the sentiment. And I pray that he can hear the true meaning behind those three small words. I pray to God that he can understand that he is home now. That I will take care of him. I will shelter, feed, clothe, and protect him. Me, fragile and small, will guard against the evils of the world. They will not touch him as long as I am nearby.

I beg God to let this man hear my words. I need him to understand that I will pray for and with him. He needs to know that the motion of his breathing at this very moment sends every nerve ending I possess into total ecstasy.  I want him to realize that I desire to greet him every morning with a kiss. And to end every night with him in prayer.

As I tenderly bite down on his lower lip, a small moan escapes his throat. I relish it. It is music to me. I try to find the courage to tell him this. That I want more moans from him. That I want to hear him speak any words that he feels he must. That I will listen even when he can not find what he needs to say.

I tell him all this. I tell him my heart's secrets and more when I whisper to him, "I trust you too."