Wednesday, March 22, 2006
The first time Agnes used sunglasses was at a late-night party. Usually she felt stiff and uneasy when the shades were passed around and slipped over the eyes, but now she felt a strange thrill of attraction. Misgivings dashed aside, she thrust her face into the hug of the ebony arms, pressed the frame into her vision. Her eyes darted excitedly about through dark fields blackly lit with moving blurs and distant voices. She swam in echoes of music, sensed dancing figures around her, glided in and out among the traversers she saw, seeking hands, grasping and tracing her fingers in outlines of the bodily shapes they offered. Her lips slid against lips and her tongue sought the caress of the other tongue. Long it lasted, as she molded herself to form after form in unlit encounter, each inhalation intensifying the nearness. The taste of man and woman alike filled her perceptions. As her lips quivered in exhaustion she tumbled, landing on the soft cushions of a sofa. She removed the glasses, turned her head about to notice the remainder of the party standing stunned, their eyes on her, awestruck, all of them, at her dance with the shadows reflected on the wall.