A Strange Mooshy

A strange, warm, mooshy, gushy kind of squelchy hum sits in the stomach. It sits in the stomach and rumbles. It sits in the stomach rumbling and humming.

Because it’s that time.

You know…

It started with a look, I guess that’s where it starts, with a look and something passes between. Or perhaps not, perhaps that’s just retrospectively. It could have just been a look, and it’s only now, now that it’s a look and everything else that has come after that… But there was a look. And something did pass between.

Then words were exchanged. Then more, then more, and before too long all those words drifting around start to form a conversation. And there’s laughing, and furtive sideways glances with a smirk, and a bit of an invisible dance. And there are more looks, but now they’re called moments, and that thing that passes between now ripples and flows.

Then eventually there’s a touch. Feigned casual, innocent, accidental but contact sparks and shoots up the arm through the heart and it skips with a beat and ripples down the spine spreading through the groin in warm expanding rings.

And there’s more conversation, after you can talk again, more conversation, and moments, and occasionally, every now and then, there’s another small touch. And they’re warm too. And all this bit has no name because it exists outside of in, like a small puff of smoke, grab hold and it’s gone.

And then a look starts to become suspended and a touch holds on a bit longer than before. Conversation escapes for a moment, and then…

Well, and then there are lips, and they’re just a little moist and they press together, they open first, then they press together. Shy for a little but then with a bit more authority, drive, gumption. And then there’s the tip of the tongue, and then there’s a bit more, and then, after that, you’ll have to excuse me because there are no words, everything is colour and noise, but silent and black and it spins and sinks and it floats… you see. There are no words.

Then afterwards there’s a shy little smile, and a fire burning behind a look given through half closed eyes. And the realization that for just a moment breath had left. But slowly the room returns and there’s life again outside of that kiss.

And then from there anything could happen, and there are many paths. A midday meeting, and a game of hooky. There’s sweet little phone messages with something hanging behind that voice, and there’s slowly lavished dinners with meaningless engrossing conversation and whole bunch of things like that… just stuff.

And it moves like a leaf in a stream circling lazily but always moving forwards, flowing to a point. This point.

You know the one.

And eyes catch each other and hold and behind them you see that something has changed. It’s that knowing; it’s the knowing that this is going to happen. There will be… all these moments leading up to… accumulating at…

It’s that knowing that you let it come, saw it approaching, and now, finally, it’s here. Soon there will be touching, holding, rubbing, grinding, sliding, tasting, having, giving, but now there’s a look. It’s that moment, and it’s here. Now.

A Strange Mooshy

Jason Cavanagh

Surrey Hills, Australia

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Artist's Description

All these moments..building into one… that first time… the first touch… the first kiss…the first…

Artwork Comments

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