The Weekly Mindfuck: Middle of the Night

I'm not sure if it always begins the same way or not, but I wake up at the same point regardless. My eyes are closed and so are his, but somehow, his hands found my body in the middle of the night. As I drift back into consciousness with his hands on my body, he slowly wakes up as somewhere, deep in his brain, he begins to understand the what he's touching, what he's doing. There are rarely words, and eye contact comes later. At first, it's just the heavy lidded connection as I flip over and start to feel him back. For some reason, there's no need for foreplay—all of a sudden, he's just on top of me, and with one mutual groan, we make the full transition of to awake as just a small crack of moonlight streams in. 

I never know how long it lasts. It could be five minutes, it could be five hours—for whatever reason, time warps in the middle of the night in a way it can't during the waking hours. When it's over, his body sinks on top of mine and his head finds my chest. And just like that, in the same comfortable, surreal silence it began, it ends. 

When I wake up in the morning, I roll over and kiss him. There is still no need for words—he knows. 

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