Skip to main content

Skin

Skin so sensual, skin so soft. How many types of skin do I have in my life?

First, there's baby soft. That's Lil C for the uninitiated. He's all heart-crushingly satiny and cool to touch. Holding him is to hold innocence. Or pureness. It's completely, sublimely, joyful. And totally heartwarmingly lovely.

Then there's stubbly, shave-me skin. That's big C in the mornings. His chin's raspy. Just like his God-I-need-my-coffee voice. But cuddling with him is to remember that we're not just father and mother. We're also C and D.

Then there's my ooh-I-had-my-first-wax skin. That's me feeling sexy. And full of sensation. And clean and of course, wanting my sleeveless tops!

So you see, there's different kinds of skin in my everydayness. Sometimes, I forget I can't live or love without them.

Comments

Chin said…
D, this is awesome!!
I can feel your eyes totally cheerful and sparkling as you write this :)
He he he. Yup, I was feeling all good writing that.
He he he. Yup, I was feeling all good writing that.

Popular posts from this blog

Morning scenes

The wind blustery Skies grey blue A light so muted Birds are quiet too We walkers go Sidestepping Couple-dancing No touching Looking or meeting Glances…Oh no!   Masks dangling From chins Below noses Hanging from one ear Or sometimes Fitting so properly Covering everything So no one can see Or know What we’re really like.   Runners running Soundlessly Iron determination Seeping through So much so   That dogs being walked Know they cannot Wag tails Or even Bark a greeting.   Two men Creating content One breaking into Hair flipping, body popping Dance Faithful friend filming In fits and starts As a security guard Sips his chai Utterly bemused.

Why?

Two times now, I've seen it happen. Twice, I've seen men, ordinary-looking chaps, verbally and physically abuse the women with them. While people around them did nothing. One man was young, he had an identity tag. He wore formal pants, nice stout shoes. I saw him kick the young woman with him, straight in the gut, with those shoes. His companion was in burkha but she seemed young.  The other man was older. He harangued the woman with him loudly and crudely. He spat at her, followed her when she tried to walk away. Shook her by the shoulders, repeatedly. Both men did this at a public park, in full view of dozens of people milling around. Walkers walked, joggers jogged, various men lounged about, sat around. The onlookers watched the two men do these terrible things. And they did nothing. I am not a brave person. In my heart I was terribly afraid--that if I confront them, they could hurt me, find out where I live, hurt my family. But I was ashamed to stand by and watch. S...

Cockroach eggs and innocence

Baby ate a cockroach egg last night. At least, he tried to. C noticed and got it out. But the lil' one must have gotten a taste. Yuck, ewww! Really and truly. But then, I got thinking. He ate it because he didn't know he wasn't supposed to. He doesn't know what bad is. Or evil. Or lies. Or hate. He doesn't know, what it is, you see, to be all grown-up and knowing what is right and wrong. And who is good and bad. That's why, when he sees a white-haired gentleman, he says "Ajja". How can I tell him then, that I'm afraid not all "Ajjas" are safe to be around. That in our adultness, we've lost the capacity to trust infinitely and innocently. That we can't really, because we've corrupted ourselves too much. That's why, even if I whack him and shout at him in my pettiness, he'll screw up his face and bawl his heart out. And then hold his arms out to me. And that's when I feel miserably small and just like tha...