Sometimes she sways and coos as if receiving a gentle caress; her eyelids flutter, and she smiles, with her mouth closed, content.For a little while I pretend to be asleep, watching her enjoy the breeze and the sunlight, the coolness of the bed, or whatever it is that seems to bring her so much happiness.Maybe I'll let it wait till this afternoon, get some more perspective before I decide whether to do it myself or let Lailah take care of it later. Don't want people to think I'm the kind of guy who can't find a clean pair of pants in the morning. He's leaning back into the patched old sofa we found out in front of the house down the street.
I hold my breath and drink in their beauty as they slide silently together and flutter across her naked body.I wonder, not for the first time, if this is all wrong. A hundred strokes on one side, a hundred more on the other.I even asked her once, when she was still flush and sticky with sex, "Lailah," I asked her, "Is this wrong? Watching her, I fall back into the lazy sort of late-morning dreams that are so full of meaning at the time, but later I know will seem foolish.It doesn't seem to fit for her though, doesn't seem right.Even with her dress pulled up around her hips and her hair whipping around her shoulders, she seems so above this place and this act. I should at least put on some pants and get outside.