After his shower he lies there waiting

Coffee maker still running in the kitchen, I came out of the bathroom in his old t-shirt. He was already on the rug by the couch, hands behind his head.

Face sitting started simply. I walked over, knelt on either side of his face and lowered myself slowly. My palm rested on his forehead, thumb pressing one eyelid closed. His breath hit the skin at once, warm and damp.

When I sit on his face it is not a pose, it is a decision. I shifted forward a little, allowed one short breath and closed again. Inside I warmed, wetness gathered and slid down onto his lips. He stayed still, only his breathing grew shorter.

The house was quiet except for the timer clicking. I closed my eyes and listened to his breath change under me, sometimes gone, sometimes quick. His face felt warm and obedient.

Sitting above him I felt an ownership nothing else gives. A tremor ran through my thighs, I lifted so he could gulp air, then settled again. He made a small sound, almost a sob. I decided I would not get up until I had finished.

The next morning

Next morning I worked from home in pajamas, laptop on my knees. He stood at the counter slicing bread. “All right?” he asked. I nodded without looking up. He dropped to his knees on the linoleum and pressed his face to my thigh through the fabric. I kept reading email, one hand on the back of his neck. The smell of toast mixed with his breath.

“Enough, you’ll be late,” I said after a minute. He stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and put a mug beside me without a word. “Traffic leaving the neighborhood,” he added. I nodded. That evening the dishes were still in the sink when I sat on his face again. Hands behind his head, eyes closed.

Consistency matters more than intensity. I held longer than in the morning and felt my body slowly loosen and tighten. Now and then I shifted just enough to let him breathe and watched the color change in his face. The red mark from my palm stayed on his forehead into the next day.

The drop hour arrives in its own time. That evening I stood once the coffee maker had stopped, and he stayed on the rug another minute.

I had doubted at the very start when he first asked, wondering if it would feel like I had pictured. It did. I also nearly left the coffee maker on again, but he did not notice.

When you control someone’s breathing, time stretches. Seven minutes felt like an hour after a long Zoom meeting: my body hummed with power and tiredness at once. Safety is simple: three quick taps on the thigh and I stand at once. We checked it before.

A faint red print of my palm remained on his forehead.