Little of our bodies touched the mattress or couch or counter. We were always mid-air, a dance and nothing less. She was the choreographer and led me into the most beautiful sex. Partly it was breath, shaping of breath. It was tender, but at times she liked it to be just a little rough. We choked and panted and bit and licked. We wanted to feel, and we constantly discovered new things. Sex as invention and expression. Sex as a refusal to remain separate or alone. Sex as a refusal to believe the world.
A loft lined with windows looked down on all the bubbles, our own hidden space like the cockpit of an airship, our private Hindenburg. We never used the air-conditioning. We liked the sweat, the slick movements, the strands of wet hair over our eyes. She wore light summer dresses with nothing underneath. Clothing was costume and prop, used for tying or wrapping but never withholding.
- David Vann
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