Lips part slightly as nostrils flare, how long had it been since she exhaled? A second? An hour? A lifetime? The sensations washing over her naked body destroying all sense of time and place, the experience condensing a lifetime into this moment. Perfect awareness of the infinity of the capacity of the human body to feel pleasure, to savour the tingling, pulsing heat of the post orgasmic glow. Her hands caress her skin slowly as feeling returns with awareness, her eyelids fluttering as she struggles to open her eyes, not wanting the moment to end but knowing it must, that reality must intrude.

She turns her head, eyes opening, slowly, almost painfully. Her muscles relax, the tension not even noticed in the throes of ecstasy, she drifts, and in that drifting draws in a long, sweet breath, the cool air of the room filling her lungs, flooding her aching muscles with the oxygen they need. Finally she understands why the French call her experience “le petit mort”. She smiles, soft, warm, content, and curling up, drifts into sleep… 


About Autistic writing

Im 46, autistic and vocal about it, a specialist autism mentor in higher education, embarking on my MEd in adult autism, autistic advocate and campaigner, writer and co-founder of asP - the autism strategy partnership #differentnotdamaged #askaboutasP

2 thoughts on “Breathe

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