"What are you thinking?" You ask.
I don't reply, I can't. I'm trying so hard to be good, to not touch you, I promised I wouldn't, and yet you seem to be trying your hardest to push my endurance to its limits.
I don't understand you sometimes.
I don't understand myself.
Sitting on the beach again you reach out and push me. I know what you're trying to do. I want to grab your arms and pull you on top of me. But I don't. I promised.
Besides, in 20 minutes my parking runs out and I'll need to move the car. I know the moment you touch me I'll lose track of time. But still, my mind wanders...
It wouldn't take much, a quick tug on your wrists and you'd be falling on top of me. Your body pressed hard against mine. Would you pull away? I don't think so. Perhaps. Who knows?
I'd let my hands slip under your sweater, under your T-shirt, until I could feel your bare skin beneath my fingers. Reach up further to run my hands up your back to your shoulders. Close my eyes. Kiss you.
"What?" you ask. I've been staring again haven't I. Damn my brain! I blame you, you're teasing me now with your words, putting ideas in my mind. Must be good. Must not touch. Argh!
Walking back to the car we nudge, playfully trying to push each other into lamp-posts, bollards. OK it's an excuse, on my part at least, I just want to touch you. This may kill me by the end of the day, why do I say such silly things?
In the car I drive, you rest your hand on my leg, teasing me, I make you take it back. Rules are rules. As soon as I do I kick myself, mentally obviously, what the hell am I thinking? You want to touch me, I want to touch you, we break every other bloody rule we set, why not this one as well?
Because you warned me this would happen of course. That you'd want to 'indulge' me, and then you'd feel bad. And then I'd feel bad. And I don't want to spoil the good memories I have of this by bringing in bad ones. And I want your memories of this to be good as well. Why is life so complicated?
I park the car at the end of the beach and we walk again. We sit on a concrete block, I take off my shoes, you lie back, I spread out my jacket and sit cross legged looking at you.
"What?" You ask.
Your hand lifts my dress and you peek underneath. I glare, you lower it again. OK it's not touching as such but it's against the spirit of the rule.
You close your eyes and slide your hand up my leg. What happened to no touching?
I ask you this and you move your hand away, I want it back, damn you!
You tell me you need to leave in 15 minutes and until then I can do whatever I want.
I wish I could.
I take your hand and pull you up so you're sitting facing me. Under some feeble pretence I lay my legs over yours and lean forward until your forehead is resting on mine, your hands on my waist, mine slipping under your T-shirt to stroke your skin. I close my eyes.