Like Spoons | Kerri Seyfert

Like Spoons | Kerri Seyfert

Spooning has always confused me. Is it for sleeping, cuddling, sex? It is one of those positions that is comfortable, like two people are meant to somehow take that form. With our big heads and thin bodies, spooning like spoons, in a silverware drawer.

I have done it multiple times now out of obligation, I’d say. Out of all the positions to sleep it seems the most safe. It feels nice too, a warm chest against my back, like a hot flame to metal, arms, embracing me my butt pressed to a usually hard penis. Spooning. So weird.

But this one time I was spooned, half unexpectedly. He had rolled me over after shushing my quick breaths

and placed his body behind mine. Liquifying my brain with that spark. Flooding me with a feeling that matched the warm glow of my lamp.

Soft and relaxed, our bodies in sync sighing with relief. In that moment, I got it. Spooning, not weird. Euphoric.

I lifted my head over my shoulder, heavy and cloudy from being cradled, and kissed him, already restless for his touch. How can two bodies fit so perfectly? It was like his and mine were always supposed to be there, spooning. Like all the moments had led up to this one. Where my big head became stained and burnt with his addictive thin body, becoming consumed with thoughts of spoons. And as much as I’d like to chalk it all up to proportions, I don’t think I can. Because that feeling is not one to be replicated by any number of spoons, but his and mine