"Kneading" by Adhara Law (c) 1998 Adhara Law. All rights reserved. May not be reproduced without express written permission by the author. She kneads the bread, the gum of dough peeling away from callused fingers reluctantly, while snow falls into the hollow pit of the town outside. The resounding slap of flesh against grainy flesh echoes through the kitchen, through the house, through her life and through his life, coming to rest finally against the aging paper peeling off the walls. Push and fold. Fold and turn. Turn the inside out, expose what was hidden to the indiscriminate heat of creation. Shaping loaves. Shaping lives. Because she will break the heel for him, because she will serve it warm with dripping, melting butter as he waits at the table, because she has always done this, she will walk later out into that snowy pit and drive. And she will forget that she left the golden band on the kitchen counter, where it wouldn't become clogged with the mess and stickiness of raw bread. And she will run flour-caked hands with dough under the nails over the skin of someone else, kneading his flesh as he lay beneath her, folding and turning...folding and turning. She will hear the resounding slap of flesh against flesh as he pulls himself into her, taking her, as the snow falls and fills the hollow spaces of the town and of her. And she will cry out even as she tastes the raw, tender skin of his neck when she comes. Because she will do this, she will knead. Push and fold. Fold and turn. Shaping loaves. Shaping lives. ---------------------------------------------- I strongly encourage both positive and negative feedback on my stories. Please write to me, Adhara Law, at eros_dreams@hotmail.com and let me know what you thought of this story.