All Woman and Springtime by Brandon Jones Page B

claimed absolute authority. When she was not reading it, she would hide it behind a loose wall board in her bedroom. Knowing the danger that it could be found by the roving hands of a naughty orphan, or by the police during one of their random midnight inspections, was a brisk stimulant that lifted her above despair.

10
    T HE MOON CRACKLED AND hissed as it slid across the sky. It was the sound of the moon, as much as its brightness, that kept Gi from being able to close her eyes and go to sleep. She kept replaying in her mind the details of Il-sun’s illicit adventure.
    What was it about Il-sun that made her so compelling to people? She was certainly pretty—there was no doubt about that—but it seemed like there had to be more to it. It wasn’t just the lush outline of her lips or the shininess of her hair, or even the fullness of her breasts. It was the way she was always reaching forward with her lips, tossing her hair casually into the light. It was the way she looked at people from the corners of her eyes while cocking her head modestly, the way she walked as if the very act was causing her pleasure. It was not the parts that made up Il-sun that captured their attention, but the way the parts worked together—the rhythm of her actions, the fluidity of her gestures, the alluring promise in her eyes coupled with the scorn of her shoulder as she turned away—that drew people to her. It seemed that the secret to Il-sun was her embodied contradictions, how she simultaneously teased and rejected; and this manipulation seemed to come naturally to her, as if from some innate womanly knowledge that Gi did not possess.
    Gi imagined the scene of the night before: the man putting his arms around Il-sun. She must have felt soft to his firm touch. The newness of her body, so different from his own, must have sparked a curiosity in him. Perhaps he was trying to solve for himself the mystery of her contradictions. Maybe, as the moonlight reflected off her lips, they looked like ripe berries, and he wondered if they might taste red and sugared. Her smell was naturally sweet, and maybe this compelled him; so he put his lips to hers and kissed her, hoping to taste berries.
    Gi looked over at the sleeping form of Il-sun. It was not uncommon on cold nights for them to keep warm together in the same bed. She slid from her own sleeping mat and got under the covers next to her. Gi pressed the front of her body into the back of Il-sun’s, allowing her warmth to penetrate below the skin. She inhaled her familiar smell and was suddenly jealous that the man would also know this intimate detail. Il-sun had been her only friend for nearly four years, and she did not like the idea of anyone coming between them. Gi put her arm around her and brought her face to the very back of her neck, where long, wispy hairs made two trails up to the base of her skull. Her skin was soft and redolent of sweet rice.
    Il-sun shifted in her sleep, turning until she was almost flat on her back. Gi lifted a leg over her, to take in more of her warmth, and the soft sensitivity between her legs made contact with Il-sun’s hip. An unexpected flood of tingling spread throughout her body, warm and electric. It was wonderful. As soon as she felt it, she was parched for that sensation, as if she had become aware of a thirst that had always been there and she had just now found the well. She ground herself more firmly onto Il-sun’s hip, heightening the sensation. Satisfying the urge to press down, however, only increased her desire to press more. Gi did not understand what was happening to her, or why she was doing it, but the compulsion was overwhelming. She was afraid of waking Il-sun, but she also did not want to stop—this was intimacy unlike any she had ever experienced. If she pressed hard enough for long enough, would she merge completely into Il-sun?
    She had a feeling that Il-sun would not approve of what she was doing. It seemed to cross a line that had the