Chasing That High

Chasing That High – A Sinful Sunday Diptych

Fingernails grip onto a rock, shadows cast ominously for chasing that high post
Fingers wrapped around sheets, gripping hard, for chasing that high post

On holiday with young, sun scorched skin and salt fresh sea dripping lust through the tiny hairs that rose with the thrill of just being alive, I climbed out the water and up a cliff face. I slipped on my flip flops and scampered like a mountain goat up the sharp rocks, exhilaration taking over as I stretched my limbs to the next hold. My breath caught high in my chest, the constriction of a taut nervous giggle held in as the terrain became shaky- less secure. My feet skittered in thin foam, toes curling around the edges as I realised my fingers were scrabbling hard to find a grip.

My heart pumped, my muscles shook with the exertion of just hanging on. I looked down, of course I did. Fuck, I was high, too high to go back, the top was in sight but rocks turned to gravel under my touch. Lactic acid built and I froze in space and time, my universe expanding then contracting to the tips of my fingers and toes which were the only thing anchoring me to the cliff face.

This is it

I was damp with sweat and arousal. Every single fibre of every single cell was on high alert.

I knew I had only seconds to find the strength to make a leap. From somewhere, a power surged and tore through my sinews and muscles, contracting hard, coiling deep, and then, with all my being, I sprang up. I was flying, driven by the fuel of being alive. I stretched and caught hold of stringy grass at the top of the ledge. Acid rising in my throat, everything shifted and moved, fragile shards of earth splintered in slow motion around me and the grass uprooted as easily as picking a straw from a drink.

I was unraveling but still felt a power overwhelm me and I leapt again, slamming my full body into the edge, straining, dragging, pulling and took the earth into a bear hug- legs and arms grasping, clutching, until I felt it clutching me back.

When I finally pulled myself fully onto the ledge, panting, disheveled, clothes torn, skin gashed, flip-flops broken, body spent – I knew, I just knew, I’d be chasing that high for the rest of my life.

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3 thoughts on “Chasing That High

  1. I guess in some way we are chasing the high we once felt. I am sure it explains some of my love of impact play… often it hurts, but I endure because when I do there is something so intense beyond that pain… something addictive

    Molly

  2. As someone who is always chasing the next high I relate to this…HARD!

    As for your hand gripping the sheets, that’s just stunning!

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