Sweat

It is quiet, there is no violence, no urgency. I am working on him, moving him into position, manipulating limbs, pulling and pushing at him. He starts to sweat, the moisture collecting between his shoulder blades, I continue to gently put pressure on him, he moves very little unless I tell him to, a tiny shift, a rolling of muscles.

I check his face, his eyes clear, his breathing even, his forehead beaded with sweat, his body showing no other signs of stress, just the sweat.

“How are you doing, baby?”

He meets my gaze and nods, “Good, Ma’am”.

The wetness runs down his back in rivulets, I touch the moisture with my fingertips, turn my attention back to what I am doing, I am not done with him yet.