Wednesday, October 1, 2008


The first time.
I reach into my stomach and realize that my entire body is calling for you. You are right there.
I have thought of this moment a thousand times. While I try to slumber and relax in my bed, I find myself bothered in the thought of you discovering sensations between my legs - catching the outline of your body in the darkness of my filthy thoughts.
I need to take a second to slip my hands into position.
Your lips are big and I can imagine how much suction they cause when they are matted in the wetness of red pomegranate desire. All of a sudden I don't feel soft anymore. My fingers feel tense and hectic. I need you to ravage me, spin me around and around, as if I were an unraveling silk sari full of lavish detailing.
The third kiss causes me to slur in judgment and I want to feel you against the tip of my large, brown, aroused breasts. Suck for Indian honey. My back resembles the arches of the Taj Mahal. I skip ahead and open wider as you are treated to me stirring in spoken tongues from the evocation of my falling in pleasure. I speak of spice. There is no humanity that I show you of me at this moment, only instinct. I push into hardrive.
When you say my name for the fourth time, I groan with aggression. I look away.
I am here. We are alone. There are no rules, no limits, I feel no shame.
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