The First Kiss

My lips were numb and I could barely breathe. Whenever we kissed, I felt intoxicated. I wanted more. I needed more.

His kiss sucked the air directly from my lungs. When our lips parted ways, he bit down until tears welled in my eyes. His kiss felt like love so I bit him back. I was ready for love.

Then he’d trail his lips from my full bottom lip to my chin and from my chin to my neck. My pussy ached in a literal sense. My inner walls contracted and salivated.

His fingers danced to the meeting of my thighs and skipped around my clit. He kissed me again. Tiny bubbles filled my airway. My breaths would become shallow. My mind would race until I was dizzy.

This unmistakable lust had eluded me until this moment. A stolen moment.

A single stolen moment would become two and then three until each stolen moment was declared the last of its kind.

image credit: stefan kuhn

Master’s Masterpiece

He said he’d buy me a collar then we’d do erotic things.

I wonder what those things include.

Would he instruct me to gracefully kneel and lift my hair?

As he fixes the collar to my neck, would his rough finger tips graze the tiny goosebumps on my nape?

Before he walks around to stand in front of me, lifting my chin so he can see me

Staring into my eyes so he can see us

Clearly.

Because I am now his submissive.

A reflection of his dominance,

A result of his care,

His masterpiece.

:Random 56:

I’m feeling antsy in this heat. I should be in the nude. Your hands should be fixed in the crooks of my knees. My knees should be pressed into ribs while your phallus massages my insides. The sound of coqui add to the soundtrack of our love making.

:Random 54:

Lay up with me under clouds of weed smoke. Your fingers part my lips while you kiss the other pair.

Alter Ego

image

Who is she?
She smokes cigars but still smells
like the first dance of spring.

Thick legs,
beautiful smile,
& a heavy heart.

Hard liquor coats her tongue
& singes your lips.

No make up,
hair unkempt,
brown skin
with worn leather framing her eyes.

Never begging for love.
Touch mimicking light rain,
words like thunder,
& unapologetically
freer than the wind.

:Random 19:

I used to dream about my work being discussed in an English Literature course. One day a group of kids will be trying to figure out what the hell I was talking about. I’d be praised among the
Dickensons,
Frosts,
Morrisons,
Angelous,
Hurstons, and
Cisneros.

But probably not. And that’s fine. I’ll keep writing anyway.