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Thanks for reading.

This one is not yet finished. I am putting it on the shelf
until I can think of a suitable ending. If you have any
suggestions...email me.

Fierce


     Have you ever felt as though your heart took up the
entire expanse of your chest? Have you ever felt as though
you could love the entire world, no matter what? She does
that to me, you see? They all do. But this one in
particular...is a drug.
     I imagine. I imagine all the time. It’s all I have.
That’s why I write. I imagine I’m straddling her, as she’s
seated on her couch, in her apartment. Her small, cramped,
hot, apartment. She could live no where else, because this
place embodies her. It’s who she is. I’m straddling her,
kissing her. Or rather, she is kissing me. Anyhow, that
doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s fierce. Tongues,
running into teeth, running into tongues, running into
cheeks. My hands are on her face, on her neck, tangled in
her hair. Her very coarse, unruly, hair. She uses her
pointed tongue to tease my lips, and wet them. She knows
what she is doing. She is driving me insane. I am relishing
our depraved act too much, and I can’t stop. She can’t stop.
There is an unspoken pact between us.
     She lowers her hand and squeezes my breast. How forward
of her? My hand slips down as well, mirroring her movements.
She slides under my shirt and inches it up, exposing my
skin, exposing my ribs. Her hands are hot, boiling, as she
caresses me. They leave a trail of shivers behind. I am a
robot, moving, doing, not thinking. I am listening to my
core. I am listening to what I know I want. She lifts my
shirt off and her hands immediately return to my breasts
like magnets. I am straddling her.
     I am moving on her, wanting more. We are kissing. I
bury my face in her neck, trying to soak up every ounce of
her cologne, trying to commit it to memory. I am crazy. My
hands are on her waist, on her breasts. I too pull her shirt
up, revealing, like a scroll. Her shirt is off and her
breasts are free. She is amazing. Amazing. A whisper that
she is beautiful escapes my lips. I don’t think she hears it
enough. And my head descends. I kiss down the expanse of her
chest and pay homage to the right one first. Her nipples are
so different. So different than what I’m used to. They are
small, pink, and they suit her. Very recognizable nipples.
Beautiful. I take it and tease it. Nip it. She is
responsive. She is pushing herself at me without regard.
Without embarrassment.
     I am hearing sounds from her I never thought I would
hear. Her breath is shallow and quickened. Mine is too. Our
breathing is quick, but the moment is slow. Like a scene in
a film displayed in slow motion, you watch meanwhile your
heart beats out of your chest. Our bodies come together like
velcro. We are sticky and sweaty. And our nipples are
touching too. These moments are like grains of sand, so few
and far between in life. Such luscious moments, never happen
so often. She pushes the envelope by toying with my
waistband. The button, the zipper. Except she’s not toying,
she has a goal. She has her hand inside my shorts, inside my
panties. I want her entire hand inside me. It would be just
fine with me if it burst right through my back. She knows
women and she knows me. She’s an expert. She’s playing me,
drawing me out and leaving me a few inches from the edge.
Her fingers are pushing into me. I can feel her. I’m
grabbing on to her head, her hair. Holding on for dear life
because I want to make it last. I don’t want there to be
anything left of me. Her hand is wet and her movements
slick. Does she love the fact that I’m about to come on her
hand? I am pounding back onto her with a savage rhythm. She
sounds like she is about to come, yet I haven’t even touched
her yet. I’m losing my head, inaudible to my own self. And
so I let go, turning myself over to her demands. My head
wrenches back as I try to get her further into me, one last
time.
     There is a blackness, an abyss, as there always seems
to be for a few moments after. But is it heaven? Is that
exactly what that is? But I come to and we are still on her
couch, and my eyes and ears are hungry. My fingers are
hungry too. I reach down to her and she is so wet. Panting.
Her breath tells me to continue, that she wants it. I want
to take my time, but I also want to own her now, right now...
 
