Cherry stem at the bottom of her glass,
tied by her tongue,
and me, in her lap,
tied up in her troublesome smirk and possessive, pawing hands.
The sun was beginning to set,
and she had been drinking since it had risen,
so I was in a unique kind of danger,
just a little lost in her lager fuelled lust,
but I loved it,
like I loved her,
in a shy, coy kind of way.
She told me I was the sweetest little girl in Sunny Spain,
despite us being in Prestatyn,
how my lips loved every little word that she said.
Oh, how they knelt before her, and worshipped,
staring at the tangled cherry stem,
knowing what would become of me,
and smiling at the thought.
At six AM,
I set off as the sun showed her face,
smiling, high in the sky,
as Saturday said “Hello sweetheart, would you like to fall in love?”
My hands hungered for the velvet softness of beautiful buds,
blood red, spilling across the valley,
and my body is electric as I head towards a destined love affair.
My fingers do not feel the trauma of the thorns,
my blood joining the scarlet of the swaying stems and petals.
I gather up such beauty,
my arms heavy with expectation,
all my Venus dreams playing to awakened eyes as I follow the river back to my lover.
She has made breakfast while I’ve been gone,
porridge with honey, for her Earthly Aphrodite,
this is our harmony,
the day is there to be explored,
and I am in her arms,
my arms overflowing with roses,
for the only one I love.
I’ll write our love story, for the rest of my life.
“Go to bed.” He repeated, aching to look away from the mountain of paperwork on his desk, and hoping she would be pouting down at him. “I won’t tell you again.” He focused his eyes on the documents and tried to ignore the familiar fingers that had found his neck.
“I’m not tired.” He kept his eyes down, but his body had other ideas. She abandoned his neck and decided to perch herself on the desk in front of him, her legs pushing his papers on the floor, and calling loudly for his attention.
“Go to bed.” She slowly pulled the hem of her skirt higher. “Now.”
“You said you wouldn’t tell me again.” He tore his eyes from her rising skirt, and suppressed a smirk, as he was greeted by her mischievous smile. “But you did.” His hands could no longer resist, meeting the softness of her thighs, feeling her shiver beneath his touch.
“Bed.” There was silence for a moment, as he slipped his fingers inside her underwear, and then, a soft sigh left her lips. “Now.” There was no smart reply this time, as his touch left her mute, beyond a melody of moans that soon became sighs. “Or you’ll be punished.” She leaned into his touch, his paperwork abandoned, as he quickened his pace, drawing more desire filled moans from her lips. They kissed, her cries of pleasure muffled as he captured her mouth. “Bed.” He felt her tighten around his fingers, she pulled him closer, begging and pleading in wordless whines and sighs as her body surrendered to him. “Now.”
She fell against him, exhausted but fulfilled, as he gently kissed her neck, enjoying her gentle purrs of satisfaction.
I went shopping for silk,
imagining myself as a mistress,
who goes hiking in the valleys of Los Angeles,
while waiting for her forbidden fruit to find some time,
to do dastardly deeds on the sheets his wife dutifully washes.
There is no wife,
I’m going straight,
in a sense,
though I remain the unfriendly, unapproachable neighbourhood bisexual you’ve come to love and loath in equal measure.
I like the adventure,
and the drama,
shopping for silk stockings,
lazing in lingerie,
finding his contact name,
in the fitting room,
asking myself if he might fancy a snapshot,
of my provocative purchases.
I want to be wayward and irresistible,
imagining a rendezvous,
with cider in champagne glasses,
gazing at a human form of heaven.
He is enough adventure for me.