Don’t for heaven’s sake, be afraid of talking nonsense! But you must pay attention to your nonsense.
Quickies in New York: Hot. Sweaty. Slippery.
Hot. Sweaty. Slippery.
One gin and tonic and one sundress on the floor. Two sandals by the door and two manicured hands. Possibly four.
Four lips and one ice cube. Bitters and a lime. One strong tongue and one shy one. A kiss and a bite. Juice on fingers. A long slow lick up the side of her neck and onto her chin. Pulling on a lip with teeth.
One hand wrapped around something hard and one sliding down a stomach to warm wetness. One moan. Two sighs. A scream.
Lips on cock. Tongue in cunt. Two bodies next to each other. Heads wrapped in thighs. Suffocating and then moving.
Slowly rubbing skin against skin. Opening thighs. Closing eyes. Entering. Penetrating. Welcoming. Slowly, ever so slowly, fucking. Fucking, fucking, and something slower. Something hotter and wetter and deeper. Something mixed with pain. Something awake and asleep.
Two breasts against a hard chest. Fingers in hair. Fingers in skin. Fingernails scratching.
Breathing, moaning, sighing, forgetting. Letting go. Releasing. Crying, begging, coming.
Hot. Sweaty. Slippery.
Peaceful.
Love the minimalist approach.
But the way things go with us, it would be: Begging, coming, crying. Laughing through unstoppable sobs.
(Photo: Rodney Smith, The Door)
The mere thought freezes
Your fingers on the handle;
His words open it wide.
—
Deviant Haiku #8 by The Dirty Romantic
(http://youmakemeneedyou.tumblr.com)
Photo by http://reneejacobs.tumblr.com/
(via youmakemeneedyou)