Such a tedious thing,
I sense our existence appears.
For my chest to breech to the sky,
A tightened blossom of whipping purity.
Then to sink towards such a vicarious engulfment of hell.
With each palpitating symposium,
My lungs waver.
To crust over,
and bless the,
upon gilded guffaws.
Perturbed of my ascension.
Or shall they sink,
Sallow under chagrined blasphemy,
My horridness inked upon
parchment seasoned skin.
a child of bitter consideration.
I shall butter myself in ashes,
just to perceive myself a shadow.
For at dusk's beckon,
perturbed; to kiss the constellations.
Blemishes I conjured,
beneath a quavering lip,
a gentle crease of my nose.
I silence their whimpering of wrongdoings,
which I have failed to rupture.
in such a bubbling manner.
It gurgles at my lips.
Dribbles before me,
Whilst the sun blinks back a yawn.
Yet, upon a lunar serenade,
the talons which protrude from my veins,
To my supposed
I see no anchor.
From them, to what lay before me.
To where I shall drift.
And good sir,
label my simplistic existence,
if you must.
Yet I shall soon die,
and so, you will too.
And by that flicker of seconds,
we should matter no more.
With any new space in life comes isolation
Coming out with quiet steps and low voices
Walking in circles to get used to the whimpering images
Of where you came from
Like wading in the ocean, you are lifted off your feet
and left bare when the waves pass
humbled in the reeling tides
washing footsteps away
In time we all run in circles,
remembering what it felt like
the first time you treaded there
hoping to not trip on the quick flurry of memories
Converte nos, Sister Teresa whispered, leaning forward in the darkness of the church; convert us, she repeated, sensing the infirmarian nun beside her, hearing the breath and muttered prayers. She had insisted on being wheeled into the church for Compline; had got her way; was pleased she was in the pew where she'd sat for the last ten years. She loved the silence before it all began; the sense of space; the soft opening of the Confiteor, the movement of bodies like a wave of water over the blacked-out walls and high roof of the church. She brought her arthritic hands together; dug deep for a fresh prayer, but all was used; all had done before; all spread wide over her life of contemplation; in and out of her light and alternating darkness. The infirmarian muttered something. Sister Teresa shrugged her shoulders; inclined her ear; moved her head and unseeing eyes. Was it Sister Bernadette? Or was it another? She couldn't tell; all were the same in her darkness, except the touch; hand on hand; whispered words. Long ago, Jude or Judas had kissed; had betrayed. The sound of footsteps on flagstones; the rustle of habits and clicking beads; a sense of breathing and life; entering into the shared darkness and blackness, except for the red altar light to inform of the Crucified's presence and the all-seeing-eye. Sighed. Waited. Held breath. Reached for the sister's hand or arm to reassure, to sense she was not alone in the dark and that she had not died and sunk to dimness and damnation of another dark. The infirmarian tapped her hand. Relief. Converte nos, she mumbled, convert us, she repeated. The Confiteor opened up as if the whole world had breathed out in one voice; had poured out the world's sins in a soft eruption of voices. She breathed in. Clutched her hands. Wanted the closeness and nearness of all; wanted to be held; to be kissed; wanted to see the face of the sister beside her who sat close and whispered her own Confiteor. Ora pro nobis, she whispered, pray for us, let me not be lost in this darkness. Where was Papa? Where is Mama? Clare where are you? she muttered, her eyes searching the blackness, reaching out with a hand into the empty space before her. Hand on hand. Whispered voice. The chant rose and fell like a gentle sea carrying the prayers of the black-robed sisters. Jude or Judas and the kisses and betrayal. Dead now; all dead; all gone. Left here, she muttered, like a beached fish, flapping on the emptying sands of my hourglass like a whimpering child. She clutched her breast; sensed a pain. Leaned her head neatly on the sister's shoulder; sank slowly into her arms like a child searching for its mother's breast and the comforting embrace of warmth and love. Stillness. Peace. Darkness. Light.
I feel like an island,
Deserted lonely state
When I'm not ravished by
The whimpering winds,
Poseidon crafts a storm and
Drenches my inland angrily
My island grows weary
Trees bent and broken,
Tossed down by the wind,
Damaged by the waves
My shores lose themselves
To every mighty tide
That drags away my sand
And only sends back these
Useless salty ocean tears
I cannot help but feel
Like I am slowly
Every argument weakens me,
And molds me into the island
I am supposed to be
I've fought so very hard
To keep my speck of land
Of peaceful stature
But I cannot handle these storms
She is pretty and she is kind,
Yet to her demons you are all blind,
She seems so perfect, she will never let you know,
She has cuts on her wrists she will never let show.
Hiding behind her bedroom door,
A crumpled mess laying on the floor,
But as long as she texts a smiley face,
You'll never know about the lines she's traced.
Things went smoothly until one bad day,
She cut way too deep and slept away,
They found her whimpering, almost dead,
Sleeping happily as her body bled.
They screamed and cried but she couldn't hear,
She was lost in her euphoria, free from her fears,
They left her alone until they saw she was dying,
And now they wonder why they never heard her crying.
"A mental breakdown", the doctors said,
A silent battle going on in her head,
A shoulder to cry on they could not comprehend,
All she needed was someone to help herself mend.
The shattered pieces of her broken figure,
Was enough to make herself her personal trigger,
But no one saw what her brain thought she saw,
So no one understood why, and remained unsure.
She was much too quiet with all her feelings unsaid,
She lost all her bearings and teetered on the edge,
She thought it was for the best but in the end it was her downfall,
What a shame how early she left us all.
Euphoria is a feeling or state of intense excitement and happiness.
You described your love for me as scary
Something that woke up little children at night, whimpering to their mothers.
You describe my reaction to your saddest story as cold
Like a forest dead and quite in the winter
I left you alone in the cold dead forest, scared and lonely
I left you quietly in the dead of night
I send to you endless amounts of sorrys
I hope that they might come in handy in the dark
you cry like lost toys and dead pets
there's nothing you can do about it right now
you cry like a small animal with a broken spinal chord
you keep whimpering, but it can only heal in time
you cry like pressing the skin of your palms
into the membranes of your eyes
when everything in your head is so cacophonous
you want to rub away all the little things you absorb
want that your hands could throw out this migraine
like a candy wrapper on the sidewalk
and if you believe hard enough that it's gone
you'll never notice the sugar rush or the comedown
so you press your hands to your face
as hard as you can and try to pray like a religious person
but you were raised christian and american and
the ways of believing and hoping and loving that you knew as a child
seem insincere now, and hard to speak
the language is not truthful
everything is what they told you it was not
nothing is what they told you it was
and you think that wrapper might eventually end up in a landfill
if you go throwing it carelessly around
and sadness taken with too much sugar can be a toxic combination
so maybe making the bad things go away
is harder than throwing away the wrapper and enjoying the rush
maybe the wrapper is somewhere else now you can't get to
where you can't hear it crinkle or see it shrivel,
but you can still relentlessly feel it
getting whittled away by time and weather
while steadily melting down bits of you
as you pass your heart around
gasping inside the icebox
until one day you look up and the sun is a bloodier color
and your lungs are full of ice like pins
freezing inside of you
and when seconds before you had oxygen
as you begin choking, you think it's amazing how long
it seems to have been
since you were alive
your knuckles are dry from holding on
to a rusty ladder wrung
even when you want to move so badly
and there's nowhere to climb
you refuse to jump
and you're still trying to figure out
how to fall correctly
to break the least amount of limbs
Nothing ever got me.
Nothing ever wore me or beat me or helped me up or kicked me down.
I tried making dents but they just looked like ellipsis.
Nothing ever stopped me or encouraged me or slowed me down.
The bourbon did no damage:
a sore tummy when it’s hot & a few lonely hangovers.
I watched it brawl with better longing men:
somber sailors with drifting seas that are drifting far away from them,
widowers whose wives are not yet cold,
failed poets, irascible handguns, block boys with no block to bury,
and of course the ones who found their way to that big, bright room but couldn’t quite find
a big, bright cloud to pray to.
I watched it bare-knuckle box them to their bedsides, to the bathroom floors, the infirmary,
tear em out of that & into a pretty heavy relapse,
finish devouring their mushy guts,
sop their stomachs up like bread pudding, kick em down the stairs,
leave them fleshy cabins who’ve been abandoned for the winter,
snap their necks like rogue pencils and bleed em dry like stolen checks.
Carve em up like Thanksgiving dinner and shove em in a casket.
Or when it’s merciful, just chain em to a radiator and let em bash their own wet brains to death with all the other pretty toys taking solace in the attic.
I was jealous of the rest.
I wanted to be injured.
I wanted to be caught and shaken and covered with bruises I can’t quite remember getting.
A loose cannonball with no artillery.
My life was of lingering malignance
but it had no teeth.
Then this vulva-shaped vortex braised with voluminous sadness,
orange lipstick and negative space
--like a Rubix cube with all the blocks cut out--
stormed in the place.
Crew cut and wet, whimpering lashes,
swan’s neck and a soft spot for stifled violence.
She sat down next to me to order two double Jacks.
I’m fumbling with a matchbook and several years of silence.
Grazed my knee with her napkin she just used to wipe something moist from her eyebrow.
Something outside of herself.
She sensed me watching
& she knew how to handle it.
Like a mannequin come to life, she turned
(this has been rehearsed)
her neck stiff like the atmosphere,
and this looming moment:
“May I have a match?”
Her pause then heightened inflection:
defector trumpet cutting through the auditorium when you were waiting for that
lone and patient violin.
It just stopped me:
just cut me down the center and grabbed my abdomen
held it with a stern gesture to remind me I exist,
traced a line to my neck and clobbered my tonsils.
Throat dry, tongue coated with unsalted peanuts and unwavering redemption
before anything has even happened.
My whole body felt just as twisted as her lips trying to form an innocuous smile.
(She’s a reptile wrapped in blighted rose petals)
I heard myself say it but I couldn’t imagine,
sputtered & said
--and I’ve never been clever--
I must have heard this somewhere,
handing her the matchbook:
“You wear trouble like a badge of dishonor--
Where do you come from, little lady?”
She inhaled contemplatively.
An expectant woman is the devil’s doing.
Teeny black circles drawn around her eyes,
little full moons full of unmentionables,
a natural tint & a grimace for lip-liner,
divisive core that has gotten on just fine eating her own heart for miles
but she blew out a circle of gray and I know she’d respond,
a Virginia state keychain dangling across her thigh
so you know she’s polite.
“I pledge no allegiance really.”
She stubbed out her short
“I’m an imperfect child of God.
I’ve been water but things got kind of heavy
and, you know, only light things tend to float
so I came here to anchor.”
Lifted her glass to cheers to no one.
“Got sucked into some stream of something
that I couldn’t quite wear right if you catch my drift
so I left him back there.”
She pointed to the double swinging doors.
“Besides, my knees hurt from all the worthless thoughts said aloud
to discomforting floors.”
She took a long drink,
a very long pause,
looked through the mirror like she was some surrendered Arabian
and this was her final mirage.
“The snake owns this year, I’m just a cavity.
Everything is void & sullen.
I’m sick of wandering.
I’m nothing powerful & my God is gone.”
She looked me up and down in that cool way that women have
from fighting the courts and churches over their own used parts, the whining and the flexing,
the endless stampede that leaves them emptied and soaked in someone else’s words
begging their fathers to stop chaining up their favorite dogs
and asking the other boys to be gentler and wait for a response
before they took one in the mouth for little Spot
and took one in the parts for everyone else.
A little stricken, a little bony, a little weak but the gumption always stands the test of time.
There’s a distinct way to do things & she gets them all done
Her muscles are internal, she doesn’t need to wear them the way we behemoths do.
She doesn’t know what’s right but she’s here and she’s warm
& she cuts through places like a wet pocketknife.
With a glance and a calm, calculating smirk that has worked
a thousand times before:
“So… I guess that makes me yours.”
Her breath smelled like whiskey & commas.
Something rattled near her shoulder.
This felt like a dream: bad but not quite a nightmare,
like a lucid wandering in a dark field,
a muffled mew from a distance, some lurking recognition
that you should run but your feet are stuck in the soil
like mud-- not quite—but you can’t go anywhere:
you can only look.
Nothing has happened yet but that noise is shifting shapes
becoming more of a rumble
and you can’t remember the word in English for avalanche
but you know not to turn your back on the emptiness
so you think:
can I run with just knees & let the dirt finish my feet?
Something always taps you first.
Her touch pinches:
a kiss with no ending, insufferable blockage.
Something’s leaving me,
parts of me
unraveling & refurbishing itself as it goes,
running down my legs,
running from the veins in my elbows where she placed her palm
to my eyes that are rupturing beneath so everything is a hazy, unnerving shade of pink--
the spot she let her gaze last fall.
Ears sedated where she placed her soggy tongue.
Something moves inside
-- sharp and large and biting--
liver soaked in some other toxic waste
or is that still me being drained as we don’t speak?
Some other pinprick besides the hollow parts that the bottle leaves.
(Everything else it takes)
The room has disappeared for hours maybe
but there’s something black and wrong with this picture.
Her slender silhouette was there un-silencing the riot.
She cut it open & pulled it out:
the little bit of fang that grew inside of me,
the baby Venus fly trap just starving itself.
It was hoping to eat its way through my spinal column
and then triumphantly soar back out to bait some other catch
but she finished it.
The room moves like one giant wave pool:
endless undulating mass of density.
There are no exits.
Wrists of rivers, estuaries of verbs.
The rupture is her muse.
She’s used to the way it smells & haunts.
The terminal verse that she licks from my missing pieces,
taunting, teasing little thing
and I’m falling asleep
or something else.
Lips in my face,
smile as forgiving as fresh birth.
She finished being,
pressed her mouth to what was left of mine.
I could see the replica of Virginia clasped between her knuckles
and she moaned like a giant:
“Tell me how my God tastes!”
Her breath is hot and feels like an exclamation mark:
unsavory and I’m evaporating.
She swallowed something I recognized as my own.
Something got me.
Something held me.
I’m surrounded by emptiness
so I don’t know which way to face.
We’re in a vacuum sealed balloon with a pin in the center
and I’m panting, gulping at her leaving legs.
I had the ability to say:
“Please don’t. Please stay.
Please finish me.
Please take this away.”
A turn. That smile.
Teeth tough and off-white like little painted prisons.
A wink. A pirouette.
A dusky profile posturing against the drapes.
Shadow of a taut back.
Click of a door shutting. Over and over and over again
like a self-rewinding tape deck.
Light laughter and the tap of boots.
She sped away like I was just another ruined gent,
another emptied glass of spirit,
a satisfied secular desire.
She took my whispered, tearful prayers and held them in her charming hand
and dabbed them to her face
like cream for a cold sore or a hot compress on a bleak December day.
She devoured most of me and then ripped right out
like I was just another Godless place.
Some thing she had finished taking.
Some thing she took away.
She left the hollow parts.
It was God she stole from me.
She hardly was an early riser.
Life at home for her was hell.
and mean threats.
She wrote this on a sunny start of the week, monday.
The sun seemed to have been greatly amused at her wrinkled face.
Recently, she discovered she would release a fart
whenever anxiety or nervousness hit her like a dart.
Her daily life began by 4:30am.
There she was in comfort on her irregular bed,
till a sharp light hit her face
and a thunderous voice boomed her ear drums,
His foot steps made so much sound than his voice.
It was her father.
It wasnt his voice that struck her,
or was it the sight of a whip that he wielded so callously.
It was the angry look he always beared on his face.
It was almost as if he was angry with God for waking him up everyday.
Mixed feelings of fright and fuzziness gripped her
she hastily greeted
He didnt respond.
Her sister stood behind her bed
whimpering in fear.
Only then did she discover who the whip was meant to trash at that moment.
The night before
was a nightmare she have seen before.
Her ingredients failed her,
and her organization
towards the food preparation.
Her Mom hated excuses
Her Dad hated losses and bad soups.
Her promises flew away
Phone accessories became her get-away.
It wasnt the intensity of the funny smell,
or the intense awareness of the pepper and salt,
but it was the searing look her mum had.
Her mom must have mentally shredded her like cabbage, she thought.
Her mom wondered why arguements stuck in her tongue like a tatoo.
Most times she resented her awkward behaviour,
She saw life has an eazy game.
She thought mistakes were a part of our imperfection as human beings and hence should be constantly made.
She didnt understand why God placed her in that family.
Her mom would constantly remind her of the future
She could hear her voice in her sleep
Her mom would speak with her eyes
when her anger has reached a certain height.
played a role
in her usual condescesion.
played a role
in her usual sadistic talk and thinking.
Yin and Yang,
Cold and Hot,
the order of seasons
Either you can change
or you can not.
Such is the nature of Monica.
A Tale of Two
Today was my free day and I longed for some soothing nature time. I had my picnic basket with some food and wine. I wanted to enjoy my afternoon alone. I was just standing there, waiting for the cars to pass me so I could cross the street to the park. He walked by me and the wind blew his scent right to me. He smelled like heaven on earth.
I am very familiar with many scents and this one was new to me. I watched him walk past me. He was hansom with dark hair are mysterious eyes. His hair blowing in the breeze just as mine was. I love that feeling, being caressed by the wind. Before I knew it he was out of sight. I did not see where he had gone, for I had been day dreaming of what he would be like to kiss.
I continued on my way to the park and found a nice quiet place to read my book. I laid out my blanket and flung off my shoes. I wanted to lay there under the fading sun and enjoy the wind flirting with my dress while I read. It’s a warm windy day and its perfect. I had been reading for 30 minutes before I was warmly surprised by the smell that came to me. It was the smell of the man who had passed me. I looked up and saw him; he was standing over me with a poetry book in his hand. I smiled and invited him to sit down.
He smiled and introduced himself as a fellow nature lover. He didn’t tell me his name and at this point I was so surprised by his presence that it didn’t matter. I sat up and I asked him if he would join me in a glass of wine. He comically answered that he is sorry but we both cannot fit in that glass! I laughed and poured two classes of BlackStone red. He accepted with a smile. I lay back down on my stomach with my book half-open. My heart was beating so fast, he was right here with me and I could smell him, it was wonderful. We were strangers and I had no idea how he found me or why.
"What brings you to the park today?" I asked. He didn’t answer me, he just looked into my eyes for the longest time and then slowly bent down and kissed me. I thought my heart was going to be heard for miles. Surely he could hear it! It was a very long sweet kiss, perfect in every way, as if we had been kissing each other for years. I broke my lips free reluctantly and asked him once again, "who are you?" He opened his mouth and he said, "I came to the park today because you are here" I was speechless, I didn’t know what to say.
I turned over and lay on my back ready to question him again. He was right next to me, a man out of a dream, just appearing from no where. My mouth opened to ask once again who he was and as soon as I did his lips fell to mine in a long wet kiss. He was pure heaven to touch tongues with. I was enjoying myself too much to ask him anything. I dropped my book and heard the pages flapping in the wind while we kissed. My hands made their way to his dark hair and I could not help myself, I pulled him closer to me. There was no one around; we were in no danger of being seen. He moved closer to me and held me tight. I could not brake away from his kiss, nor did I want to.
He left my lips on his own, kissing my neck. He whispered in my ear "I have been watching you for a while now". I suddenly felt a little frightened. I do not know this man at all and yet he is kissing me. He reached past me and into my picnic basket. He pulled out the strawberries and nibbled on one while staring at me. I couldn’t speak, I was staring right back and it was like he had my mind engulfed with thoughts.
He then fed me a strawberry very slowly; juice ran down the side of my mouth. He reached down and licked it off with his tongue. I whimpered, I wanted him so bad. He picked up another berry and took a big bite, the juice feel on my chest between my breasts. I looked him in the eyes, smiled and closed my eyes and waited for him to lick it off me. And he did, very slowly lick it off and trailed his tongue down the length of the opening of my blouse.
He began unbuttoning me, my hand went to stop him, and he reached out and held my hand. He kissed my fingers and said, "abandon all fears". I let my hand fall to the grass and let him unbutton me. I was wearing nothing under my shirt, no bra. I felt his breath touch me on my nipple, and I felt it rise to a stiff peak. He took a bite of a strawberry and left half of it on the stem. He kissed me once again, and at the same time I felt the chill of the cold half strawberry touching my nipple.
This was heaven, my god I felt a trickle of my own juice run from my pussy. I was whimpering while he was kissing me. He touched me so slowly and with such care. The cold berry circling my nipple and the kiss at the same time was driving me wild. He moved and began sucking the strawberry mess of my nipple. I held his head to my nipple for a moment, it felt so good. I felt his hand reach for my thigh, soft and warm hand just caressing me. He found my wetness and was surprised by it.
I smiled and giggled, what could I say. He looked right in my eyes and told me I was about to get a licking I would never forget. He was very right! He knew what he was doing, and he made me cum so fast I couldn’t believe it. I was in heaven. Still quivering and whimpering I rolled over on top of him. I kissed him like he was my long lost love. I quickly unbuttoned his pants while a stared at him with glazed satisfied eyes. I moved lower and found his throbbing cock staring at me. I took him into my mouth while I stared into his eyes. I saw the thrill he was having as the moistness from my mouth mixed with the wind as I moved up and down. He tasted and felt wonderful and I couldn’t stop myself from wanting all of it for myself.
I heard the noise of pleasure comes from him and suddenly he stopped me and laid me down in the grass next to the blanket. He wanted me as much as I wanted him. He joined me and made love to me in the grass. The breeze blowing over our bodies, the currents within exploding. He stayed on top of me and started kissing me again.
I broke the kiss and I whispered to him, "Who are you?" He simply reached for the wine and smiled. He filled my glass and placed the cup in my hand while he buttoned my blouse and smiled. I sat up and looked into his eyes, why do I feel is if I know him! He bit my thigh and I jumped spilling the wine on my skirt. I ran to the water fountain to rinse it off and when I looked back he was gone. There was no way he could have left without passing me! I was stunned. I went back to my blanket and collected my things. My book was gone, he taken it. And he had also replaced it with the book of poetry he had brought with him. There was no name written in it, no sign of who he was. Just a book of poetry and a note slipped into a fitting page of love for a moment and it read ‘Meet me in the moon light tomorrow night, I will be waiting" and it was signed no longer a secret admirer.
I saw her again yesterday. This time when I went past, she seemed to notice me. Like so many days recently, she took my breath away. I remember the first time I saw her; she was wearing a sexy black dressed that crossed at the front. Today, she was carrying a picnic basket.
I ducked behind a corner and watched. Who was this woman? And more important, whom is she going to have a picnic with? I followed at a safe distance and watched her unpack & prepare a picnic for one. She started reading a book and I knew she would be there for a while. I don’t know why, but I decided to backtrack and bought collection of Emily Dickinson poems before making my way back to the park. When I got back, my heart pumped hard in my chest. I could feel a throbbing in my head as the blood coursed through my brain.
Suddenly, I was only aware of our immediate surroundings. The sun caressing my face, the wind lapping at my hair. And her. She looked radiant in the dappled light of the afternoon, her hair flowing over her shoulders. Her sensuous mouth twitched every now and again as she read. Something caught her attention and she looked up at me. I was a mess. All I could come up with was that I was a fellow nature lover. I just stood there until she invited me to sit down.
Worse still, when she asked me to join her in a glass of wine, I blurted "I’m sorry, but we both cannot fit in that glass". At least she laughed and when she handed me the wine she asked why I was there. Having made a fool of myself already, I decided that actions would speak louder than words and surprised both of us by leaning forward and kissing her.
Her mouth was beautiful- soft, full lips. I could taste the wine on her lips and as my tongue gently parted them. Her mouth opened to greet mine and I took her lower lip between my lips.
She was reluctant at first but warmed to me and I felt her hand on the back of my head pulling me to her. I was no longer aware of anything but her. Nothing else mattered.
At one point she asked me again why I was there. I couldn’t believe it when I heard myself say that I had been watching her. "Great", I thought. "Don’t worry about looking foolish because now you look like a psychopath". Deciding for the second time that silence was golden, I kissed her again. Our tongues explored each other’s mouths.
I could feel her warm breath on my face and I pressed my body firmly against hers. My leg found its way between her legs as I used it to press on her pussy. Reaching for some of her strawberries, I took one in my mouth and fed her the rest. I put a strawberry half in my mouth and lent forward to give her the rest. She bit into it and our lips caressed as she swallowed it. When some juice escaped her mouth and ran down her cheek, I licked it off, running my tongue in a trail from the base of her neck up to her mouth.
She was now irresistible; I had to have her. I undid her dress button by button. I licked berry juice from her nipple as I felt it harden under my tongue. I ran my tongue around and around her nipple, then from the base of it to the tip. I felt her back arch towards me as my hand wandered down her body. The leg, which had been pressing against her pussy, was damp. Her panties were completely soaked and I was astonished to find her completely shaven as my fingers slipped under the waistband.
She opened her legs as my fingers slipped inside her. As I let my fingers caress her clit, I kissed and nibbled my way down her body. The further I moved down, the stronger her scent became. It was intoxicating and I knew that I must have her juices flowing over my tongue. My fingers slipped under her panties and I gently pulled them down, very slowly. She lifted herself off the ground, inviting me to take them off completely. It felt like I was 6 years old and opening a Christmas present. When they slipped off her ankles, I brought her panties to my face and inhaled deeply.
The scent hit my nostrils and went straight to primitive parts of my brain. I dropped them and immediately ran my tongue up her inner thigh towards her pussy. I stopped before my tongue reached there and let her feel my breath. I enjoyed the smell while I could as I plunged my tongue between her lips and straight into her pussy, the sharp tang of her juice stimulating my taste buds.
She tasted as good as she smelled. I made my tongue rigid and slid the tip of it along her labia up to her clit. My tongue broadened as I delicately licked her clit like it was a melting ice cream. My wet fingers found her nipple and I caressed it to the same rhythm as my tongue on her clit. I felt her orgasm build up and a gush of her cum soaked my chin and my chest.
I was aroused to the point of unconsciousness when she suddenly pushed me on my back and straddled me. She was quick to free my cock and took it in her mouth and looked up at me. Our eyes met in a moment that I will never forget. We both knew what was to come. Releasing my cock, she straddled me and lowered herself onto my cock. We both gasped as she opened up and slipped over my head and down the shaft, her clit grinding against my pubic bone. We kissed deeply as our bodies united and we tasted each other’s juices. When I first saw her, I thought how much I would love to fuck this angel. But we were not fucking, we were making love.
At last, our bodies climaxed as we thrust hard at each other, my cock slamming hard, my balls slapping against her arsehole.
We lay on the soft grass in orgasmic bliss and she asked me again "Who are you?". I avoided the question by biting her thigh, which made her spill her wine. I took my opportunity and left, but not before swapping books with her. I left a note for her asking her to meet me tonight. Such unimaginable beauty and sensuality can only be enhanced by the moons pale light.