once in a while

Waiting, wistful–no, wishful, willful, unwilling, willing perhaps in the window seat, I peek out at the shadows on the street, half expecting your innocent prance past the parked cars across, up the path.

I found your note tucked into the letter box, your invitation, I was here, meet me once more, tomorrow, noon. I am here.

I am here, black sheer stockings rolled up my shaved legs early in the day, garters catching the lace beneath the short skirt, someone saw, blushed, said nothing, carried on, then whispered, he’ll think of me.

Think of me, I know you would be with me, if… If days were longer, if we had the time, space, cherished moments, life itself, some other life. Days grow shorter in autumn, clearer, these blue moons so unusual, still another three years’ wait, I hear, so rare, so lovely, you could.

We could, you know. We could race up the stairs once again, and you could catch me, throw me to the bed and kiss me, yes. You could lay your head in my lap and close your eyes, drift off, then stretch high to lie beside me, hold me close, too close, so close. You could let me love you while you fuck me I fuck you you love me.

Or maybe you do, or did, or wanted to, or could have, or could never say, or never did, or did, or will, or perhaps it was simply fear, or desire, deferred.

To greet you here, love, noon, today, tomorrow, skin so sweet, so six a.m., so Saturday, so sleep, now, love, sleep.

wind

The windows rattle with each gust, wind restless, wind will not let me rest. I lie sleepless with the creaking shutters, the screen door that has not caught downstairs. Too lazy to leave my bed, I lie awake still listening, fearful, until I think the door might tear right off its hinges.

The stairs are warm, to my surprise, as I creep out, stairs so familiar, so welcoming, welcoming as the front door, the screen door now that I lock shut, if only for this night. Night now softer in the glow of a street light, wind ferocious, but it is my match, yes, my match now that I can see it clearly.

From the window below, the stars grow, bright in the sky cleared by the force, the cold bracing, embracing me as I unhitch the door, let it swing open, my hair blowing as I walk down to the path, the cold slap across my face, the searing heat beneath skin, your kiss, your violent lust.

disrobing

You always leave your clothes in the bathroom when you visit me.

You wander naked into my bedroom where I wait for you, fully clothed, because I love the way you undress me slowly, unbuttoning button by button, unhooking hook by hook, lifting fabric and shifting things and leaving things on, then ripping them off in a moment of urgent passion as you realize that they really are in the way of your intentions.

The first time I wore stockings with a garter belt, you ran your hand up my leg and I felt your cock stiffen as you reached the bump of the garter through my skirt then lifted the skirt and looked at it, the black stocking against my white leg, and your hand examining the hooks that held the stocking on. That day I left it on, pantiless I was all day at work anticipating you here in my bed here leaned against the wall half sitting, full of evident lust. I left on the garter belt and the stockings and straddled you as you ran your hands up and down the smooth nylon and fucked me harder as you felt the black lace at the top, folded down my red brassiere and sucked my nipples as I leaned over for you to reach them.

But no, last time you took those things off, your hand playing with the suspenders playing to figure out how they worked. You unfastened them, round the side, in back, and rolled the stockings down my leg as I pulled the garter belt off and unhooked my bra. You pulled the bra off and cupped my breasts in your hand and squeezed my nipples hard so that I gasped as you urged me quickly onto your upright cock.

I want you to come into my bedroom now. I want you to lay me down and unbutton my sweater slowly until you open the sweater and kiss my collarbone gently, gently not gently unzipping my skirt and pulling it off, pushing my legs apart–the panties are already gone–and your head is between my legs, your tongue circling my clit before I can even breathe, much less protest.

But I would not protest. I might whimper and thrash a bit, but protest no, even if I say no, because you know the difference between this no and that no, and you know when to stop, when to go, when to fuck me soft and when to fuck me hard, no holds barred, no bars and no restrictions on the roughness that takes you over as you become excited, as I become excited and want you to, want you to slap me harder until I cry out, harder until I want you to push me harder until you turn me back over and push your cock deep into me, harder. It astounds me how you can do this now and only excite me more. It astounds me how you can let my fingernails dig into your skin, pinch your nipples too hard, let me suck your cock and push my fingers into you, my toys into you as you cry out and fuck me again all plugged from behind and insistent and shaking and coming soon inside of me, shattering me, making my cunt bear down hard gripping you, squeezing every last drop as I climax too.

Oh disrobe me fuck me use me lie inside my cunt your cock drained soft softer kiss.