As my muse has obviously abandoned me as of late, I offer up bits and pieces of works unfinished.
His body was like a map to me. A car passed outside, and as the light played over his body, the beams becoming everchanging highways and detours. I was above and on top of him, he was below and inside of me. I was rocking back and forth, feeling him harden inside me, pushing, sliding out and in again. I used my hands as a counterbalance, pressing in on him, roaming over his chest, marking distance, measuring topographical textures.
I stepped into the shower and put my hand on the wall to steady myself as my head swirled. We had talked about him coming up to visit and stay with me awhile. I was almost struck down by the imagined vision of him standing in that shower all tanned and perfect… hair slicked, water dripping off his body and the come hither look on his face.
They left the bar, him going his way, and her going her own. As far as the road, anyway. At the juncture where they should have taken opposite turns, he slammed his truck into park, forcing the door open, striding back to hers where he yanked her out of the car, to fall up against him, crushing his lips against hers.
Meh. I can’t seem to write anymore.