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Sunday, May 31, 2009




Scared


One girl gets scared of another in a flirtatious moment turned vulnerable.

A noise is made in haste and then a moment of suspense as the breath and life is stifled for as long as it takes to make a point or end a life. Either option is preferable to the sound of interruption and complaint. Compliance and silence is more what is desired in a moment like this. Her hand pressed so hard as to cut off all air and squeeze the young flesh of the face against the skull and the eyes open wide as she tries to see and hear what the moment has in store for her next. Her heart pushing hard against her chest her and her vulva swollen with blood as her juices flow like a river.

Her captor is betraying safety and boundaries in exchange for the upper hand and she is feeling the power of dominance surge through her as she gives in to the fear driven temptation that she can take what she wants and its time to do so. She maneuvers her weight over the grip she holds across her victims face and she buries her fingers into the other vixen’s crotch and pulls an ample handful of sweat and secretion that belies the order of the moment. Desire begotten by desire in perfect unison without any judgment or moral to cloud the rush of intensity that is now delivered to every extremity in this coupling. Sounds are liquid and air surging and sighing, gasping and flowing. The air smells thick and sweet as if blood has engorged the walls of the room and made it thickened with lubrication.

There are no social boundaries left. This is fucking with all the twisting and writhing and struggling that word promises but is seldom delivered at its utterance. This is the sub-conscious moment that all masturbation defers to, whether it be pussy or cock or asshole or nipple or lips or earlobes.

This is that moment that is under the surface of every held hand and exchange of phone numbers and last glance before we turn away from each other. In the dark, damp caves of our primordial desires, this is all we ever wanted. In one moment, before orgasmic splendor drips away into human culpability and order that will superimpose and bring about a condition where a role must be played with a past and a future.

The sad fact is this moment has a drain plug that will be pulled and the fulfillment will drain away like used motor oil from an engine that is long overdue for a change. It becomes dark and regrettable as it is thought about afterward. But, in the moment it is expulsion of the ordinary and capture of the taste of relinquishment to the carnal instinct to fight for pleasure anyway you can.

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