The first time your fingers played
itsy bitsy spider up the
insides of my thighs,
I fluttered, shuddered with the curtains in the cold
and spread my legs wider.
But you only used this as a sly vehicle
to get to your insistent thrusting that left me
staring at black spots on the ceiling,
wondering if they were centipedes
preparing to dive onto your naked back
that moved like a dolphin in the dark.
You pushed my pillows up against the wall
and my neck ached regretfully as I
remembered
your finger
creating radiant heat,
beautiful, like the
three
distinct
colors
in a candle's flame,
and I missed that feeling,
like natural disasters taking place
in the nucleus of my body,
my toes curling in their effort to get to safety.
After your departure
from me,
from my life,
I started noticing repeat porn on Cinemax,
recalling plots and characters, Kama Sutra and conspiracies,
and I realized I could get me off better than you.
Like an adult wearing swimmies in the shallow end
of the pool,
I stuck a hand down my purple bikini briefs
and spread my legs wider.
I think I'm in love, and
perhaps the next step in this intimate relationship
is
the Water Dancer power massager. Then I can really
go to town.
+++
Bio: Stephanie Pekarsky is a recent graduate of Emerson
College's Writing, Literature and Publishing program.
She is now an editor for the Louis Berger Group, Inc.
- an engineering firm in New York City. Her work has
been published on sites such as people2people.com
and eroticblvd.com.
