The Waiter

Imagine pure strength dipped in chocolate. His hands could crush me. And I would let them. His eyes pierced like the sun. I could never look for long. I longed for him to touch me. For his mass to cover me like an eclipse. No escape. I needed no escape. Just complete submission to his reign. In my mind, thick fingers graze my neck, lightly at first before he deepens his push digit by digit. My breath thins and I welcome it.  My body is his to take, gently, roughly, I give it to him. 

Imagine the sweetest song, composed just for you. Its rhythms matching the beat of your heart, its melodies humming the secrets no one knows. But he knows. He knows and he sings you to you, just for you. Others may hear but only you understand and he knows this. A secret between the two of you. He walks towards you and the harmonies grow louder between your thighs.

Imagine the face of an angel and the body of a god. Imagine the deepest, finest, richest mahogany rubbing against your wanting skin. He has no regard for the others in the room. He looks at only me. He leans over me, runs his massive hands through my hair and tugs. I do not flinch. I ask for more. He leans closer, pushes the table in front of me away. Stands over my body completely, his girth magnetic to my core. I do not flinch. I ask for more. He bends now, looks me square in the eyes, grabs my face when I instinctively attempt to look away. 

"Don't," he says. 

He kisses my cheek and I die. His inebriating scent gathers into a cloud that I mount and I float away. My eyes roll to the back of my head and he kisses my neck. My nipples awaken, hungry and jealous. He knows. He focuses on the buttons on my shirt. Undoes the top one slowly then rips the rest away in one aggressive swoop. I do not scream. I ask for more. 

I ask for more. 

"More?" he asks. 

"More," I beg. 

"I'm sorry, ma'am, what is it you want more of?"

My eyes roll forward and open. 

"Excuse me?" I ask. 

"I haven't taken your order yet so what do you want more of? Do you need more water?"

"Um, ahem, yes, please, thank you."

He leaves me. He leaves me devastated and thirsty. Water, the last thing on my mind. 

My husband's deep sigh carries across the table but doesn't touch me. I don't let it touch me. 

"Do you think we can come to this restaurant just once without you drooling over the waiter?" he asks. 

"No, my love, probably not."

Cherry Dream

Everything about her was welcoming. Looking at her smelled like Thanksgiving dinner. Touching her tasted like warm apple pie. I graze her breasts timidly, my hands slipped under her shirt, while my own body is bare. Her satin blouse feels like my mother’s. I think they have the same perfume as well. Her long rustic hair curls past her shoulders, settling around her breasts, helping me tickle her nipples. She looks at me with love and concern in her eyes. She loves me and is concerned about me. No one else loves me. No one else cares about me or for me.

The sunlight coming through the window kisses her hair so gently it nearly makes me cry. I want to be that sun. She touches my cheek and smiles. She touches my neck and smiles. I flinch and then calm. Her love is overwhelmingly unexpected but too good not to accept.

Now she is naked. Her freckled cream body presented before my smooth brown skin. I want them to touch but it is difficult to move. Maybe I’d take her to the blue light with me. The blue light is where I’m going when I die. We can’t go now because the blue light is dark and her light is too bright for it. It dawns on me that she won’t be able to come with me when I die.  I can’t worry about it. That thought is too heavy. The sunlight intensifies from a kiss on her hair to nearly engulfing her. I focus on one freckle and it is all I can see, the rest of her body just shining a perfect light. The light that comes through the classroom window after an educational film viewing in elementary school on a crisp fall day or the light that’s there when your mother finally comes to pick you up. It’s fleeting but the most intense. A powerful punch before it says goodbye.

 I try to focus on more than one freckle at a time. The sun softens and allows it. Her light lets me in, lets me view most of her. She rubs her hands up and down my arms and her light begins to spread. I feel its warmth travel behind me, on my back, on my backside. It’s not as bright on my skin, though. That’s not possible. I belong to the blue. I’m happy about that but I’m still enjoying her light, its warmth. She holds my hands; her fingers are thin and sensual. I get strong enough to move closer. I look at her stomach and smile. Her breasts lie in the upper corners of my eyes and steal my attention instantly, pink nipples. My tongue goes to them. One lick and I can’t help but cry. She strokes my hair and I descend to my knees. I rest my face onto her waist, nuzzle my nose and smell the skin on her hip bone. It’s warmer than the rest of her body. I wrap my arms around her, resting myself on the cool of her backside.

The winds between her legs begin to blow. They are surprisingly blue, light blue, but still, we are more alike than I thought. She strokes my hair and I am comforted. My ear travels to her belly and I hear the rush. It is coming. I look up to her, a tear diving down my cheek. She whispers, “Go on.” Her legs spread and the winds pick up. There is a single drop and she gasps. I can’t let any more escape; I have to catch it. I place my widely parted lips, plump and ready on her opening and close my eyes, for only a moment. Her light is too beautiful to resist. There is a slight vibration and the blood pours into my mouth, down my throat. I gulp as swiftly as I can, anxious not to miss any. Two streams escape from the corners of my mouth, mixing with my tears. I hate it but still; it’s a small price to pay for the glistening red river feeding my soul: smooth and creamy, salty and fresh. I drink and she loves me. She loves me and cares for me.