How Sharp It Felt

This one lover of mine,
we talked the other night,
while he laid in bed,
after finally turning off the laptop.
He sent me pictures of his face
as he laid in shadow,
his features illuminated
by the cold white glow of his phone,
and I sent him pictures of my eyes,
bright and blue,
which he loves to look at.
I listened to his breathing change;
I listened to it catch.
I listened to the familiar sound
of slick skin on skin,
and I let my voice get low and hungry.
I told him all of the things I missed.
All of the things I wanted to do to him.
I whispered to him
about keeping me
a dirty little secret from his wife.
About me keeping him
a dirty little secret from mine.
If they knew what we wanted from one another —
if they knew how easy it was
for me to get him to the edge of forever
with just a few words…
If they knew how sharp it felt
to remember his hand curled around my cock,
his hand around my throat,
his mouth on mine,
lips cold from iced whisky and soda,
if they knew for half a second
the joy that was
the way his eyes would light up to see me,
how could they deny us something so easy,
so natural,
so much a part of their own lives,
like breathing,
as being?

7 responses to “How Sharp It Felt

        • I’ve pressed up to #72! You’re going to have to take a day off from work, get a bottle of Glenmorangie, and just take it all in.

          Not sure exactly how many more issues it will cover… but there’s still a LOT to go.

          …editing a book, are you? Where’s your own? I’ve got another one nearly done. You want to read some smut?


          • I’ll read your smut any day, just let me get through Art’s book (Art Browne – murder mystery). I love editing, honestly. I haven’t done anything on my book, I’m a bit demoralized with it all but that’s life.

            Send me your smut! But give me a bit of time to get to it.


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