Thursday, May 6, 2010
I remember the night he went down on me. It was the first time a man had ever made me beg for him to stop. But I didn't want him to stop. He had me on the edge of the bed, breathless, holding on to sanity by a thread. He had fucked me harder and more deft than any other had. My own hands, once exalted as expert, trembled weakly at his touch. I began to have the thought that if I let him continue, he would hold too much power over me, and I was right. When he left I couldn't get my mind off of him. The way he controlled every nuance, every inch of me, every essence of my being, orchestrated and played like a fine instrument. His smell, his taste, the feel of his skin under my nails, all of these things drove me.
My hands inadvertently slipped down the front of my skirt, stopping at the hem, caressing a sweaty thigh, just the thought of him had caused this reaction.
What else do you want from me?
The mood in the room shifted a bit. I guess it did sound a bit worrisome, like maybe I had something to do with his disappearance. Truth be known I didn't want him to be found. Maybe then I could fall back into a normal routine without the constant ache for his touch. But maybe, I would never be the same. I knew I wasn't the only female that would be questioned. The lobby was full of tarts waiting to be extruded for information. How did I get myself involved like this?
The detectives all stared at me as if I should feed their now raging sexual needs. One was being very professional, standing in the back, looking at me as if he knew I was holding back information. His demeanor read as if he also knew how to drag it out of a woman. I would watch him closely.
For now they were done with me and I was free to go. Certainly straight home to finish what the retelling of my encounters with a missing man had started within me. It would be a long hot night.
to be continued......