Sweet taboo

Take off All your clothes, you ordered. There was not an ounce of doubt; not a flash of hesitation, I complied. You knew I was your puppet, and we both enjoyed it. I stripped, trying to be sensual, but being my clumsy self instead. Of course, I couldn’t get my skinny jeans off my feet. Of course, the hooks of my bra got caught in my hair. Of course, I blushed and wished I hadn’t started this at all. My confidence was hanging on a thinning threat; any moment now, the wrong word – or what I interpreted as the wrong word, would make me run.

Look at me! Another order. I wasn’t submissive, but your voice and the mood we had created in our sanctuary made me obey. I looked at you, and you were smiling. I could see that even though my performance had been underwhelming, your body was reacting to me as much as I was reacting to yours.

You got up from your chair. Large steps. Warm hands. Shivers. Kisses. Nibbles. Don’t move! I didn’t dare to move. I almost forgot how to breathe. I was your prey. You were the predator. You devoured me, and it was the most enjoyable torture I ever endured, entirely at your mercy — flames of lust licking at our souls until they were sticky and we were unable to break apart.

Sweetest taboo. Again and again. We were made of passionate desire; feeding off each other, until it became too much to bear and our hearts exploded; our souls imploded, and our remnants were scattered; blown in the wind — eternal stars on the night sky.

Trapped! (rewrite – repost)

I have this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I know something terrible is going to happen. It has been quiet for too long. We are at war and quiet is never reassuring. It makes you believe that you are safe, but in reality, you are not. You are mere moments away from death. All the time. I have no idea, why we aren’t all going insane and slaughtering ourselves mutually, instead of waiting for the silent killers to take our lives and souls away while we are sleeping. Maybe it is only the fear that keeps us sane and alive.

It is getting dark as I walk down the street. The descending sun paints the sky in beautiful colours. The gravel crunching underneath my feet is all that can be heard, no people, no animals, nothing. And for a moment, I am lost in thoughts. For a moment, I am not afraid. For a moment, I am at peace. For a moment, watching the sun going down, I forget the impending doom. I hear a piano play from inside a house while I walk down the main road of the little village that I am passing. It is soothing. It is a bit of normalcy in a life that became too restricted lately. I needed to run and break free from everything and everyone who held me down, and now I am here. Tired, hungry and covered in grime. I don’t have the patience nor the discipline to stay in one place for too long. I can’t stand being with the same person for too long before I get bored. I need a change of scenery quite often. I need my freedom. I need my independence. I can’t submit to rules that I don’t understand and don’t require. One could say that I am a rebel, other would say that I am a coward. I am simply me. With all may layers. I add new layers daily. No one knows who I really am. Not even me.

My skin gets prickly, and the hair on my arms stand on end. I knew it. Too quiet. Too peaceful. And that’s when I hear that now so familiar sound. Bells. The telltale alarm sign. Bombs are coming. I hear the planes before I see them, and then, the first bomb is going down with a whistling sound. I see an explosion on the other side of the village, and I run.

I have no idea where I am, but I run. It is all I can do. Screams. Panic. Pain. Explosions that are in quick succession. Where am I supposed to hide? A woman comes running out of a house. She wears no shoes, but she doesn’t care. In her arms, she holds a small bundle. It takes me a second to understand that she is trying to save her child. The look on her face is one of pure horror. It’s the horror of war that turns beautiful faces into pale grimaces.

Politicians are deciding from safe places to kill innocent civilians, because of greed and for more power. We are collateral damage. People die, children die. Families lose sons and their entire existences, but the war goes on. Our future fades and turns into something unreachable every time we hear the sirens or the bells warning us from the evil that is raining from the sky.

The only thing we all have in common is fear. Constant fear. We don’t want to lose, but we the civilians, we the poor, can never win. We can’t win because all is lost. There is nothing left for us when the rich fed their protruding bellies with food and greed.

I keep running, scanning my surroundings for shelter, but safe space is sparse, and I am a stranger in this town. Who wants a stranger in their shelter, taking their space? I understand them, I really do. But I just want to live through this air raid and get on with my life. I don’t want anything else. I just want to live.

On a field left of me, I see the shadow of a man walking down into the earth. I shake my head at my own stupidity. There must be a bomb shelter, how else could a man walk down into the earth. I know that reaching this shelter is a matter of living and dying now.

Fear. My body is shaking, and I don’t know where the will and strength to survive are coming from. The noise is deafening, and I start running faster. I stumble over stones and upturned soil a couple of times, but that won’t stop me from running across the field. I have to get to that shelter. Maybe it is my only chance of seeing tomorrow. I want to see another sunrise.

Out of breath and determined to not fail when I am this close, I reach the closing doors just in time to pull them open again. A man stares up at me. If the look on his face is a mirror of mine own, he is as scared as me. He doesn’t hesitate to let me in, and with joint forces, we close the metal doors above our heads. Safe for now. The stranger descends the ladder.

Adrenaline is still pumping through our veins. Through mine. A loud rumble erupts over us. I’m still standing on the ladder, and I can feel it shaking. I pray to every deity in heaven to make this shelter safe. I climb down the rest of the way and hear a loud explosion again. I duck and put my hands over my head in a shielding manner. Rationally, I know that my hands on my head will not save me, but I do it anyway.

Nothing else happens, and I look at the man. I don’t really see him as a man. Not the way I usually watch men. I can’t say if he is handsome or which colour his eyes have. It is not essential now.

The stranger and I, we walk a little further into the shelter. There is another door, and he leads me through it; we close that one too. From one moment to the next, it is silent. Eerily so. The man finds a switch, and a flickering light bulbs cast a dim light over us. We both stand in the near dark, looking at the door as if we could see through it. See what is happening on the surface.

Maybe it’s just as good, that we can’t see anything. We can’t see the devastation and the destruction. We can’t see the pain in people’s eyes, and we can’t smell death. I feel my heartbeat in the vein on my neck. He must hear my blood pumping through my body in this absolute silence. There is a bed in this room and a table with two chairs. Along the walls are shelves, filled with tin cans and different supplies. I don’t want to look at it all. I don’t want to think about having to stay here. I am a bird. I need to be free.

We don’t speak. We just listen and wait. In this almost dark. Unconsciously, we move closer together. I can feel the heat of his arm against mine. It’s reassuring that I am not by myself. He must feel the same. We are comforting each other with our presence, not with words.

My legs are starting to get tired, and my neck is getting stiff from looking intensely at the door. It is still silent outside. No explosions, no rumble. No noise at all. I am not sure what is more frightening. The bombs or the silence.

After a while, my companion announces, that he wants to go up again. I follow him closely. I don’t want to stay behind. Be alone. At the top of the ladder, he tries to open our only way out, but he doesn’t succeed. He pushes harder and still, nothing happens. The metal door doesn’t budge.

I get up there too. Space on the ladder is very restricted, but maybe two can move more than one person alone. We push. But nothing moves. I have a vivid vision of one of us falling down the ladder and the other having to spend the rest of his own life with a decaying corpse. It makes me shudder, and I push harder until the muscles in my arms refuse to cooperate. Sweat runs down my face. I need to get out. I need to fly.

“Stop it! Gather your strengths. We are trapped.” The stranger hangs his head in defeat and walks down to the room where we were before. He is giving up. Why is he giving up? I need to get out of here.

Then, the realisation hits me hard; Trapped! It resonates through my head. My worst nightmare is coming true.

cold coffee

I pushed the door open with my foot, startling you. Your eyes were filled with sleep; mine were full of mischief. I came to your room with the intention to wake you up with the smell of coffee, but seeing you like this; naked, hard, embarrassed; it did things to me.

You were a guest in my house. A friend. The polite thing would have been to apologise and leave. But I couldn’t. I was hungry. Starving. And not for food. You looked at your erection, then at me. I licked my lips and tried to find a safe place for that cup of coffee in my hand.

You sat up and reached for the sheets to cover yourself. I shook my head. “Don’t, ” I croaked. You rose an eyebrow, probably intensely aware of the situation too. I kept my eyes on you, avoiding to see myself ungracefully join you on the mattress through the mirror on the wall.

“Hi, ” you said as if you were seeing me for the first time. Your hand was already in my hair, pulling my head; my lips, to yours.

Outside, rain was joining the wind that had been up all night. Inside, we were joining too.

Everything fit. Profoundly. Almost overwhelmingly. The natural flow of things didn’t take us aback. It didn’t leave room for doubts or vanities. Every touch meant something. Every time I felt your tongue on my heated skin, it felt as if I was becoming a part of you. Your hands explored my body as if they had never done anything else. The weight of you on my tongue was exactly right, and your taste made me swallow you as often as I could. I was drowning in our lust.

When you finally penetrated me, it only took a moment before the world exploded for me. Shivering, sweating, swearing, I encouraged you to keep moving. But you didn’t. You lay on top of me; your hands were caressing my hair, your eyes were searching my face for something that I couldn’t pretend wasn’t there. A smile appeared on your lips. Proud of yourself and how you had undone me, you kissed me. You were pulsating inside of me, but not moving. Heavenly torture. I begged for more, gyrated my hips underneath you, but you were stubborn. And too close to be consumed by our lust too.

Two micro moves later, you stopped breathing. Your sweat was dripping down on me from the tip of your nose; your eyes were closed. A strangled noise left your lips just before you started to breathe again.

I had seen you. I had felt you. And it left me breathless; and not only because your full weight was on my body now. The beauty and surprise of us in this situation was overwhelming. You kissed my temple and rolled off me with a loud groan and a chuckle. Your arm covered your eyes, and your hand was running up and down your stomach. The most handsome man who I had ever been with.

I put my head on your chest, your heartbeat sang a song for me, while I retraced the pattern of the tattoos on your skin. Your eyes were filled with sleep again. I covered us with the crumbled sheet, making sure that the wet spot we left was covering me and not you.

In a while, I would worry about the meaning of it all, but right then I decided to go with the flow and let it happen.

Only the coffee had grown cold.

Untitled (or raging storm)

Through the raging storm, I can see your radiating soul; your sparkling beauty that leads me away from the safe shore. You are begging and pleading for me to descend into the obscure with you, but there is still some fight in me. I am swimming against the current, refusing to bow down before you. O, but I see you and I want you to see me too, before you devour me and throw my rotting pieces into the fire. Dust. Your sweet soul is burning me, and there will be no ember left to rekindle. Burnt alive by the searing passion you ignited in me. My ashes will be blown away by the wind where I will become one with you, in the eye of the raging storm.

I hate prompts

Sara’s hands were roaming over the keys of the keyboard. She had always known what to write without giving it too much thought. She sat down, and the words would appear out of nowhere. Page after page were filled this way. It seemed to be a lifetime away now.

It was before Dennis had vanished from her life. Dennis had been her muse. He had been her inspiration. He had made her believe in the beauty of all things. Everything was energy in his eyes, and for a while, he had been her fuel.

Sara covered her face with her hands, shaking her head and letting out a low groan. Chuckling, she cursed. “Damn it, ” she pushed herself away from her desk and stepped to the window. It was dark outside. Pitch black. She could only see her own reflection. It was a sight she had tried to avoid ever since Dennis had left. Her mind threatened to drift from her content present to a grim past.

“Write Sara!” she ordered herself. She drank a glass of tap water and sat down in her chair again. Inspiration was still elusive. Sara began surfing the internet to find something to write about. Something that touched her enough to make her want to put it into words. There was nothing, and she decided to use the help of a site that shared writing prompts. She found hundreds of them. But there was not one that she wanted to work with. “I hate prompts,” she sighed and smiled. Once she had known a man, who used to say the same words. She smiled and let the memory take her away and onto the clouds of a daydream.

Dedicated to R.A. 💜

when two become one (repost)

“I had these ideas about you and now none of them are true…”
“Like?”
“Well… You’re a smoker.”
“Been one for 30 years. What else?”
“You’re smaller than I expected”
*He groans, rolls his eyes and puts his cigarette out with the heel of his sneaker. She’s embarrassed and nervous, trying to find words to say that aren’t offending or insulting in this awkward situation.
“Go on…”
“You are much more handsome than on your pictures.”
*He smiles. She’s back on track.
“What else?”
“I said “no” when you asked about being intimate on our first date. I meant “yes”.”
*The admission leaves her timid and waiting for rejection. She puts a lock of hair behind her ear. It jumps right back to where it was. He stands straighter, anticipating what will be happening next.
“I can’t see how this has anything to do with the way you imagined me to be”
“I judged you. I don’t know you.”
*It’s almost an apology. Almost.
“We spoke on the phone for two years.”
“I know.”
“You know exactly who I am. Maybe not my mannerisms or my daily habits. You know the deeper me. You know me better than anyone else.”
*It’s flattering to hear these words, but she is sceptical. Does he really tell the truth or is this his way of getting what he wants? It doesn’t matter. Who cares? She gives in. No reason to fight the feelings she doesn’t want to fight.
“You had me with that smile, moments before you said hello.”
“Two years ago I told you that I would never fall in love with you and that I only want sex from you. I lied.”
*She blushes and smiles at his feet. She still doesn’t know what he sees in her; she is short and overweight; and he could have every girl he wants.
“Come here… We don’t have a lot of time. Let’s make the best of it.”
*She nods. Their eyes are locked and their breaths mingle, moments before their lips touch. Her heart races and her knees feel weak. Electricity. He tastes of cold smoke and she can feel his smile on her lips. His hands find an immediate way under her shirt. The heat of his skin on her back leaves imprints on her soul that she can never wash off. She needs more of him. All of him. As much as he is willing to give. If he lets her in, she will submit to him, surrender to his needs. She will become his everything. With an urgency, they find the bed  behind them. Clothes are quickly disposed of. There is no time to waste. Not even to appreciate the  nakedness of the other. He used to ask her to tell him that she loves him. For the first time, these words leave her lips without being a lie, just as he enters her and fills her in a way she hasn’t felt in years. Completion. This encounter is more than she ever expected it to be. It is less too. Two lonely humans giving in to their primal urges after building up to this moment for more than two years. Everything they ever said, everything they ever wrote; every picture they ever shared – everything led to this moment. The moment when two became one. And although everything that was happening right there was ordinary, nothing about it was, in fact, ordinary. Moans, sweat, the scent of sex, the creaking of the bed. Two people who stopped thinking. Only existing.

Working title: upside down

A bullet whistled past her ear as she ran for shelter. Milly dug her head in, exhaling a deep breath. This one had been too close for comfort. And she kept running. She heard bullets missing their target, missing her. In the distance she heard heavy footsteps following her, but she stood her ground. More and more distance was appearing between her and the men who hunted her. Her lungs were burning and her legs were heavy but she had to keep going. There was no other option. Milly had to ditch the two gorillas soon. She ran left, she ran right. She turned right into a small alley and knew she had to act quickly. Assessing her possibilities, she jumped on the trash container, climbed up the ladder, and she had a half second to spare to hide on the fire escape of an apartment. A large flower pot hid her from view. She saw the men stopping almost directly under her. She willed her breath to even out, all she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears. She prayed that these dumbasses didn’t hear it too. They looked around and cursed. They were both panting and holding their guns tightly but they didn’t shoot. There was nothing to shoot at, because she was hiding above them, and no one looked up. A moment later they admitted defeat and left with their heads hanging in shame and bickering about whose fault it was that the girl got away. She didn’t want to trade places with them. Giuseppe was not a nice guy and he didn’t tolerate failure. Failure. She hadn’t failed. She just hadn’t succeeded. She knocked on the window behind her twice and a young man opened. Bleary eyed he look at the sweaty woman. Without a word, she climbed inside the apartment, closed the window behind her and plopped down on the bed that stood in the middle of the room. The man observed her every move, his arms were crossed over his naked chest as if he was waiting for an explanation. But it never came. She undid the laces of her boots, shrugged out of her jacket and found a comfortable position on the preheated bed. The adrenalin was leaving her body, and she felt exhausted. If anyone had watched the scene, the pair would have looked like a couple. They weren’t. In fact, the man found a way out of his stupor asking: “I’m sorry, but who are you?” The woman was already almost asleep and slurred: “just for one night, please. I’ll be gone tomorrow.” Josh looked at the sleeping beauty. He was perplexed. He should have done something, but he didn’t know what. And he was tired too. He pulled a spare set of blankets from the cupboard in the hall but immediately returned to his bedroom. He had no intention of letting a stranger, albeit beautiful, alone in his home. That night Josh slept on the floor. That night Milly fell asleep in a soft bed engulfed by a very comforting manly scent, never releasing the tight grip on her gun.

Find a Little Love in me 1-20

1

I tried to forget him. I tried to find a way to live without the man of my dreams. But I couldn’t. Sam was in every memory; in every breath I took; in every word I wrote. My life went on. It had to. Although he had left me over a petty argument. My bed was empty without him. My life was empty without him. I needed something to fill that all-consuming void. Something. Anything. But I had no idea what that was supposed to be. He had left and he had taken me with him. Who was I without him?


2

Every morning, I got up, showered, had a cup of coffee and headed to my car. I got in, took a chewing gum out of the glove box, fastened my seatbelt and pulled out onto the street. My morning were dull. Ever since he had left me, there was no spontaneous lovemaking in the shower, no American pancakes filling my home with their sweet scent, no kiss that made me get out of the house too late. Every morning became efficient in their routine. No move was unnecessary. This boring way of life kept me from dealing with the pain of having lost him.


3

At work, I wore my brave face. I joked with the colleagues, and smiled with the parents who left their toddlers at our facility. My private life wasn’t allowed at my work place. Here too, I followed the routines that had set in. I peeled fruit and arranged it in bite-sized portions on plastic plates. I smeared bread with cheese and filled glasses with water. After breakfast, I cleaned sticky mouths and hands, and I changed diapers. All the while, I smiled and pretended to be happy. Singing, dancing, entertaining, and repeating everything again and again. It was the glue that kept me together.


4

My only weakness was naptime. Sitting in the bedroom, waiting for the children to find some rest, I too had time to think. I had time to miss him. I had time to count the days since he was gone. The even breath of the toddlers indicated that they were asleep. I exhaled, took my phone, and began to a scroll on my screen. On a site, I had recently met an interesting man. He liked to talk about movies and music. He liked books and apparently, he was working as a writer. I found him oddly fascinating, but Matt was no real distraction from Sam and my broken heart.


5

I had a private message and it made me smile. Matt asked about meeting me for coffee or a drink some day. He said he had tickets for a concert and if I wanted to join him, he would be happy. I didn’t reply to the message. I was not looking for someone else. I was happily licking my wounds. On the other hand, he had tickets to see Matthew Ryan and I had wanted to see him live for a long while. I didn’t know what to do and how to react. And I didn’t have time to deal with it right away. Saved by a crying baby.


6

But every workday has to end and mine did too. Walking to the parking lot, I thought back to that message and the invitation to the gig. Maybe I should step out of my comfort zone and do it. Just going with the flow and enjoy myself. I was not expecting to fall in love, but at least there was a possibility to have a nice evening with a man I enjoyed talking with. I didn’t have anything to lose. Apart from my broken heart.
“Pick me up at 7? I’ll text you the address” Before I could reconsider, I hit sent and drove home.


7

I was hungry. The fridge was full, but I couldn’t find anything I wanted to eat. And so I kept opening and closing the fridge for a while, realizing every time that there was nothing new inside. I plopped down on the couch with a load of laundry to fold and watched reruns of “Murder, she wrote”. The show reminded me of my grandfather. He used to watch things like that all the time. With the TV on and mindlessly folding pants and shirts, I felt thoughtless. My mind was blank. It was new, but not unwanted. It made room for something else.


8

It made room for hope. For the first time in a while, Sam didn’t dominate my thoughts. I didn’t relive this or that situation while folding this or that shirt. Was I freeing myself from the shadow of my ex lover? We had spent three years together. Was I ready to let him go? Maybe my heart had moved on, and my head hadn’t? If I had friends I cared about enough, I would have reached out and asked for advice. But I kept every one away from me. I didn’t allow anyone to get too close to me. And that was why he had left me.


9

The sun was setting and it became dark in my home and in my heart. I turned on the lights, but there was some darkness that kept looming above me. I had these moments of abject loneliness, of hopelessness. Often, they came without a warning, and before I could even react, I was reduced to a bawling mess. There was this dark cloud that kept me company. A dark veil wrapped itself around my thoughts, choking every attempt of happiness. I turned off the lights, made sure that my door and windows were locked, and headed to the bedroom. On top of my already miserable state, Matt didn’t get in touch. He hadn’t picked me up to see Matthew Ryan.


10

I shed my clothes, they felt restrictive and suffocating, and got into bed. I grabbed my pillow – the one I had since early childhood and that comforted me with its smell, and inhaled. Why did everyone abandon me? Why didn’t I deserve some love? It took all the strength I thought I didn’t have to keep from sending a needy message to Sam. I didn’t want to be that girl. I was better than that. But I was lonely. Naked. Raw.
*ding*
“Hey are you okay? You didn’t share any music with me today ”
He was right. After having been stood up, I hadn’t gotten in touch. Was I supposed to act as if I didn’t care?


11

“Sorry Matt. I had a bad day” I texted him. It was the first time I even considered lowering my guards with him. Everything had been shallow until now.
“Wanna talk about it?”
Did I? Was I the kind of girl who poured her entire emotional baggage onto someone else? But I was in distress and I had nothing to lose.
“I’ve been left not that long ago. Some days it is really hard. I don’t know who I am without him. And I don’t remember who I was before him. It’s messed up.” I hit send and groaned. I didn’t expect and answer. But it came.


12

“You will be okay. The woman I know doesn’t need a man to tell her how to feel and who to be. Wanna meet for a drink tomorrow?” His text made me cry, and I was glad he couldn’t see me.
“I am sorry that I am such a mess,” I apologised.
“You are human and we are made of emotions.” I smiled. I didn’t deserve anyone this kind.
“I will try and catch some sleep now. Thank you for being there.” I ignored his invitation for a drink. I was in no shape to make such a decision.
“Sleep Shelly. I will be here tomorrow.”


13

I woke up and assessed my state of being. The heaviness from the day before was gone, only residual melancholia scraped at the edge of my thoughts. I took my phone and sent out a message before I began with my usual routine.
“Thank you for having been there. For now, I am better.” I didn’t wait for a reply. I got in the shower, shaved my legs and pubic area – just for me, and washed my body. Already I felt more desirable. I took time to straighten my hair and find something nice to wear. I always did that when I didn’t feel all too well.


14

Work was over too soon. I had fun that day. The colleagues had complimented my hair, which lightened my mood. The kids weren’t any trouble that day, and even my boss had nothing but nice things to say. I didn’t think about Sam. But Matt was a constant in my thoughts now. His kindness, and his willingness to be there at my worst – it meant something to me. I had a fuzzy feeling inside. And whenever he was on my mind, I smiled.
“Still up for that drink? I will be at the Club tonight.” Confident and satisfied with myself, I got home to make the best of me.


15

As I sat there nursing my beer, I didn’t wonder why he hadn’t replied to my message. My mood was too good. I smiled and I flirted, but the longer I sat in that bar alone, the more I wished I wasn’t there. I started to feel uncomfortable. All eyes were on me. Or at least it felt that way. Matt had stood me up. All talk, no action. I grabbed my tote bag and threw some money on the counter. It was a heavy tip, but I didn’t care, I felt tired. I just wanted to go home, and forget about this evening. Matt was just like him. I was too stupid.


16

I wrote several messages but I sent none. They all sounded petty and childish. I wanted to act like an adult. We weren’t a couple. There had been no promises. Matt had asked me out twice. I should have waited for his affirmation. I groaned and threw my heels in the closet. In the bathroom, I rubbed my face with a washcloth until the mask came off. My face was red and swollen. I felt raw and swollen on the inside too. Just to punish myself, I opened old chat logs of Sam and me. He had been charming in the beginning. Until everything had become about sex.


17

For Sam, I had become a slut. I had sent nude pictures in various positions. He had asked to show myself like this and like that. Once in a while, he sent something back. It had felt good to take these naked pictures. To see myself as a sensual being. It had changed me. But the knowledgeable that he still had those pictures made me uncomfortable. I wanted to text him and ask him to delete my pictures. But who was I to believe that he had kept them? I was sure he had moved on, and that he had found a new woman to manipulate. Anger rose in me. Why didn’t he say something?


18

“stupid,” I pushed out through clenched teeth. I didn’t believe in regrets. Was Sam making me regret our time together? I chose to believe that I had changed in our three years together. I wanted to believe that I was more of a woman now than I had been before. I was stronger. And I was weaker. Most of all, I was alone. Before him, I had had friends. Now that he was gone, I only had myself. And I didn’t like my own company a whole lot. I raided the fridge to stuff my face. No need to look pretty for anyone anymore.


19

Matt didn’t get in touch. He didn’t apologise for standing me up. There was silence on all channels. I messaged him a couple of times, but even after telling him that I was worried, he stayed silent. It worried me even more. In the meantime, I tried to distract myself with cleaning my home. While doing so, I realised that I didn’t have any hobbies. I didn’t have any friends. I didn’t know what to do with myself when I was on my own. I didn’t want to go out and meet new people. I wanted to be on my own. But I didn’t want to feel this lonely and alone


20

I realised that Sam had put me here. I tried not to think about him and mentioning his name, but it was the truth. Sam had wanted me all for himself. I dressed the way he wanted. I ate what he ordered me to eat. I felt what he made me feel. He had been my guide. My light. He had made me who I was. But he was not here anymore. He had moved on as soon as he had made sure that I was broken beyond repair. “No one will ever love you like I do.” Sam had repeated those words again and again.


To be continued

Heatwave – mature content

The heat, it got to her. She had always had a healthy sex-drive, but this here right now was a lot, even for her standards. She felt insatiable. Always in the mood.

Naked as she was, she let the light breeze, that found a way into her bedroom, caress her skin. It was as if her lover was gently tracing her nooks and folds and crannies with his tongue. She closed her eyes and arched her back. This felt good. Her hands knew where to go on their own. No explanation needed. One hand massaged her breast and played with her nipples, while the other hand traveled south. Legs spread wide, she didn’t waste time. Too good. She was wet. Not moist; no, dripping wet. The sound her body made as her fingers entered her spurred her on. She needed it. Right then. Right there. The smell of her own sex engulfed her and laid a thin veil over her senses, blocking out her environment. Sweat was covering her; droplets rolling down and pooling between her breasts. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue moaning deep within her throat. Almost there. She didn’t take her time, didn’t prolong the explosion that was at the tips of her fingers. Her legs were shaking. Ragged breath. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes were closed. More. More. More of this. Her hips moved on their own accord, trying to find more friction. The tingling that had started inside of her was spreading fast. She threw her head back with another moan. Her back was arched, her hair was drenched in sweat. Pulling her legs back to reach more; to enter herself deeper. It was there, she felt the wave coming. Ready to let her lose her mind.

Another touch startled her. Not her own hands. They ruined her orgasm. Calloused, male hands. Asking for permission to continue what she had started. She took her hand from her pussy, tasting her own lust with a sly grin. Eyes meeting eyes. Dilated pupils didn’t hide their carnal desires. The sensation of his hands on her was too much to bear. He knew how to push her buttons. He knew exactly how to read her body. What had started slow and casual was building up again. She was biting her hand to keep herself from screaming out her lust, but he didn’t allow it. He demanded to hear her. And there it was. The right touch. The right pressure. Too fast. Too soon. Her entire body tensed. She stopped breathing. And the heat swallowed her from within. Sensitive to his touch, she tried to move away, but he was not done. The night was young and it was too hot to sleep anyway…