“It was the way a woman gazes at a man that seduces him,” he said. It was her stance spread apart in delicate stiletto so aware of the liquid fire beneath her crescent moon. He wanted a sample of the sensual depth deep inside her. “The first day my eyes devoured you, I wanted you then and I want you now,” he tells her. Maybe, it was that savory virgin oil. Her cunt became sweetened with the thick scent of a get away ticket to gushing waves of pain. This mahogany girl with dark russet curls, filled with lies, daydreaming of a romantic triste to palazzo da mula, only to end up in the whore house of bombay. Blindfolded, he guided through her poignant air. He slid the door open Don Juan style, to red rose petals splashed across a divan sized bed like entangled lovers amidst the glow of soft scented candles fit for a bride. On the bed he pinioned her, where the deftness of his two long fingers in girth approved the pulsing interior flowing to excess ~dried flowers flitted across the dresser. It was sad, how all she wanted was his love.
There he left her wanting in the usual room, amplified by the rise and fall moans of pleasure by a prostitutes pay from the adjacent room working the night and day. The hotel room was a frequent place for her stay. So many hours dressing, just to have it undone when he came again wet with longing to exchange sex for sex. It became regretful after such violent anticipation, so good ~there’s a rich “mmm” sound slipped warm inside her love. “I dream this moment that you raised your thighs around me and we went faster to climax synchronicity,” he tells her.
Her delicate caress felt exposed veins…running along his forearm to the lines in the palm of his hand ~the same hand that fed her hunger with too much kisses and took what expense she had left of her visit. “It’s time you go home, this has to be quick ~one more fuck before you go,” he tells her. Drenched in sweat, raising and polishing to a catharsis of a finish, the gushing juices of her slithery jewel rubbed off his hard prick. Her grieving heart remembered the wisdom of gypsy whore pussy-cafe.“You need a certain inhibition to take your heart out before you love. It requires putting your soul some place where it feels no consequence. It takes courage to be a whore. She doesn’t have it within her to be a whore.”
Open Mic performance; location: Tallahassee, Florida c.2008