It was the whoring hour.
Ready the sheets and the lingerie.
Ready the moans and the delicious delights to be discovered.
Ready the bodies wanting and hungry.
Ready the minds, sore for distraction, aching for bliss.
Slowly the sliding of cloth, flesh venturing out into the open air
Hands gliding over the landscape of his torso; breath breaking from composure to ecstasy A landscape not her own. Breath not meant to be broken.
Rein it in.
"A Story for Alex, or For Me,"
The Tuxedo Archives: Vol. 2015
, Article 5.
Available at: https://scholar.dominican.edu/tuxedolit/vol2015/iss2/5