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Seduction

Seduction

Slipped slyly from your mind to mine
Captured all in a gaze
Forecasting
Painting mental pictures
All together made up of what produces
Daydreams of loud passionate screams

Seduction

Slipped slowly from you to me 
Your conversation
Filled with declarations of verbal penetration
Teasing me as you pull out
Leaving me in a place
Between
Hot and bothered

Seduction

Smoothly slipped from your mouth to mouth
Its breath took mine
The bruising set 
Me
Ablaze 

Seduction

Smoothly touches 
That place 
Between my thighs
And dares to ask

Would you mind?

~Irradiance ©2010

Let’s Talk About

We stand in front of each other. Naked. His swagger, eating out my soul. And he’s not moving a muscle. Light skin. Six pack. Broad shoulders. Full lips.

No need to fret over my gut because, every roll is just where it should be. Just standing there naked, next to his skin. Close enough to feel his heat. I’m already getting my rocks off, and we haven’t even touched yet. Just standing there. I’m ready to pounce.

That’s the comfort you give and receive with someone when you’ve given him every fiber of your pleasure for five years. All things are shown. Lights on. Blankets off.

I’ve been his naughty nurse. His dirty hooker. His slutty principal. His helpless housewife. I let him whip me. I wasn’t opposed to deep-throating. I was a very freaky girl. For him, only. During our “off” hours, I’d breathe the same air as the prudest of the prude, and none would be the wiser.

And so, time spent with him was the sweetest release. He’s shades lighter than a brown paper bag, yet his blackness makes me clutch even my purse when I’m standing next to him in an elevator. He’s just so fucking real. Especially when he’s inside me. Especially.

So when he looked into my eyes and threw me on the bed, I realized I got to play my favorite part, Myself. I got to be loose, and loud, and giggle before I come. Even still, I have to remind myself to be the embodiment of sexy. Make pretty faces and cooing sounds. Remember to stare into his eyes when I bite into my lower lip. I have to keep him wanting it, after all these years. I was all-too-aware of the constant competition I was up against. Younger girls. And, his wife. I’ve got to show him why he’ll always need me.

By the time he’s inside me, I can’t take it anymore. I want all of him. Call me SpongeBob baby, because, “I’m ready! I’m ready! I’m ready!” I try to control my eyes from rolling in the back of my head, but I can’t help it. He’s just going and going, and I keep rolling.

After a while, I’m on top of him. I reach over the nightstand. Grab my cell. Set it on recorder mode.

“I told you I don’t like that shit,” he pants. Sucks for him, I thought.

“Baby calm down. You’ll like it,” I gasp, pushing his business deeper into myself. I wanted to do that for a long time - video tape us having sex. It was just the right moment too; I had exceptionally high self-esteem that day. Working out was starting to pay off. Make-up was right. Hair was tight. I was loving myself.

Lights. Camera. Action. He’s pulling and he’s spanking and, I’m biting and I’m moving. It’s the best feeling in the world. Still on top of him, I turn to the left because my right is my good side. I remember to look at him as I bite my lip. I can feel what he’s thinking. “This bitch is beautiful. I’m about to leave my wife for this bitch.” I have never felt prettier. Until this happened (FART SOUND). From down there. That is not a sexy sound. That is not a sound my box has ever made. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t a sound that I thought any woman’s box could make. Again, that is not a sexy sound.

My daddy’s a champ, because he just kept going. I tried to act like I was in the moment, but I was long gone. My first reaction was to stay stiff. I tried to lay my body against his and just be still for a moment. What the hell was that sound? Does it have a smell? (FART SOUND) Again? What the fuck?! 

After twenty-five close and personal years, my vagina finally decides it has something to say and it speaks to me now? (FART FART)

“Oh - my - God!” I gasp. “Something is wrong with my body!”

“You queefing,” he blandly explains. The name is almost worst than the fucking sound! He flips me onto the bed, and now he’s on top (FART).

“YO, WHAT THE FUCK?” I yell. I could not believe my vagina. I felt as though I needed to take her in the bathroom and give her a stern talking to. Let her know that this behavior is very unbecoming.

“Don’t it feel good?”

“Not really,” I quiver, chin trembling. I want no part of this man in this moment. I don’t want any man who’s willing to be with a woman wh has a gassy vagina. The only man I want on top of me in this moment is Dr. Oz, with some stir ups and a clamp, tuning up my petunia, making sure this NEVER happens again. What is the meaning of this? I thought. Have the gods of sexual seduction finally had enough of me, and this is their revenge? Did his wife go to some backwoods voodoo priestess and cast a spell on me, turning my love box into a whoopee cushion? I need to know! (FART FART)

After five years, I finally say the five words I was never able to bring myself to say before. “I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE!” (FART) He pulls out, confused, and looks at me like I’m speaking pig Latin.

“It’s normal,” he grunts.

“No it’s not!” I cry. “That’s never happened to me before!”

“Yeah, it has.”

“I know my pussy dumb ass! I would have noticed something like that. Or would I? Could that be? That, my lady business has been honking off while I’ve been trying to get it in? I stood in the middle of the room, once again naked - this time alone. My back was hunched over because I was so afraid that if I stood up straid my box would go off on a tangent.

“Come back to bed,” he ordered. I looked at him and realized that this means nothing to him. Not even amusement. At least if he thought it was funny, this would be a moment created for us both. A moment to be shared. But, because he’s so detached from me, I was along (SAD FART).

“I don’t want to come back to the bed. I want to go home.” As much as I detested the sound, I respected what my box was trying to say. After five years off brushing off good advice, betraying the laws of womanhood, lying to my family, waiting by the phone, having fun at a wife’s expense, I finally stopped and listened. This lovely music I thought me and him were making… It wasn’t lovely, and it wsn’t music, either. We were banging pots and pans, trying to cram circles into squares. It was time to stop. I had enough. Apparently, so had my box (FART FART) What the fuck, eh’s not even inside me anymore!

Somewhere between sliding into my Levi’s and brushing my teeth, my box went back to bed.

“You forgot something,” he grunts. He was laying in bed, smoking a blunt while he watched the Knicks game. I’m closer to the door than I am to him, and part of me wants to tell him to keep it, whatever it is. He takes my cell and waves it in the air. I snatch it from his hand and head home.

Before tucking myself in later that night, I watched some of the footage. Unreal. Good sound quality. We haven’t slept together since.