Let Me Be Your Fetish

I know what you want.

I knew from the moment you carefully selected to use the word ‘hard’. The way you emphasised the ‘h’ and the way that your eyes flickered as it forced its way out between your wet lips. A momentary arousal.

I know what you want.

A catalogue of filthy fantasies and sticky, sweaty sheets unravel in your mind’s eye. Reminiscent of dogs at dinner time. A mouth to feed, a stomach to fill. Minor indulgent moments.

We talk over coffee but your gaze switches from my crotch to your crotch to my lips to your lips. Unspoken sex stirs between our legs, within our guts, hearts beating hot red blood round these bodies of ours. These bodies, these vessels of flesh that are longing to be interlocked, to be tasted, to be sucked and enjoyed.

I know what you want.

We dance around the topic of love but it is the carnal desire that comes to the fore-front. We have said enough to know that all we need now is an empty room and our two bodies. Forget the dirty laundry; the unwashed socks and underwear that litter the floor. Forget that today is Tuesday and that you forgot to pay the phone bill. Forget that you ate too much at dinner and did not tip the waitress enough because you could not afford to. Forget that your mother is dying and that you hate your mindless job. Forget that there is starvation and suicide infesting this Earth. Forget it all. For these few moments that we give our bodies to one another, for the pure pleasure that you can give me and I can give you.

Blood surging.

Air gasping.

Fist clenching.

Let me be your fetish and we can forget it all. Just for these few moments. We can sweat out our worries and we can fuck away our problems. If just for these few moments.

I know what you want.

And I want it too.

D R Forest 2011 ©

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