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This is one of those stories that you have to write for no reason, of those things that happen in the heat of the moment. Part of me says it lacks a lot to be a good text but my sensitive self begs to share this madness.
Every week it was the same:
a phone call,
a brief negotiation,
a few minutes of waiting,
a brief visit,
little comments,
brief glances...
then you leave and I stay,
I know you want to take me
you know that I want to let myself go...
I know you want to know what I hide
I know you know I want what you want
I cry in silence for it,
I'm dying to test the hardness that I'm as proud as guilty of and
I know you're dying to taste you're responsible for what makes every part of me sensitive.
I dream about the promise of your eyes; that which I read as hard, wet suckings on my breasts; as your teeth on my lips, as your fingers fully deep inside me...
I know you know that I dream about the promise of your eyes; that which I interpret as your hardness delving again and again into me; into every possible side of me.
I know that soon you will take me
I know that you know that soon I will let myself go and every week the same thing will stop happening.
