Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Inside the Picture

It was a pornographic moment. It only dawned on me later; we hadn't arrived in this position by artifice. We were inside the picture from your magazine, but we weren't posing for the camera. Our hunger brought our lips together, his sighs brought our mouths to his cock, our pleasure made us linger and fondle and glow.

I've seen this scene a hundred times: Two girls kneeling, naked but for their piercings and tattoos. One man, pants at his ankles, keeping his balance with some difficulty while deciding which drooling mouth will enfold him next. There's generally a whole lot of eye shadow and silicone and fake smiling involved. There's nothing appealing to me about the image. Nothing at all. But from the inside...

Her lips are soft. I want to please her. His cock is a dessert we're sharing, a toast we're raising to delight. I lean in to kiss her again.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

The cuckoo's a pretty bird...

Oh the cuckoo's a pretty bird, she sings as she flies/ She brings us glad tidings and she never lies./ She drinks the pretty flowers to keep her voice clear/ and she never sings Cuckoo 'till the spring of the year.

Spring comes early here. I've thawed. My secrets are melting away. Inside their ice: stories.