by the philosopher
Sunday, 4 February 2007
I watched you sleep, taking advantage of a moonless night to climb
through your window. I peeled back the covers, gently, so as not to
wake you, and watched as you shifted and murmured, lost in some deep
I unbutton the men's dress shirt you wear as a nightgown, and open it
wide, revealing your perfect breasts. I pull down your panties, inch
by careful inch, down your thighs, past your knees and off completely.
Their obvious wetness nearly makes me lose control, but I promised
myself I would be restrained.
I wanted to torture myself, like a starving man at a banquet, knowing
that when I finally sated my appetite, the pleasure would be increased
beyond imagining. I would feast another night.
With a featherlight touch, I draw my finger down your collarbone and
between your breasts. I trace, in elaborate script, a string of words,
composing an epic of ferocious lust, using your silken skin as my
parchment. You groan and turn, and I'm afraid you might wake, but
your dreams have too strong a hold on you. . .dreams that my words
What they say you will never know. . .they make no mark on your
conscious mind. But they violate your dreams, penetrating into the
unspoken recesses of your psyche. They will stay with you, haunting
your waking moments with their echo. . .
I leave, taking your panties with me as a souvenir of my visit. For
you, the only souvenir is a half-remembered dream, that rocked your
sleep like a tempest, and left you, in the morning when you awoke,
sweaty, flushed and inexplicably half-naked.
- - - - -
i'm not sure why i posted "Arcoiris" first, as this preceded it.
it has as much power over me now as it did then.
i do wear a men's dress shirt to bed. the philosopher brought me one on his first visit, and orders me to wear it. or not. like last night. he wanted me naked. available to him. from 250 miles away, he wanted to know i was available to him.
as for the starving man, torturing himself with denial? he waited 6 months before settling in to feed.