© Sauce*Box, Winter 1996/97.
All rights revert to author.
Desire
by Mark Wood
Sculpted flesh and sweat. Sweat rolling down your body, the bead of sweat quivering at the tip of your erect nipple. Two plastic clothes pins, one on either side of the tender flesh. Pinching the flesh and causing brilliant pain. Pain that is regulated and moderated by the desire that is flowing through the veins and pumping through the heart. The Florida moon shining so bright that it cast shadows on the ground. Cool air and hot steam, flame bright, glowing in the night. The harsh intake of breath, the feel of your tongue on my flesh. The harsh cascade of pain and pleasure. The wine of desire is bubbling in the goblet between your legs, and I drink from the well and swallow the nectar that flows from your lips. The flash of the hand that holds the whip, smack! Snap! Crack. . . it feels so good. The strength of the bonds. The nylon ties that control movement. The simulated rape. The animal strokes and the pounding off of the new. The sex and blood, the lust that is lost like darkness exposed to a bright light. The children of God made passionate in the bonds of love and desire. You come to me in the night. I am in my bed. You pick up a stone from the flower bed. Cast it against the window, I listen for the sound again. It is you in the garden. I walk out onto the balcony and look down to see your silver hair shinning in the moonlight. The sounds of the bay, the water lapping against the shore. The way the air smells saturated with salt. Just like sweat. The blood of the Earth is the sea. The water that flows in your veins is like the sea. As the moon pulls on the ocean it pulls on you. The desire has you with your rear end stuck up in the air like a cat in heat. I smile down at you and notice that you have pulled your clothes on over your pajamas. The ones that you wear when you feel like a little girl. You look to me to see if I think you a fool to come to me in this way, so soon after our first meeting. I come down and rather then bring you into the house, I take you to the car. Drive to the airport and go up to the top level of the parking lot. I throw a blanket on the hood of the car. It is warm from the heat rising off of the engine. I strip you down and spread you out. You raise your legs in delight and the feel of our flesh is smooth and slick. You are wet and waiting. A bead of juice is dripping from the head of my penis. You catch it with your lips and smile at me with your perfect smile. The one that knows that I will do anything with you, anywhere, and anytime. Under any circumstances, at any risk. In the mall in a dark hallway. In the club with me holding you up off the ground with my male wedge. Your ass pressed against the sweat stained walls. People pressing all around in the darkness that leads to the dance floor. The sound of the bass drivers pulsing their message of desire pounding and pounding . . .driving with mad desire and lust, long contained. The afternoons in the orange grove, it rained and I took you under the trees in the mud of the Florida gray dirt. Later jumping in the lake with the lightning crashing all around. It felt so good and right I could have died then and not cared. The madness that you made me feel. The little stories and the lies to keep me jealous. I never cared before. Why should I care what she does. It won't fall off if someone else uses the chair for a while, till the master comes to claim his throne. Yet with you I cared enough to sit outside your window and look up at the light and wonder who....still you come to me in your little girl pajamas throwing stones at the window. Biting your lip and crying when you come. Your orgasm a sign that the tears will flow and the rain will fall. The rain drops melting into the tears on your cheek. Rest in my arms. Wake with the feeling of need. Again. Again. Again. Again. The sun rises and we are still clasped together to watch the light of the moon give way to the light of the morning sun. For a time both are visible and the way that your hair looks spread across the pillow. A silver crown above your head. The mascara has run. The dark smears look like when we had been without food or sleep for days on end. The way you look in your need. You turn from me so that I will not see the tears. I turn your face to mine and kiss your mouth. Even after the night it still taste like honey to me. Nectar to be collected. The mornings are always best for me. I love your eyes in the morning . . . they look so transparent when the light hits them just right. I love the way that you smell the musk and stale sex the mute reminders of desire. I flare again and our bodies sing the morning song of desire awakening with consciousness. Love flows in our hearts. Blood flows in our flesh an reality explodes upon us. Day starts again..
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