Friday, July 17, 2009

Dark Lady

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The night embraces the dome of sky washed pale by the light vomited from a city that never sleeps. Pinpricks of silver light mar the smoothness of its cloudless expanse and the rent of its navy cloak gapes, allowing silver light to spill down and spark want into my eyes which drink deep of the moon’s glow. The air is cool against my face this July morning and the dogs, ears pricked, prance before me, eager to taste the night and roll in the flavour of scents that call to their souls and whisper wildness into their hearts.

Walking my dogs at 4 a.m. is oddly, something I love doing. Slipping through the wine-dark night with the warm bodies of my dogs my only company is deliciously freeing. I savour the relative silence of a city that belches a cacophony of sound that becomes white noise during the daylight hours and drowns out the reality of earth and sky and water with its acrid, steely demand.

Even here in the gritty corner of the city that is mine, the breeze which licks colour into my pale cheeks is just a whisper, soon to sweep into the tumultuous sky which roils above my head then thunder on eager hooves into the endless expanse of night to embrace the distant sea.

As the dogs slip silent along the quiet streets, noses following scent of prey and challenger, I allow my thoughts to drift and eddy into the quiet of thought unmarred by demand and entreaty and duty.

As it often does, my mind turns to the sexual nature of the human beast. I must be a indeed a creature of gross appetite, a being of earth and water and substance, a venal woman whose appetites are unnaturally corporeal… because touch and scent and feel and the hot, thrusting need is something that I have craved and obsessed and been guilty of embracing with a boisterous delight and an unapologetic relish for most of my life.

And yet.

Yet. Female sexuality is such a capricious mistress… a willful, provocative and at times disdainful female whose many faces beckons, refuses, embraces, denies and teases with a confusing logic that defies understanding. She is as apt to desert you at the most inauspicious moments and then, in her petulant, demanding way, claim ingress into your mind and heart and quicken your loins, and swell your breasts and catch your breath in your heart … just when you need your head clearest.

She is multi-faceted and complicated, a creature made up of hormones and thought, of need and desire, with a fillip of rage which sweetens and an achingly needful, all encompassing acquiescence that seduces.

Our sexuality can slumber unassailed and oblivious to our plaintive cries for her aid, then, in her own time, awaken, stretch and yawn, sending her long slender fingers through the complicated byways of thought to whisper want into our hearts and a fierce, overwhelming need into our souls.

The night slips around my silent footsteps and I close my eyes and breathe deep the music of the night, the rich, verdant scent of the earth which wafts on the breeze, the intoxicating bouquet of growing things, which gives shape to green and creates a haze of mist around me which cools my breath and hardens my nipples and I feel the pull of the earth which wheels around a distant orb and the moon’s light spills into my mouth and I drink in its need and breathe out the rich female pheromones of want.

I slip into a silent house and send the beasts to slumber and quietly enter the warm closeness of our room and stand, silent, and listen to his breath and relish the scent of our mingling and kneel, insubstantial, a moonlit sprite, a succubus, upon the bed.

I breathe warmth along the length of his body until the warm, rich scent of him pulls me to his groin. I hover close, my mouth open to drink in the want and although I have not yet touched him, I feel him stir in the closeness of the room and sighing, sink my lips along the soft, velvet skin and sip, tenderly, from the tip, a droplet of need that I pull into my throat.

My hair spills silk along his groin and my hands gently part his legs and my mouth dances my demand along his burgeoning length. My fingers play an adagio along the taut line of flesh running between his thighs under the achingly tender skin of his testicles and my mouth coaxes song from his throbbing length until I hear his breath catch in the silence of the night and the loose skin of his testicles tighten and I feel the thrumming against my mouth and the song reaches a crescendo of aching YES and my throat tightens and then sighs open and I feel him spill down my throat and my fingers between my own smooth thighs work frantically until my own need spills onto the flesh warm sheets and together in the quiet of the night rent now with harsh breath, the song dances and weaves a tapestry of intricate beauty….

And as the moon spills her silver light onto our throbbing flesh, I welcome back my dark lady.


aphron said...

Wow! That was pretty good.

I agree with the "Yet. Female sexuality is such a capricious mistress" statement. Like all things female, it is complicated and unpredictable. As a man and thus being a simpler, straightforward being, I will never understand the dark recesses of the female mind.

Good post. I think you captured it.

Buffalo said...

What a vivid and rich palette of words you possess!

Gillette said...

Loving to hear of her return.

Anonymous said...

You are incredible and beautiful. You and your words.