There wasn’t any emotionalreason in what they did or why they kept on doing it. Nothing good would come from their actions but that in itself was nothing new. Their past was littered with intentionalmistakes, a history of overdrinking and overstepping boundaries.
Wandering fingers trail over sweat damp skin, creeping under clothing and caressing in all the rightwrong places. A common transgression, one that would be deemed unforgivable come morning. But now, in the dark with alcohol to blame, it was an offense that was welcomed whole-heartedly.
This wasn’t the first time self-respect had fallen to the floor along with booze stained shirts and torn jeans. It wouldn’t be the last. Virtue wasn’t a word that belonged in this place. This room, with its red walls, was the witness to their sin. No one else knew. No other had ever bore testament the pleasurepain they derived from each others bodies.
Swollen lips open in a needy gasp as teeth sink into pliant flesh. “No marks,” the commandplead tumbles forth and the other complies. They aren’t intoxicated enough for the unspoken rules to be broken. Bruises cause questions, scratches trigger recollections.
Night was the time for remembering. Remembering the way skin was roughsoft beneath palms. It was meant for evoking pleas and whimpers and begs of stopmore. It was the time taken to recall just how one liked to be touched, how thighs screamed and hummed at the slightest brush against sensitive muscle. How a devilishlyangelic tongue could cause curses to be whispered like prayers.
Neither wanted to think about the morning. Instead they focused on the now. On the shiveringheat of a body against body. On the slickfriction they felt as they moved languidly then faster. Slowfast, inout, shallowdeep. Limbs shake and tremble from the desire to holdbackletgo. The end was near but neither wanted it to stop.
He couldn’t have said when it began. She didn’t want to reminisce. The past was dark, future shadowy. The light had no place in their lives. To the outside they were beautiful, pure, incapable of the sins they committed. Inside, togetheralone, deep down in the drunk dark of night they were perfectlyflawed under the skin.
Morning was for forgetting. Forgetting the way he felt straining awaycloser. It was meant for disregarding the desire for more. It was the time they took to purposefully overlook the way their bodies moved so meticulouslycareless together like each stroke of an impressionists brush; sloppy at first but perfect in its finality. It was the time he dressed and snuck out while she put their hazy dreams into yet another jar to be left on the shelf and forgotten.
Until the next time. The next time a bottle was taken from the fridge or a drink accepted in a club.
Red lips would eventually curl around a glass with a smirk and it would start over.
This was their intoxicating sin. Them.
Umm... so I hope no one gets mad or is appalled/shocked at me for this... its a little R-rated I realize... you could ask me why I wrote it or where the muses came from and I wouldn't be able to tell you. I write the words that get stuck in my head and this is how they pour out on paper. Since half the purpose of this blog is for me to share my creative side and the crazy things my brain comes up with, I thought I would post it... and maybe its pairing piece.... anyway.
Now... I am going to go run away for daring to put this here where my parents can read it and wonder just what goes through their daughter's brain.