Monday, March 14, 2011

I Stood Before Him

I stood before him
Not naked, but nude.
Naked implied that I was
Not wanting to be seen,
But nude implied
That I found my body
A work of art
That I have long accepted
And loved dearly.

I stood before him
My nipples erect
Having been caressed
By the passing breeze,
My legs apart,
My head held high.
I wanted him to see me,
To see me in all my glory,
To want me.

I stood before him
And I saw that it affected him,
His erection fought to escape
The prison of his pants,
Seeking a soft, wet place
To invade and conquer.
A warm place to hold it tight
And drain it in a fit of

I could feel the heat
Of his desire
Through the glass,
It splashed over me
And like an eager surfer,
I was encouraged.

I turned around
And slowly bent over,
Exposing my promise land.
A gasp escaped his lips
And kissed my ears.
If it weren’t for the glass,
He would have been upon me,
His humanity buried deep
In his primal urges,
His erection buried deep
In me.

Then I heard them,
The succession of beeps
That heralded the end
Of my little show.
In ten seconds,
The curtain would closed
And the connection between
The voyeur and the exhibitionist
Would be broken.

Beep, beep, beep,
I put my finger in my mouth,
Wetting it and
Just as the curtain closed
I slipped it into
My honey post.
Through the glass,
Through the curtain,
I heard a final grunt.

Another satisfied customer.

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