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Fucklust wilderness
Fucklust wonderland

A head in my lap, hair prickly. Did my hands move or was it magnets guiding the face to slide smooth under my tentative hovering hands tentative hovering lips? Press sweet against a soft hard forehead. Nose bristly chin finally gliding to a mouth. Finally. Tentative hovering lips soft soft ssssssssss

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Are you reading this book in parts, skipping the plot to get to the porn? Me too.

Fucklust wilderness.

Monday to Thursday, tumbled into bed together, tumbled out naked exposed. A chest waiting there, firm hand smooth against my nakedness. Tumbled into bed together, Thursday to Monday.

Fucklust wonderland.

In the park: It doesn’t make it any better NOT to look. The ache is a constant on the peripheral. The ache is so tight I grind my gritty teeth together to keep it from jumping out. Always a someone leaning into a someone; a neck touched softly, a laugh ringing out natural. A shoulder on a shoulder, a hand on a thigh. Inhale cigarette, sigh.

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Big head, a dent caused from her steady hand pressure. Outside it is rain or it is sunshine; inside it is the tearing off of clothing with urgency in stolen time, stolen space. This is a week where the couple has not showered once, the musk rising off them spells sex sex s-e-x in capital letters SEX. This is a week where the bed has not been twice the same, but at least the man and woman are. The two bodies are the same each time, does that make it ok? Two bodies racing to the bathroom where once again they forget why they are there.

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Welcome to heartache head.

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Shuffling ruffling photos just back from the shop. Here a leg, here a hand, here an ear a neck a wisp of hair. Here an anonymous torso in an anonymous motel room. No face, no legs, just arms and a midsection covered with sharpie tattoos. One: Tell me a secret, bitch. Two: a circle around a suspicious red spot, maybe a hickey, maybe a bruise. Three: arrows, one starts at the navel and extends right (left? It is an exposure taken with the subject facing a mirror) around the waist to the back, hidden.

Not caring about the subject, not caring, ‘Turn around, dammit’! I want to see the elusive statement written on the subject's back. I am sure it exists.

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My spellchecker insists that I change fucklust to ficklest. That’s insane.

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