Every Wednesday

Every Wednesday we meet to fuck.
I come to town, take a room and
she joins me when her overnighter is done.
The air is incense-fragrant when she knocks at eight.

I’ve brought the candles that light my work
of removing her whites and bathing her,
laying her on the crisp sheets and massaging her
lower back and butt, her shoulders and feet.

She’s limp and nearly asleep when i roll her.
Kisses on feet and legs prompt shudders.
I know she’s awake when she pulls my face
to her dewey sex and urges me up and in.

My first taste of her brings a rush of blood
to my cock, a wondrous pressure.
My tongue is slow and firm and sliding;
up, down; in, out. From Arctic to Antarctic.

A, B, C. I form the the cursives
on her clit. How far will we get today?
N, O, P. She’s growling, yanking my hair.
Q! That’s it! Body arched, she mouths a silent scream.

The first of a dozen orgasms.
Day of a hundred penetrations.
Day of a thousand kisses
Every Wednesday we meet to fuck.

copyright 2001 scjones