Crumpled sheets. Somewhere a midst that twisted chaos is my purple negligee.
You had run your hands down the fabric, pressing the clothing in and around my hips long enough to define the outline of my sex. Like that negligee your hands are smooth, fluid; coaxing it, coaxing me. The flimsy thing all but melted off. Our bodies collided, the bedroom a reflection of that fantastic destruction.
At the height of orgasm, I called out your name over and over and over.
You tell me afterwards my voice is like that shade: cool, deep, rich. You touch me. You would hear the hue of your name again. In fluent purple I declare, “come here.”
Christina Schmidt, MA
Photo Credit: KA Femme
[I’ve been tinkering with a few pieces over my break and decided to drop a few before coming back to my regular AWC schedule. Feedback, thoughts…
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