Here, There and Everywhere

Posts tagged ‘lips’

Words of Seduction

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Catching sight of it across the room,
pushing desks and chairs aside, I circled the stacks slowly, edging closer to the object of my literary desire.

Acting as if I didn’t care, my sleeve brushed invitingly against its spine.
Not succumbing to the obvious temptation I turned,
casually trailing my fingertips across the leather bindings on the shelf below.

Dizzy with discovery I slipped and fell against the stacks.
To my delight, the prized edition I longed for fell before me,
opening to reveal its fullest form.
“Prose! Prose!” my heart pounded with renewed anticipation.

Rushing to its side I knelt possessively.
“Too soon. Too soon.” I whispered into its creamy wanton pages.
Resisting the urge to devour its succulent stories,
tenderly closing its velvet covered hardness,
I held it tightly to my trembling body.

Spying a private corner behind the ferns I made my way to darker recesses.
Drawing the magic to my lips, breathing infinite possibilities,
I slowly lifted the cover and caressed the fly page.
The table of contents undressed its willful intentions
as I fingered through the waiting pages of blissful madness.
Wetness willed its way down my aching body.
I swallowed hard as my mind prepared for an invasion of ecstasy.

Subtle framing grabbed my soft tender throat,
as the turbulent dialogue licked me speechless.
The plot thickened with fully developed characters.
Metaphor wrapped its meaning around my memory,
and the rhythm rocked me head to toe, moving in three-four time.
I tangoed with luscious adjectives as the verbs drummed a gyrating beat.

Is this the middle or the end?
Did I miss the story in the first line, is it coming now, or is it all a fake?
“Don’t lead me on.” I cried.
“Take me to the edge, take me now!”

The words smiled cunningly.
I laughed at my seduction,
and made plans to come again.

Licking His Lips

Tale from children’s story collection Solar Girl and Lunar Boy by Gabriel Constans.

Licking His Lips

The ally was the surest way to get from here to there. I made my break out the screened back door and high-tailed it over the three-foot wooden fence. The dirt felt good on my feet. The air was clean and warm.

I heard Rebecca yelling, “Harvey! Harvey! Come back here!” I kept moving. I had to leave that suffocating box of neglect.

It had been raining for days. Today was the first letup in the downpour. My window of opportunity had opened. Parting clouds revealed a canopy of blue-skinned sky.

“Harvey! Har . . .” Her pleading voice merged with the outdoor symphony of untuned life. Some dogs a few houses down began barking furiously and rushed to the fence as I ran by. Their snouts pushed between the slats. They barred their teeth and growled. I smiled with fresh delight and kept on running. A compost of scents invaded my open nostrils. Flowers, weeds, car oil and rotting fruit filled the air with sweet and sour fragrances of paradox.

I walked across the street to the next alley and saw a large teenage boy on one of those little bikes; the ones they ride that are for someone half their age and look so ridiculous. As he got closer, I tried to relax and keep a steady gait. He rode by, as if I didn’t exist, then suddenly slammed on his brakes, did a broody in the gravel and came after me. I expected as much. I ran with surprising speed and left the gangly creature pumping away in useless pursuit.

Not thinking this way or that, I headed north or was it south? This freedom thing had a nice feel to it . . . no expectations, no parameters, no boundaries, fences, doors or control . . . a little dangerous now and then, but nothing too bad, at least not yet.

Turning left and stepping onto the sidewalk, I almost ran headfirst into a baby carriage. The woman pushing the thing looked OK. I tried to make small talk, be polite and all; but she kept on walking, looking into the big box on wheels with oblivious love and attention. Good thing really. It could have been disastrous. One slip or mispronunciation and the charade was over. Say the wrong thing or look cross-eyed and the next thing you know she’s making a federal case out of it. “What do you want?!” “Be quiet!” “Get lost!” You know how it goes. When all you ever hear is that kind of dribble, you learn to put a muzzle on it. But sometimes I just can’t contain myself. Everything builds up until it’s bouncing around inside like a firecracker and I’ve got to explode with a good shout or holler.

Somebody mowing their lawn turned the corner and went along the side of their stucco home. A calico cat looked out a big frame window in a trance, until it saw me and freaked. Thank God the power mower drowned out her screams.

Home after home; row after row; fence after fence. They all look alike – wooden garages, tin mailboxes, aluminum trashcans and metal cars. I was just another piece of furniture, another possession in her suburban, material world. Some used luggage to be stuffed with old knick-knacks and thrown in the garage for storage.

Sure, she’d feigned affection at first, they all do. It was shallow, temporary, a superficial semblance of real friendship. She didn’t need me, never did. I was one big nuisance. It hadn’t started like that. As a baby, I could do no wrong. She smothered me with affection. But the older I got, the more distant she became. By the time I was a young man, she didn’t know what to do with me. I told her again and again that I wanted her to stay home, but she never listened. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I didn’t realize I was crossing the highway until I heard one of those skids that send shivers through your spine. I saw the tire headed for my face and jumped out of the way without any time to lose. As I zigzagged to safety, I glanced down the street and saw the black and white moving slowly in my direction.

Cops!” I sneered. “How could she? I never hurt her.”

I took off around a small house, hopped the fence, ran through their garden, climbed under a railing and wound up next to someone’s garbage. I hadn’t eaten since early morning and could feel the saliva starting to ooze between my lips. Instinctively, I knocked off the lid and grabbed some leftover bread. It’s amazing what people will throw away – perfectly good food, just because of a little spot, a bruise or some other perceived imperfection. I wondered if she would have thrown me out someday, just like the garbage. I’m not perfect. I have my flaws. Who doesn’t?

“Hey! Get out of there! Get lost!” Someone screamed. I didn’t wait around to see where the sound was coming from. I took a big chunk out of the defective loaf and dashed around a hedge. I kept walking and swallowed hard, not knowing when or where I’d get my next meal. It didn’t seem like I’d been gone that long, but the air was getting chilly and the big, hot, warm, glowing thing in the sky was starting to melt into the ground.

The hair on the back of my neck started to bristle, as second-hand thoughts intruded upon my territorial sense of temporary emancipation. “Maybe it wasn’t that bad,” I questioned, as the sky grew darker and loneliness crept into my fur, like a pack of terrorist fleas.

As I meandered over some sharp gravel, which cut into my paws, I saw some houses that looked just like ones next to mine. I must have gotten turned around somewhere. The porches, front yards and walkways smelled oddly familiar.

Before I caught her scent downwind, Rebecca grabbed me from behind. She’d make a first class hunter if she didn’t have to walk so clumsily on her two back feet.

“Harvey. Where have you been?!” She picked me up and held me close, running her warm hands over my back and face. “You naughty boy! You had me worried sick.”

She didn’t act very sick. In fact, she looked happier than I’d seen her in a long time.

I put my head on her chest, licked her fleshy pink face and whispered, “It’s good to be home.” She probably just heard, “Bark, bark bark.” but hey, I meant it.

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Mind Full of Sex

“Sex, sex, sex.” My wife grinned at me with a bemused expression of wonderment. “You have a one track mind,” she said. “Is that all you ever think about?”

I answered defensively, “Of course not!” But to tell you the truth, I wasn’t so sure.

In order to prove her wrong I began a top-secret experiment. My mind would be the laboratory and double as the research subject. For one day, from the moment I arose (no pun intended), until I lay down that night, I would jot down in my private notebook every moment I thought about sex. No problem right, maybe ten or twenty times at the most? Man, was I off the mark. Luckily, this was a “secret experiment”!

At six in the morning I awake and the first thing I notice is that a certain part of my body has awakened before me. That’s numero uno. I feel my sweetheart quietly sleeping beside me and wish I could stay home and make love with her before getting the children up for school. Let’s see, that’s twice already and I haven’t even started to get out of bed!

Five minutes later I’m in the bathroom brushing my teeth and an image of her long hair flowing across my body slowly emerges and lingers. The next thing I know my mind is racing back to sexual images of past
pleasures and I tell myself, “There you go again”.

Glancing at the morning paper, I notice that I spend more time reading about Angelina Jolie’s latest film or Shakira’s upcoming concerts, than I do about peace talks between Israel and Palestine or other vital events and issues.

On my way to work the CD is oozing sensuality with Sade singing “Your giving me something that’s taboo.” My mind again wanders to sexual peaks and valleys.

My work environment does nothing to distract me from these desires. I am surrounded by compassionate, charming and intelligent women. At the copy machine a colleague brushes past and touches my shoulder.
Instantaneously, I’m off again on a fantasy of possibilities. During a meeting, a short time later, I take in the sights and sounds of women who care deeply about their work. Between passing on information and conversations, I notice my erotic radar rising with regularity as I wonder what it would be like to live with different women in the room..

These thoughts and feelings come again and again throughout the day.

Driving home I anticipate holding and passionately kissing my wife’s big beautiful lips as I walk in the door. As the evening progresses, I think of making love every time we touch, hug or glance at one another with any hint of desire. After the kids are all tucked in and my sweetie and I are alone, a deep romantic urge starts bubbling towards the surface. By the time our bodies hit the sheets I am ready to ravish and be ravished.

Before turning out the light that night I looked down at my scholarly notebook and added up the times sex had dominated my awareness during the previous seventeen hours of research. One hundred and sixty-eight times! I added up all the little marks again to make sure. One hundred and sixty-eight times! I was shocked. She was right, it is all I think about. At least when I’m thinking about thinking about it, it is.

As my head hit the soft pillow, I snuggled up next to my sweetheart’s warm body and begin to drift off to sleep. How wonderful, now I can relax and dream about sex all night long.

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