Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Three weeks ago today. Three weeks ago she saturated it with her body. Her smell, her charm, her laughter. It’s ridiculous but I can feel her hot skin and hear her smoky floral voice the moment I pull it from my closet.
My suit jacket. She wore my suit jacket for ten minutes or so. It was cold and the night air bit through my face and my ears. But I was impervious to natural unpleasantries that night. Only the caramel color of her thighs, mostly hidden by the red satin of her dress could really punch me in the stomach.
I sat there in the fog and watched the dizzy colors of people and things move past me. I concentrated on nothing and let only the euphoria of my stupor embrace me. And then her face, her arm extended out to me, my jacket in her hand. I kissed her fingers. She kissed mine. I kissed her lips. She kissed mine. I stared at her, for one long moment. She kept my gaze, boldly, and then turned to go.
I sit here now, three weeks later. The jacket is hanging. I am looking at a picture of her. I plan on wearing the jacket while masturbating to her scent and her photograph. Her black hair won’t be in my face while I *u** myself and her tiny body won’t be impaling itself on my *ock but I’ll imagine it. My dirty thoughts will do her justice. The jacket. It will bring her back to me.
He came over every day. I set the lights, I laid the fabrics and the furs. I even brought a giant yellow snake once. He was my muse and my object and every afternoon he belonged to me inside a tiny studio. He was blue jeans and gray t-shirts, stubble and boyish smiles. Blue eyes tinted with black magic. And every day began the same. He would listen to my instruction, nod his head in accordance, grin at me and then undress. At first he used the changing room to disrobe before stepping into the lights, wrapped in a towel. But after his trust in me became absolute he undressed right in front of me, under the lights, under heaven. His body was a mind****. It made me hurt, it made me sick. It was angels and devils, purity and sin. Adonis’s cum and Aphrodite’s cream. No words could explain it though I tried. I tried, for my own amusement. I tried to see, I tried to breath but the sound of his belt whipping through the loops of his jeans knocked me unconscious each and every time. And in that millisecond of lusty darkness my body was an infant, tiny and naked, soaked in a sweat of lava and napalm. The air surrounding my face was burnt to a crisp and I could almost see the black crust of the charred atmosphere. Surely I would die here, my camera cracking itself in two as it hit the floor, with me to follow, knees first. This monster, how could he have done this? He was only a man after all. And so I snapped. The lens could endure what my eyes could barely withstand. The perfect white skin tautly pulled over muscle and bone. The slightest of dark hair trickling down from his navel to holy land. I smiled to myself and clicked like mad. His grin was shy but his eyes were madly bold. I wanted to **** him. It seemed so obvious to me. Surely he could feel my desire from where he stood and it surprised me the sheer force of it didn’t knock him over. You’re a ****ing animal, I told him one day, trying to elicit some response, a laugh or a smirk. Some cute expression on that wicked gorgeous face. Then he flashed perfect white teeth, too sharp canines. A vein pulsed in his temple. Oh God. He was naked, he was letting me take his picture and he was smiling.