Saturday, August 8, 2009

"It's Love In A Dressing Room"

She sent a text telling me to meet Her inside of the dressing room at American Apparel, the Time Square Branch. "It's the door marked with a Heart drawn on with bright red Mac lipstick," at the far end, on the right. She then sent a second text telling me to knock on the door four times twice, "I LOVE YOU", once outside. She opened the door with Her back to me. She was wearing high heels with the red bottoms, a thigh high skirt with red Frederick's of Hollywood panties, the sexy kind with the crotch cut out, and a tank tee from the store whose fitting room we were commandeering. Her hair laid pretty over Her left shoulder, exposing a ripe neck ready for me to bite. At that moment I was Her Dracula, and She was my victim. Sucking with gentle pressure until Her neck was deep purple, my fangs were into Her with no plans of letting go, locked on Her throat, like a pit bull, I could feel Her Heart and it was beating strong for me.

With my left hand on Her chin, my index and middle finger massaging Her tongue, I stretched Her head back pointing Her eyes to the sky, and then I whispered instructions of how to play-public-passion with my tongue in Her ear interpreting, "Close your eyes tight. Pleasure is the flight. I am the pilot and co-pilot. So recline, relax and let me show you how to fly without ever lifting your feet. Not David Blane, but I was going to lift Her. Anxious to stroke my Darth Vader She reached back with Her hand, unzipped my pants and began. Now he has "ego," real big and cocky, needing a piece of Her pie to humble him properly. Neglecting Her nipples, I became a better daddy by tending to my responsibilities, squeezing them with my finger tips, like I was an infant feeding for milk. I then took Her right leg by the thigh and hiked it high upon the bench used for sitting while fitting, so that I could see Her butterfly from behind. I like how its wings spread when riding my wind. A City boy since seventy five, but I've always liked going down south because it's where the best eating is. My lips kissed Her bottom lips, and they kissed back with each grind and twist of Her hips, we were having great convo.

Lips to lips, I noticed between Her clitty, (or whatever She nicknames Her kitty) belly and corner pelvis area that there was a tattoo of a Black Heart. I took it as an omen, letting me know that more than just Her kitty needed stroking. Her faith and confidence in Love needed a touch up. Maybe the ink from my Heart is what She needed to brighten Her life up, so I grabbed Her hands and placed them on the side of my head to let Her know that She has me right in the palm of Her hands and that I wasn't going nowhere. With cotton finger tips, she played with my ears, working me like a joystick, I was Her Coleco and She was my Vision.

As an angry youth I hated school, but for the first time I had a teacher that I liked and wanted to learn from. I was being taught how to spoil Her sweet-sensitive spots. Enjoying the lesson, I was getting smarter by the lick. Just as I parked the limo in her garage, we were interrupted by a knock on the door, a female's voice followed, "Can I join in?" My eyes got big as a black face actor, but She quickly lowered the lids on my cooning when She turned Her head round, like an owl, and said, "You know I don't get down like that". I was disappointed that I even considered contradicting my own interest because I only like the one on one and not the one on two. I admired Her discipline for not being a statistic and proving that, "All girls don't carpet munch." Breaking character she was reminding me of why it is that I Love Her, which was making it hard to focus and be randomly raunchy. I pulled out and pulled out my phone and sent Her a text, "Babe you're fucking up the role me at the car, we can finish this at home...I4U."

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