“This isn’t sometimes, this is always. This isn’t maybe, this is always. You tied a string around my heart. So how can I forget you. With every kiss you know that this is always.”

Absently, the stylus runs true within the shallow and dusty groove, the vintage Long Player hypnotically revolving on the turntable, yielding a soft and mellow analogue, the nostalgic crackle and pop of warm vinyl, the classic blue jazz romance of a heroin fueled and fated young Charlie Parker.

Emotions swell inside me, a little boy confined to his room, confronting a loneliness he cannot bare to admit. I look out of my apartment window and see the cold, blue-white winter light of a Chicago sky, held in the bare branches of a lone tree. When did I become so dislocated?

The little boy plays with metaphor and steers a grown hand toward a book of matches. My emotions are at one with the Phosphorous: unstable, sensitive, volatile and hidden.

I strike the head against the paper, igniting dark desires. I place the flame against the wick and atone for my Scorpio sensitivities. I count the many threads of connection that tie my heart to yours. I tug one and feel you on the other end.

~ # ~

You want to please me and surprise me. You want to see the salivating pleasures of my imagination igniting behind my eyes. You want me to use you as the fuel for my desire.

Slowly, deliberately, intentionally, you approach my bed. My eyes immediately catching sight of your slender smooth ankles, with those daintily painted toenails peeping out beneath the leather straps of your outrageously high heels.

The plush white of your Corinthian robe conceals the soft and seductive dark indigo blue lace of your newest Stella body, those thin, tiny pink straps, their essential details so intimate and feminine. You feel so sexy and confident knowing how much I want this.

Silently, your hands work at the looped knot of the white bow tied tight around your tiny waist. And all the while, you’re careful to avoid my eyes, for you can sense the wrath of my desire, straining and malevolent.

With a shimmy, your shoulders roll, loosening their load and allowing gravities grace to pull the heavy white fabric from your frame, feeling the heat of my attention against your skin as the sleeves of your robe fall away from your wrists.

My desire comes roaming over you with each sweeping stroke of my approving eyes. Their energy and light brushing against the lace canvas of your body.

Our senses weave together to conjure the coiling sensations of silk ribbons, the feel of my attention wrapping around your thighs, my breath taken once again, arrested by the sheer audacity of your slender legs. Hidden inside my Scorpion armor, my desire is hardening, straining against a muzzle of denim and a tightening of muscle and masculinity. You dare me to move, and I dare to defy you. Our needs begin to burn inside us both.

Continued…