Sensuality Sublime

The way you peer into my soul

And grasp me in your gaze

Sends a shiver through my veins

And sets my heart ablaze

I long to feel your lips on mine

Your breath upon my skin

The searing scent of musty heat

That makes my head to spin

Salty beads of passion fall

Into the velvet folds

Around your torso like a glove

My aching body molds

Flesh and fire mix as one

Our mounting heat explodes

Rhythmic chanting echoes loud

My energy implodes

Two as one in perfect beat

Intense in perfect time

My fantasy alive again

Sensuality sublime

~~~*~~~*~~~

I originally wrote this poem in August of 2010. Today is April 22, 2021. I am still proud of this one. 

~~~*~~~*~~~

Image by efes from Pixabay

Screwed

I’d spent weeks casing the joint. If I didn’t get this right, I’d be screwed. Don Giovanni wanted Peter Donovan kidnapped and it was up to me to make it happen. I had to make it happen. My life depended on it.

It wasn’t easy getting close to a multi-millionaire who surrounded himself with personal bodyguards and yes-men. But I got it figured out. He ate at the same restaurant every Saturday night and that was going to be my way in.

I landed a job at the restaurant as a waiter. I knew Mr. Donovan always asked for the same server, so I had to make some changes. I poured a little Ipecac syrup in the usual server’s drink, making him sicker than a dog. He couldn’t run out of that place fast enough. I volunteered to take over his tables, knowing Mr. Donovan would be there soon. 

My plan was to accidentally spill something in his lap, causing him to run to the restroom. Once he was in there, I’d crack him over the head and drag him out the back to my van. I had everything in its place, ready to go.

Mr. Donovan and his party took their seats. Without speaking a word, I set out menus and baskets of bread. 

“Where’s Milo,” he asked rather rudely. “I specifically asked for Milo.”

“My apologies, Mr. Donovan,” I replied in a professional manner, “Milo has taken ill and had to leave. My  name is Logan and I’ll be your server this evening.” In all outward appearances, I was nothing more than another waiter. I told the group about the evening’s specials and took their drink orders. When I returned, I set my plan in motion.

As I placed drinks in front of all the guests, I purposely tipped my tray so that the last drink would fall onto Mr. Donovan’s lap. “You stupid son-of-a-bitch,” he yelled as he jumped out of his chair.

Several members of his entourage tried to help clean up the mess, which only made him angrier. He slapped them all away, then headed for the men’s room. I turned and left the table without anyone taking notice. 

I snuck through the kitchen and made my way to the entrance on the opposite side of the room. I watched through the port window as Mr. Donovan made his way to the lavatory. None of his people had gone with him, so I waited just a moment and followed him in. 

I slowly opened the door, taking note of the reflection in the mirror. I could see him in front of the sink, wiping himself down with a handful of towels. 

I shut off the lights as I entered, trying to remember exactly where he was standing. I had my billy club in hand and hit him as hard as I could. I heard a muffled scream coming from him, so I hit him once more for good measure. He was out cold.

I pulled a bag from my pocket and put it over his head. Then I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him from the room. I peeked out before leaving, making sure no one was in the hall. I made it to the back entrance without being seen. 

I opened the sliding door on the van, threw him inside, then jumped in and took off. As I sped off down the alley, I called Don Giovanni and told him I had his prize. 

We met up at the predetermined rendezvous site. This was my big moment. I was finally going to give the boss what he wanted and my debt would be paid in full. His goons went to the van and dragged the man back to where we stood. 

I could hear his moans as his body was dropped to the cement floor. One of the henchmen pulled the hood off the millionaire’s head, giving the boss a good look.

“Who the hell is that?” I could tell by the sound of his voice that something wasn’t right. I looked down to see that the man lying on the floor wasn’t Mr. Donovan. It was the bathroom attendant who passed out the towels. 

My hands began to shake and I felt sick to my stomach. I knew there was no way I could convince Don Giovanni that this was the man he wanted kidnapped. As I looked into the boss’s eyes, I knew I was screwed.

~~~*~~~*~~~

Thank you to WritingPrompt.com for posting the following prompt on Twitter.

You kidnap a different person than the intended millionaire the mafia boss paid you to kidnap.

I had a ball writing this.

~~~*~~~*~~~

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

Forever

I stand on the bank of the river, watching a lone boat sail out to deeper water. I know I should be heartbroken, but instead, I only feel relief. 

I met Carson just a few weeks ago. He was a new recruit on one of the fishing boats and was ready to be back on dry land. He’d come into my bar in need of a hot meal and a stiff drink. The mere sight of him took my breath away. 

I took him home that very first night. There was just something about him that ignited my passions. The heat that flamed between us was more than intense. It was solar.

I came alive at the feel of his muscled chest against my bare skin. I longed for the grasp of his hands around my hips. My pouty lips danced along the curve of his neck. My body exploded in waves of inhibition with every primal thrust. He brought the animal in me to life.

For weeks, our bodies were entwined in a dance of unbridled passion. We studied each other’s movements. We embraced each other’s fantasies. We became each other’s desire. We achieved carnal perfection. 

When it came time for him to head back out to sea, he promised to return. He pulled a box out of his pocket and handed it to me. I opened it to find a beautiful, gold ring. I giggled in delight as he slipped the ring onto my finger. Tears of joy trailed down my face as I knew he would be mine forever

“I love you,” he said as he leaned in for a deep kiss. 

I felt the heat between us rising once again. My body came alive as his tongue ran the length of my neck. He pulled my blouse over my head, his fingers delighting the curves of my chest. I loosened his belt to free his pulsating manhood. I held him in my grip, bringing him to full attention.

He flipped me onto my back, lifting my skirt above my waist. I felt every inch of him enter my dampened domain. My muscles pulled him in deeper with each labored breath.

“I love you,” he said once again in a rhythmic tone. “I love you, forever.”

The words took hold of me and I could no longer control my surge. I pulled myself to him. Our bodies rocking in perfect unison. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, drawing him in closer as we both began to rise. 

I could feel his rhythm quicken as euphoric grunts escaped his lips. I kissed his neck, my tongue as hard as him. I felt his racing pulse beneath my lips and contracting muscles against my own. 

Harder, faster. Our bodies clenched in perfect unison. He thrust himself deeper one more time, an animalistic growl emitting from his throat. I pulled him in closer, my tightening muscles refusing to release. 

I wrapped my lips around his throat one last time, sinking my teeth in as hard as I could. I drained his very essence from opposite ends, filling my soul with eternal fire, ensuring that he’d be mine forever.

Now, I stand on the bank of the river, watching that lone boat sail back out to deeper waters. They’ll be long gone before the husk of what was once a man, is found below decks. 

I head back to my bar and prepare for the day. I open the safe in the office and pull out a little box. I remove the ring and place it in the box, along with all the others. 

And he will be mine...forever.

~~~*~~~*~~~

I wrote this based on a writing prompt I created. I've been playing around with a Random Word Generator and came up with the words HEAT, RING, and SAIL. This story came out of that.

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

Wicked Scream

Mitchell Bowser on Unsplash

Aiden walked toward the barn, wondering what that strange sound was that came from the loft. He'd known that owls nested up there, but this sounded different. More like a scream than a screech.

It was darker than usual that night, with an almost sinister feel in the air. He chalked it up to the fact that the old barn had always given him the creeps, but tonight seemed worse than usual.  

He reached the barn doors within moments, trembling with each passing second. He noticed a thick, oozing liquid smudged across the handles. Though he couldn't be sure in the glean of the small yard light, he was sure it was made by a human hand. His pulse began to race.

He pulled on the sliding door, shivering at the creaking sound it made. Though he'd heard it a million times before, it seemed to decalcify his spine. 

He knew he should have brought a flashlight, but left it lying on the table. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried to find the app for its flashlight. He'd only used it once before and struggled to remember where it was. 

He finally found the app, momentarily forgetting his heart-pounding fears. This is until he heard that wicked little scream once again. 

He shined his phone's light up towards the rafters. He didn't see anything straight away, but he did detect some movement in the corner. He tried to sound brave when he called out, “Who's up there? I know you're there. Show yourself.”

Other than the echo of his own voice, the barn remained silent. 

He moved a little further into the barn, keeping his flashlight aimed upwards. Remembering that he'd been working out there earlier, he thought it best to shine the light out in front of him and it was a good thing he did. He was only inches away from walking into the handle of his drill press. 

He backed up a few steps when he felt something on his back. He froze instantly, his pulse the only thing still racing.

He slowly moved the flashlight directly in front of him, steadying himself to face whatever was behind him. 

On one heel he turned around, fearing the strange breathing he was sure he'd felt on the back of his neck.

Then he saw them. Those beady little eyes, glowing in the beam of light. 

He stared into the face of his deepest fear. A face complete with flaring nostrils and toothy snarl.

Then he heard the voice. A voice that sent waves of terror through his entire being.

“Dammit, Aiden. Are we gonna do this every time you drink beer and watch scary movies? Take your drunk ass back in the house. I swear, I married a moron.”

Aiden sunk to his knees, thankful that he'd been wrong about his fears once again. He headed back to the house but stopped in his tracks when he heard it again.

That wicked little scream. 

~~~*~~~*~~~

This story came about thanks to my friend, CJ Landry. I had no idea what a writing sprint was until she helped me realize it's nothing more than a well-done freewrite. In our 2nd session, I decided to write for the full 20 minutes with a brand new idea. And this is what I came up with. I think I kinda like it. Thanks CJ.