I had seen him around the theater, snobbish and tall with arrogance. We finally met when I acted in a play of his. When I read his script, I was blown away. His cockiness didn’t matter anymore. He was talented. I was attracted.
“I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body.”
It’s a sunny afternoon. Fans of green palm kiss me as I walk the path to his garden. Now would be a good time to turn around. It’s not too late — save yourself.
There he is, reclining on a porch swing hanging from a tree, enjoying his garden nestled in the hills. I can hear the sounds of New Amerykah Part Two: Return of the Ankh by Erykah Badu. It turns me on a bit, as it’s my favorite album.
“Green was the silence, wet was the light,
the month of June trembled like a butterfly.”
We’d hung out before, casually. Our conversations were candid and deep. Colleagues having a few drinks after the show. But our discussions quickly strayed from character development and became intimate.
“Loving is a clash of lightning-bolts
And two bodies defeated by a single drop of honey.”
When he invited me to his home, I was apprehensive. If anyone found out, it would taint both our reputations.
But the honesty in his writing had compelled me to be vulnerable. He’d asked about my secrets, so I shared my fantasies. Now we were both unmasked. It was electrifying to reveal myself to this artist. His eagerness to know all of me was captivating. It meant that I was worthy of further investigation. My ego swelled. He was thrilling to say yes to.
As I approach, he beckons me to come closer. He’s reading Love Poems by Pablo Neruda. I read Pablo, too.
He passes a perfectly rolled joint and I sit down next to him. He caresses my head, so gentle for such a strong man. He feeds me strawberries as we sit, taking in the beautiful view of Los Angeles. He offers me his favorite rum, Three Sheets. Smooth.
The velvety tenor reads to me, each word beautifully powerful. His voice surrounds me as I look out over the lights of LA. This is where the voice lives, and I’ve come to have it touch my soul.
“I want to do with you what Spring does with the cherry trees…”
“Kiss by kiss I move across your small infinity…”
“In love you loosened yourself like sea water…”
We’re surrounded by houses next to a popular hiking trail. A neighbor’s golden retriever lies in the sun on a porch nearby. A woman dries her laundry over the railing of the house above. Am I really doing this, out in the open? My fantasy is becoming my reality.
My skirt slides above my waist. He brushes my panties aside. I am juicy as a peach. I watch, entranced, as he plays with me, bringing his fingers to his mouth. “…so good…” He offers me a taste before inching his way back to my pussy, sucking on my inner thigh along the way.
His mouth containing all of me, I grab a handful of his hair and rock my pelvis even deeper into his face. To further my pleasure, he moves the swing back and forth. Ecstasy.
All I need now is penetration. Intuitively, he slides two fingers inside, moving them in and out. Breathing heavily, I writhe about. I am blooming like one of Pablo’s cherry trees. I feel it coming, my deep orgasm. “I’m gonna cuuuuuuuuuum!” I squirt into his mouth, swinging out of control, head spinning.
My squeals set the dog barking. His neighbor peeks over the bushes, sending us scrambling. Laughing, we catch our breath and stumble inside.
“By night, Love, tie your heart to mine, and the two
together in their sleep will defeat the darkness”
He blindfolds me. His voice, full of power and confidence, declares he is the Master and I his slave. He leads me to his bed, naked, and straps my limbs to each post. The dark room finds me hot with anticipation.
A sliver of ice slides across my torso, melting past my breasts and throat. He lets me suck on what’s left. The scent of nutmeg arises as liquid splashes over my breasts. He commands I open my mouth and pours in a drop of rum. “Good girl.” He laps up the golden spirit as I writhe with pleasure. Abruptly, he demands I stop squirming or else. Curious of the consequences, I disobey. A slap kisses my face. Nipples are twisted. Ties tighten around my ankles, spreading my legs even wider.
He raises my arms and binds them to the headboard. “This is for disobeying.” My lips part as his cock enters my mouth. In and out, he sets the tempo. I want nothing more than to get out of my bonds and suck him senseless, but I can’t. I have to wait for his orders. I take him deep. He then returns his attention to me. With delicate licks I’m brought to another climax. The skilled mouth of a true artist…
“So I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.”
That night, I sleep like a goddess beside him. The next morning, I return the favor, and I experience a sense of empowerment like never before. I didn’t think I’d let things go this far, but giving in to my fantasies was like a most beautiful dream.
Poetry is all words. Sometimes though, the right verse in the right moment can feel visceral. And real, like a poet took up a pen and constructed a bewitching world around us. A poet who can create the moon, the stars, the lights down in the valley… even tie the blindfold around our eyes if we wish hard enough.