Watercolors

It was the rhythm of our city that the outsiders could never understand. The chocolate city was home to the original quiet storm and we both remembered nights of listening to melvin lindsey. you preferred the ibex, but i loved to shake it in the black hole but we both could never resist the conga rhythms and the call and response of “is dc in the house”.

the years went by and we searched for our other selves in the universe. age and inexperience led to a jagged fit in the square pegs of our high school years. as time past further we explored what everybody said would happen anyway. being young and trying to prove how grown we were, we fogged up windows in rock creek park, snuck through basements when the folks weren’t home and still never went on a date???

we grew up. both being signs of duality, we fought to bring both sides into harmony. your picean nature keep you swimming in circles at the bottom of the
ocean and i struggled to stop the tipping of my scales and we could never quite seem to meet in the middle.

decompressing from living the soldiers life, I offered you comfort and support and a place to indulge your fetishes (and a few of my own). you threw me off gaurd with how sexy you looked. my mind was racing with the chouruses of damn, damn, da-yum is that really him? did the girls sweat you now as you rolled down the street? because I definitely had to keep my cool. luckily my new york facade made that easy. I acted as nonchalant as i could as i threw on the janet, lit the candles and watched you gaze longingly at the legacy. i wanted to create my own legacy – straddling you over the chair, doing the reggae grind I learned somewhere off of flatbush ave and feeling your body against mine. god, we could, we did and we still can kiss for hours just savoring the feels of our tongues in each other mouths. feeling our bodies and communicating everything we wanted through the movement of our mouths.

but i didn’t do it. while I lectured you about taking risks, i held myself back. my libran scales were out of whack, and tigress wasn’t quite prepared to escape from her cage just yet. i was learning that you were going to shift my paradigm of the relationship

Later that night it began, however. I cradled your head on my stomach, loving how you felt when you talked into my stomach. and then, we kissed liked we did all those years ago. i loved how responsive you are when i kiss your neck. i felt your body wriggle beneath me as i pinned your hands and you let me pretend i was in control. i tortured you with my mouth on your neck, and as my body laid on top of yours, I was shocked at how parts of you definitely *had not* stopped growing. I thought men stopped growing at 22?!?!?!? My,my, my johnny, you really had filled out.

You couldn’t take it anymore and stop pretending. you flipped me over and I started giving you head like it was being videotaped and I was getting paid. appealing to your visual sense, i locked eyes with you, as i took your dick down even deeper, moving my tongue in and out, around the head and back and down to your balls for good measure. i was rewarded with your moans and the sound of my name in your mouth. we stopped with the foreplay as my pussy screamed for you to be inside. turn over, you ordered me to turn around, the military training finally getting some good use. that first stroke was amazing. I never really knew where my g-spot was exactly, but you seemed to hit it with sharp shooting precision. As tired as I was, Tigress was out and she wasn’t goin’ out like no sucka, so she hung in there, obeying orders like any good soldier would. turn around, flip over, ride it. faster, slower. We switched up trying to make up for three years of daydreams, emails and the occasional phone call. In the end with both came with me wearing ankle earrings and you laying on top of me.

Me being the literary voice, as you laid on my stomach my mind immediately began to form the story of last night. my thoughts wrapped around the letters trying to fit in, everything, the touch, the smell the vast range of emotions that went across my brain. did you see the images in your mind? were you creating a painting of us with my skin as the canvas, and your tongue as the brush?

The next night, my bed greeted me with the scent of mountain springs,happy sex funk and a coldness left by the fading memories of yesterday.


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