In the Heat of the Night

I fucked good for the first time in awhile. But not the sloppy kind. More like the sweaty confession — when your body gives away the thirst that couldn’t be conquered by chance.

It had to be the waiting and the panting and the waiting. The sweating and the windless night that keeps good manners at bay.

You have to remove and breathe which leads to cold drinks and a dance that your big reveal can handle.

This is magic.

Wet under the gaze of the one who will slither in and wrap you into the treat you can’t wait to share — the silence of contemplation leads to action.

It’s not perfect.

It’s messy and loud. Honest and dishonest. Scary and maddening. Pleasing and pleasurable.

It’s fucking. And I’m sleeping in.

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