Erotic Ketchup

Sorry - couldn't resist. I'm in a mood this morning - oh, wait, it's afternoon already.

So, I decided it was about time I tried to get caught up with posting my Alison Tyler contest flashers. This one I didn't post right away because it went visiting in Suite 69 over at Donna George Storey's blog for her hotel sex series. I was thrilled that Donna asked me to take part in the festivities and the comments I got on the story made me feel all warm and fuzzy.

But as is always the way with stuff that I don't do right away - it didn't get done - until now.

It's weird, I'm listening to Ani DiFranco's Living In Clip - an all time favorite CD - and feeling a bit of anger/loss - finally - I've been sorta numb since losing my friend last week. Maybe partly because my husband has been away and I need to hold it together when he's gone. He'll be back tonight and isn't going anywhere for a bit - so maybe it feels safer to let those feelings in. This human condition fascinates me.

And now for something completely different...

This was for AT's "Touch" contest back in the very beginning of March.


Pulsating Jets

As the sun crept around the heavy hotel drapes, we snuggled. Sleeping clothed is unusual for us. Though sometimes we wear something to bed just to have something to take off. But thanks to a screw up in reservations we had to share a room with your business partner and his wife. They weren’t happy about it. Neither were we.

While our roommates snore, you caress my arm, slide over my tummy, brush my upper thigh. I can feel your arousal nestled against my butt. We rub feet together, wordlessly communicating the longing we both feel. What I wouldn’t give for a wall and a door right now. But you break away and get up to shower. I don’t dare join you.

I lay touching myself as I listen to you turn on the water and adjust the spray. The sounds emanating from the shower are subtle at first. Could easily be mistaken for washing hair or soaping arms. But soon they become more regular, last longer than it should take to wash any single body part.

Listening, I see you in my mind’s eye, water coursing over your body, your hand moving faster and faster. I wonder what images are jumping your synapses. I hardly breathe, straining to hear. Part of me is sad, wanting to be your fist, be the water. The sound is insistent now.

Then, just the steady sound of the shower, the gurgle of the drain.