At times, your hand opened. I would trace your palm with a fingertip, soft and slow, already memorizing some mysterious flesh map. A beautiful, looping terrain. Later, you would ask why I did that. I was scared to say and you, with a silly smile, said to not be afraid. That you wouldn't laugh. Maybe giggle a little. "I see our lifelines woven together when I do that," I would answer in a near whisper, barely able to meet your gaze. And your response would come in the form of an almost painful hug, the smile gone, a barely noticeable tear traveling down your cheek as you embraced me. I see us like this at times. A panorama that's oblivious to time, moments untouched and crystalline in their clarity, no matter what order they're in.And I still trace. I watch the city's streetlamps, much like your eyes, seemed to course with a beautiful bioluminescence. An otherworldly glow I always want to understand.Stars dotted the clear sky that night, tiny silver ornaments strewn along the heavens.. She was naked apart from a necklace, black holdups and black patent heels, her curvy frame glistening. In the deep, humid warmth of the room, I could smell it on her; my pee, mixed with the gentle floral aroma of the perfume she wore. Both pleasant and unpleasant. “Is this your first time?” she enquired stalking provocatively towards me as if I was about to be on the receiving end of some kind of lap dance. I nodded, “I know it’s not yours.” She smiled, sultry and controlled, shook her head, “don’t worry, you’ll like it.” I savoured the glorious sight of her ample bum descending over me as she squatted, vagina splaying as she did so. “Just like your Parisienne girl in Bordeux?” I asked. “You are asking for detail of whether or not I pissed in her mouth?” I thumbed open her cunt as it hovered above me, supple, engorged, fragrant, “yes.” “I did it in her mouth, in her open pussy while she played with herself, lots of ways,” she said as if there was nothing remotely obscene about what.
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