“You want me to leave, Ms. Dellucci?”Ooh, I liked how he said my name so gently. He was rubbing himself against me, making himself harder again on my ass.We heard voices by the door. He pushed me towards the wall, away from the door. The chatter subsided as the hallway began to clear. I had my hands on the wall. He had his arms around my waist, grinding his boner into me.“I need it,” he said. “I need it now. Please.”I was going to hell anyway, I figured. I pushed him back off me with my ass and turned around. He grinned and I grinned as I slid my body down against the wall until I was squatting, my skirt pulled up, revealing the black panties inside my pantyhose. I yanked his jogging pants down, and his cock bounced free. I let it hover over my face for a second before grabbing it.“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he kept saying. He had his hands on the wall now and his feet spread, towering over me.I scarfed down on his cock with a grunt and gave it to him fast. The door was locked, but I still. She sleeps, dozingUpon her islandIn the middle of a carpetTransformedInto a green Sargasso Sea,A waterfallOf blue wallpaperBehind her, streamingGreen meanderingsOf water.She dreamsOf me.3Truncated woman,Crimped at the gatheringOf the sternum,Where the collar would meetWere she not naked,Armless,Legless,Headless,Faceless,Shaded alabasterIn the lightOf a candle erectAnd stationary as a phallus,Shedding more darknessThan lightUpon the subject.4She standsOr reclines--It isn't clear which:Are her handsUpon his shouldersA fending offOr an embrace?Is his hand,Half the size of her thigh,A caressOr an insistence,Uninvited?Do we witness an act of loveOr lust,Embrace or rape.Lust or release?It's hard to say,With Magritte.5Golden girl,Embodiment of the sun,Daughter of the dawn,Standing between red curtains,Hand upon stone,Your pedestal is not stone,But an Amarillo rose,The sea behind youAnd the sky,The former blue,The latter gray.But you golden,Bright as the sun;Despite your statuesquePhysique.
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