In heat

In heat.

There are times when I am nothing but my cunt, swollen and expectant at every glance. Every touch becomes an extension of my desire, my hand lingering too long on your shoulder, my eyes conveying too much in my gaze. These times, I am nothing but my sex, driven and inspired only by the thought of coming, for you and with you. The way my clothing feels on my skin, restrictive yet stimulating, the fulfilling smell and taste of my latte, even the cooling scent of impending Autumn can make me swell, silently pulsating next to you as we walk, and you talk of everyday things. Should I whisper to you, “here lover, take me here, no one will notice,” or risk the slightest cooling of my flames for a more secluded hour? These are the times when I shower too long, when I imagine you smelling my desire, when every thought is of your shoulders, your arms, the way your body climbs over mine. I expect that you can hear me, see my thoughts, and every word is suggestive to my ears. “Want to go eat?” God yes. Please, let’s eat.