Muse

Once his gaze falls upon her, once his touch maps the limits of her form, once his lips whisper their kisses into naked feminine warmth, she is changed, transformed.

No longer purely woman, she is more.

Muse, creation, force, she is the sigh, the moan, the roaring pulse, oil on canvas, the sensual delicacy of his brushstrokes, light and shade, the camera eye, shutter click slicing through the night, the sweetest skin, the honeyed come, voluptuous pixels aching to transcend the screen, the erotic words composed in fluorescent virtuality, the desire etched into her glistening velvet, the lustful yearning written on the body with tip of devouring tongue, with the artist’s hand, with the need of man, with the slide of thick, throbbing flesh, with the seductive scratch of the writer’s nib.

Apparatus

In the forgetting, in the act of extinguishing our fire, in the struggle to rid my body of its erotic longings, its carnal addiction, it is the shutter’s click, it is this sweet yet cruel apparatus that serves as a reminder of you.

Fusion

She stares for an age at the screen, barely able to see through the passion blurring her vision, barely able to comprehend the desire she provokes in such a man.

Yet, the proof is there before her. The proof of his desperation, his yearning, the ache that crawls under his skin.

She blinks over and again, her chest rapidly rising and falling, her breath catching in her throat, her slick cunt thumping against the denim covering her groin.

And although she realises the gesture an imitation, she too can not control the impulse to merge her flesh with his, to extend her touch to the electronic body, caressing the large, strong hand reaching out in a futile attempt to feel her own absent form.

Proxy

Tousled hair framing her down-turned face, rosy nipples erect, stockinged thighs pressed coquettishly together, legs long and lean accentuated by vertiginous stilettos, the gems on the tiny g-string sparkling in the low light. One arm hooked high on the wardrobe door, the other gently caressing her hip, she waits for the detached glass eye to capture her pose.

It is a poor substitute, this mechanical silver box, staring, gazing but never truly seeing the desire rising up from deep within and prickling her skin. Orange light blinking, body momentarily frozen, she wonders if he will sense just how she aches for his presence, yearns for the sensation of his fingers trailing over her burning naked flesh, his large hand cupping her moist flower, his strong masculine body overwhelming her from behind, drawing her into his own incendiary lust.

On this steamy, airless night it is her only means to him, to his eyes, to his body hungry and needy. And on this night all she has is this feeling, this intensity, this moment, frozen in time, alone in her room.

E-male

It begins with an innocent double click. With the attachment finally open, her eyes grow wide, mouth drops open, the space between her legs begins to thump.

Forgetting the public surroundings, she stares unashamedly at the picture-filled screen, moving in as close as she can before the photograph disappears into a mass of coloured pixels.

Standing by the rumpled bed they had marked only a few hours earlier, he is wearing the suit that always makes her swoon. Charcoal single-breasted jacket, crisp white shirt, flat front trousers, heavy leather belt, all topped off with his unmistakably cheeky grin.

And his big strong hand around his growling angry cock.