Multi-Genre Short Stories by a Woman Whose Husband Holds Her Purse

Author:M Demetrice [Demetrice, M]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Contemporary Fiction, Single Authors, Contemporary, Literature & Fiction, Short Stories, Short Stories & Anthologies
Amazon: B00S6RP13A
Publisher: M. Demetrice
Published: 2015-01-12T05:00:00+00:00

Missing You Is My Poison

I Swallow and My Wretched Body Convulses

My Eyes Strain and Wells, Showering Me into Puddles

My Puddles Become Streams, and then Rivers to Oceans

My Weeks Become Your Years and Eternity Is a Long Time

That’s How It Has Felt

I Miss You As If You Were My Breath, My Oxygen

My Creature

My Eve

My Garden of Eden

My Poison Is a Picture of You

She looks down at me as I hold her tight, our heartbeat singing to each other while our pelvis slow dance in a pleasurable grind. I can feel her quivering in my arms, bliss rising but she is determined to keep it slow and sensual, prolonging the moment. Her breast bounce at my chin with her movement and I take my tongue and lap at her dark nipples that have swelled with wanting. I hear her gasp, and then give in to an orgasm. Her sweetness tightens around my shaft and I explode; her womanhood vibrating against my thickness. She calls out my name and I return the favor.

“Tasha.”

I open my eyes, her name dissolving on my tongue. I look up at the ceiling, the room dark with only the street light creeping through the mini-blinds. I toss the sheets to the side and sit up, my boxers soiled by a nocturnal omission.

“Damn.” It wasn’t the first time this has happened. Dreaming of Tasha and our last moment of lovemaking. Out of all the women, she had been the best.

I flip the bedside lamp on and it illuminates Tasha’s picture which sits facing away from me. It was taken more than five years ago. I remember that day as if it had happened yesterday. We, returning from San Antonio, wanted a much needed break from our six hour trip. We stopped, got a couple of sub sandwiches and took them to a nearby rest-stop. I remember that day had been blue skies and perfect traffic. The entire ride, we had held hands while laughing and telling jokes. I remember the way her hair had blown in the wind, the unruliness of it, a turn on. I wanted so badly to find an empty pasture on some side country road and bend her over. I thought my hard on would never leave. I wanted her that much. Instead, she had taken me in her mouth while I drove down Highway 59, giving me a much needed release.

At that rest-stop, she had teased me about my driving. The way my leg jerked on the gas when my orgasm seized me. Her smile, it was so radiate and hypnotizing that I spent more time taking pictures of her with my new camera than eating my sandwich.

She was beautiful – still is. What I heard from her mother, anyway. All this time and I still got a picture of her beside my bed. Never could get over her. Now it looks like I know why.

Of all the women I had slept with, it had to be she that had given me AIDS. Who knew it could stay dormant in your body for that long.

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