The Fluid Beauty Of Her Needful Intent

Piotr Marcinski/

Stopped in traffic on a midday errand

Suddenly he was in a small bedroom

Not his own, dimly lit and yellow.

A woman not his own but familiar

Started stripping in front of him

The way a woman does at the end of a long day.

First her shoes, then her shirt, then skirt,

Earrings, watch, necklace,

Then that stick that holds her hair up

Letting her hair fall from its twist, to her

Shoulders, where she shook it out

Before swinging her hands behind

Her back to unceremoniously unhook

Her bra, her breasts swaying gently

As she slid her panties down.

It was as if she was completely unaware

That he was there. That is, until she did

What seemed to him to be the most natural

Next step in a nightly routine but had never

Been offered to him much less presented with

The fluid beauty of her needful intent.

Her hand stroked down his chest and belly,

Grabbing his shaft firmly in her hand,

She mouthed his tip with her soft lips,

Sucking it with her strong tongue

It was then and only then when

He emitted a moan, deep and masculine,

Did her eyes meet his. Eyes with such intensity

That his heart stopped and breath stopped

And he felt like weeping from the pleasure he had found.

A car honked behind him and he reluctantly drove on.

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