Submitted by megan on Sun, 02/10/2008 - 01:57
Neither of us asked. There was just your hand on my waist, my thigh between yours. My skirt, riding up, exposed flesh between lace and skirt a flash in the gloom.
Your rhythm seeps into my hips, your hair brushes my cheeks. My lips are close to your ear. The smell of our sweat, acrid and enticing, rises.