Over 16,529,618 people are on fubar.
What are you waiting for?
That tall glass of milk isn't for me.
Perched backwards on a chair.
Curved to play all the highlights.
Stray tendrils of hot-pink in her eyes.
Something that barely concealed a come-fuck-me stare.
This can't be real.
I didn't just stroke that fishnetted hide like a stray cat.
Watched that rear bump up to meet my hand.
I didn't put my teeth on her hips.
I'm not being sized, subdued and mounted by some science fiction neon princess.
But for the record
she bites pretty hard.
And has the most adorably tipped tongue.
Like a wet surgical swab down my abdomen.
We'll call this "deconstructionalism"
"minimalist sado-massochism"
Pet, and Pet.
Belts on my wrist
lips in the strangest places.
A rainbow of flavors
something sugary but tart.
Thick but rich.
Mercury mouth.
Smooth and poison.
The kind that takes all night.
The kind you smell on your face after.
That familiar ache in your body.
That empty in your chest you can't relate.
