Can you be certain earlier than I was whether this story is about a sexy, running man or woman? It took me 330 words before I was sure. Granted, you’ll now be hypersensitive, so this experiment isn’t exactly scientifically sound, but you’ve got to give credit to the fact that it’s not as easy as you think. Not sure if that’s a good writing strategy or not. Nice to see that sex can be gender neutral, but as a reader, I felt a little lost.
You are on your daily run. Swift and powerful arms and legs gliding along -- you make it seem effortless -- but the sweat, oh the beautiful sweat, glistening about your flesh tells me your body is working hard. I love that sweat. Sweet and pungent. The same sweat that shimmers on your collar bones and breasts, the slick of your thighs and the soft hardness of your back and stomach when we make love and our passion rides us along, over mountains and valleys as we drift in out over waves made by our moans and sighs.
You tell me you won't be long on this walk-run. You say, it's okay baby, then kiss me full on mouth. I can't help but follow you in my mind, watching the gentle bounce of you with every stride. You are so focused on your task, ensuring your feet stay sure-footed along the cracks and seams of the sidewalks. You'll be home soon, so I make ready for your return. I light the candles, the incense. Set the lights dim, place your favorite flowers, and have music playing the room like a lover's kiss along an anxious spine. I feel the room -- it's not too hot, not too cool, even though I enjoy your nipples hard. I know you are more comfortable in warm, and I make it so.
You arrive at the back door, slip off your sneakers, hang your jacket on the hook, breathe in and out fully. Your body is still reeling from the adrenalin, shaking a bit. You drink water -- letting it spill out the sides of your mouth, down your chin and neck, wetting your shirt, soaking your flesh, cooling you. I wait for you in the bathroom, a lost scene from a romance novel. The scene omitted because it was too risqué. The shower turned on, soft steam rising, candles lit, smooth aroma lofting about, gentle music, and me in the shower, waiting for you. Water streams over my curves, rivering down my breasts -- waterfalling off my erect nipples. My black hair blacker now, long over my shoulders, down my back, flirting with that point where ass meets spine.
My outline is blurred a bit, so you slide the see-through curtain to the side and see me clearly, smiling, eyes wanting you. You step back and take off your clothes. One piece at a time, slowly revealing your satin shine. I sigh upon seeing your breasts, and sigh louder upon watching you slide tiny panties off your hips, down your legs…
Read it all: Shore Lands
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