My Writing

Saturday, April 14, 2012

Perfect Cover


"Shhh..."
He placed one finger vertically against his lips
and ducked under the bridge,
looking back to beckon me,
his left hand waving eagerly.

The sunset cast an eerie rose-colored light
above nearly black trees;
I pulled my inadequate cardigan closed,
clasping it together with one hand
between my teenage breasts.

Through word-of--mouth
we'd heard this was the place
older couples came to park,
make out, fuck in the open wild.
I wasn't convinced I wanted to see,
but he was like a skilled fisherman,
baiting me with those white teeth,
black t-shirts displaying obscure bands,
hair falling limply over one eye.

He sat on a large boulder beneath the wooden bridge.
It was small, gray with age, and missing several slats.
Evening light filtered through the seams in the planks,
just enough for me to see the glint in his eye,
"Listen...I think I hear them..."
He handed me the binoculars.

Standing balanced on two rocks, looking into the trees,
I could just make out the sedan's silhouette,
possibly navy blue or black.
Beside it, bare skin upon bare skin,
The naked backside of a fairly fit man,
female legs and arms wrapped
around his neck and thighs.
With each of his thrusts,
the tension in his thighs and ass
waxed and waned.
Occasionally, the sound of a male groan
or a lighter female cry.

My companion's hand moved
slightly higher up my leg,
but I kept watching,
transported by uncompromising curiosity,
my locked attention, leaving me
open to his exploration,
unwilling to protest or resist.

He knelt before me, his hands
at the top of my thighs, thumbs
gently rubbing, his face so close,
I could feel the heat of his breath
through my jeans.

I kept watching the man and woman,
her form now bent over the back of the car,
legs spread wide, heeled shoes pushing her
high enough to meet his cock.

The trees teased my view,
occasionally depriving me.
I never saw their faces,
but the transport truck behind the car
looked like the one driven by
my mother's mechanic.

Not much caring who they were,
I gave my attention to them
and my body to the boy at my feet,
whose probing hands were sliding
my jeans down around my calves,
then slipping in between skin and lace
to alternately finger and suck.

Short, insistent breaths escaped my lips
encouraging him to pull my panties down.
He held onto one leg and
pulled the clothing off the other,
then spread my legs,
guiding the now free ankle up
and onto an adjacent rock.
Better access.
The cold twilight air hit my pussy,
but greater yet was the pleasant shock
of his mouth and tongue,
hot and wet, hungry in a way
only youth can be.
I could hardly balance or concentrate
on the scene before me.

The couple pulled apart,
kissing, dressing, and finding their own vehicles.
The sun, nearly down, caught the sedan just right
as it backed up and turned around.
Purple, dark purple...
and the woman, blond, dark blond.
The transport truck.
My mother's mechanic.
My mother's hair, blond.
He car, a deep shade of purple,
almost black.

I dropped the binoculars
and squealed loudly
his lips and tongue sucking greedily,
his teeth softly teasing my clit.

I came at the very moment I realized what I'd seen,
the orgasm drowning the shock on my face.
The perfect cover
in the cold of oncoming night.




I was given a list of words and told to create a poem.  This is the result.  It has no actual connection to my life, other than the emotion behind the words.  Pure, intoxicating fiction.  Words:  shhh, eerie, mechanic, binoculars, navy, cardigan, transport, caring, uncompromising)











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