Living Room

Living Room
By James Kirkland

Seattle Springtime. Rain maybe. Rain probably. Cars and buses and over-heated ambitions compete for space and progress. Pedestrian glances at passing feet is the way to greet humanity.
Somewhere-else fills and fogs the rest of the brain. Our kids, husbands, wives, parents, jobs, milk-cartons, ads, spam and horrific headlines cry out for us. All anyone wants is to live. And if not to really be alive, at least to rest in peace.

I gently knock and you open your secret door and reach for my hand, quickly drawing me in and away to you...very much alive and turned out in painted nails, sheer, provocative teddie, impish grin, skin warm flushed, smooth thighs moist, perfumed bosom trembling, nipples erect, silken stimulus to my blood, to my senses.

Instantly, I am alive, ready, aroused, fully in the throb of now. We kiss as the door snaps shut and the Seattle sounds hush....and you let the straps slip from your shoulders as we kiss and you reach for my fly as I cup your breasts--and there is only the rush of life and your tongue and your taste and your scent and your touch and...You.