tagErotic PoetryThings that turn me on

Things that turn me on


Things that turn me on.

A woman walks into the shop. She is lovely. Heads turn, a startled man drops a box. I enjoy her face, but do not want her body. She leaves, and is a forgotten specter.

Another woman walks in. She is not beautiful. Not nearly as shapely.
She is so sensual, so alive, so feral.
I want her. She leaves and I nearly follow.
We make love in my mind’s eye. In only an instant, she has left me with hours of excitement, of desire.

I watch people at the State Fair. Each year, the exhibits are similar. The crowds walking down the streets move as a wave, heads and bodies bobbing. Baked and fried foods blend, mix, fill the air. The noise, the screams of children on rides, the squawks, moos, and snorts of the horses draw attention in a thousand directions.

It is a time to watch, senses heightened. Everyone is there, compacted into one small area. All shapes and sizes and personalities mix and blend, then are carried into focus. Yuppies smile at farmers, touch soccer moms. They are open, ready to buy or sell.

Two years ago, at the fair, I saw a girl selling beer. She worked in one of the tents.
She was perhaps the most desirable woman I saw that year.
She had that look, that manner. She was sexual, sensual, a magical, desirable creature.
She looked at me and I nearly forgot to order. I thought of her for days.

This year, again at the fair, I purposely looked for those special women.
I looked for those who I might want. I wanted to see them this time, imagine them.
I saw her again, the beer girl. She is still the most attractive. I want her the most.
She, most of all, turns me on.

Things that turn me on.

A nipple, hard, poking through a sheer fabric.
A little patch of skin at the hip, a tiny patch where a woman’s shirt has come loose after being tucked into her pants.
A pair of pants, zipped, just tight enough that you can imagine what is there.
A pair of lips, licked and glistening.
The touch of a stranger, as she brushes against you and does not flinch away.

Moments that turn me on.

A woman in a crowd stands in front of me. I look at her hair. She steps back against me. I want her.
The flick of a head of hair. Her neck is bare, just for an instant.
I want to run my teeth down her skin.

A brief smile from someone I’ve noticed, but don’t know. Her teeth shine.

Standing at a counter, a woman is asking me questions. She leans against me and does not move away. Her bare skin is soft against mine. It is innocent, or is it? I could turn to her and kiss her. Such soft, sensual lips.

The smell of a woman. Her unique smell. Light perfume, mixed with her own scents. I want to lean closer, brush my face against her hair and inhale it. Apples sometimes, peaches at others. And just the fresh clean smell of soap.

A high heel clicks on the hard floor behind me. It is light, but as it taps against the floor, she creates a mental image. I turn to look. She has the body of a dancer. I want her.

A joyous laugh. She steps toward me as I lead her, dance with her. I feel her hair swirl against my face as she turns quickly. The smell and the softness linger. Sweat, mixed with perfume. I breathe deeply.

More things that turn me on.

A bared midriff. Such a lovely sight. Just the barest hint of a navel, showing above low-cut pants. A tight skirt, wiggling from behind, showing a bit of her rear, moving rhythmically as she walks.

Legs. A slit that travels over a knee, showing a thigh. The smile that tells you she’s noticed and appreciates your looking.

A woman’s anger. Her quick, forced breaths. She reaches to the air and her shirt lifts, tightening around her waist.

A sudden inhale as I tell her that she is lovely. A pause. The quiet sound as she releases it again.

Being turned on.

Fingers on my back as I lean over a woman. She reaches backwards, over our shoulders and pulls me towards her. I am already hard, deep inside her. She groans, her nails scratching at me. My control is gone, my body tenses.

She stiffens when she is over me. Her back arches. Her nipples reach up. Her head drops back. Her neck strains. Time stops.

Aren’t these the smiles, the slightly damp feelings between our legs, the slight stirring that makes us adjust our posture, wiggle in our chair, cross our arms to hold our breasts tight, squeeze our legs together, smile while alone, flip our hair, tingle on the back of our necks, wear lacy, provocative underwear, even though no one but us may see it? Do we wonder about such things?

Now you know. And I am turned on, knowing that.

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