Does He Know What He Does?. . .

I don't think I've ever felt this feeling before.
How can I describe it?
It's like you gasp for air
and you feel it,
the life in the air,
sinking down inside your body. . .
pausing to flutter in your stomach,
then to tingle between your legs,
then rippling down to your toes and
back up and up
setting your spine on fire
as it flows towards your mouth to escape.

But the feeling stays -
the life inside your body
and everything that it means -
the "not-supposed-to" desires that it brings about,
the hidden yearnings that it finds,
the burning and the itch that it provokes.
Oh! I love that itch that he provokes.

The need to be touched,
to touch myself,
to feel. . .
to feel its power over me,
transforming me into a woman that I've never been
but have always known.
A woman who can run and jump and dance through the streets,
wearing only her confidence,
the rain falling. . .
dancing with her,
glistening off her body in the glow of the streetlights,
people watching
and wondering.
But she doesn't care. . .

because she's free.

Along with that strong assured woman inside of me
is a small scared little girl
who slips a piece of candy from the corner store
into her pocket,
something she knows she shouldn't do,
but she wants it.
She wants to feel brave.
She wants the danger,
the risk of getting caught. . .
being found out.
She loves feeling what she should not feel.
But it scares her -
that candy in her pocket.

Oh the itch that he provokes.
I don't think I've ever felt that feeling before.
Not like this.