How It Happens

It always begins with the thought of you.

Just your eyes in my head. The feel of my just-shaven legs rubbing against cool cotton sheets. Everywhere, that tickling sense of tingling and anticipation. A heavy swollen yearning in my breasts. Trying to go easy on myself but I’m remembering your mouth. Pinch, pull, tug, scraping jagged fingernails across my skin. Warmth easing through my body like music, my stomach on fire and melting. Lower, lower, teasing, edging. Legs I don't even tell to spread but do so from their own hunger for you. Remembering when I put my fingers in your curling angel-hair and pulled you closer into me. Remembering my Shakespeare. Even the bridge of your nose is my eternal porn and gets me hotter and more throbbing than a day in this town in July. Suddenly need to be filled with my fingers, need that substance in me, need the sweet pretense of your flesh. Yes, there it is, the feeling of sudden completion, and it’s too sweet, almost painful it’s so pleasurable. Acute dripping splintering undulating waves of trembling sensation and joy. Trying not to think of the liquid warmth that comes from you which makes me crazy to know the feel of again, whether on me or in me, it doesn't matter. My fingers slip out and go for the kill, finding my little pleasure center that twitches and pulses at just the thought of your smile. Just a flick, just a touch, and light is flooding me, white and shivering and glitter-kissed. My body's dark hole squeezing and tightening around your ghost. I feel nothing but happiness and the sweet rush that is the second’s release and shining moment I actually think I’m breathing the same air as you, that you are with me again and wanting to stay, that she never called your name and you followed her back.