When you're not here

Imagining you behind me, I press my hips against the arm of the couch, lift my nightgown and drape myself over the cushions. You'd explore the offering first with your hands and then with your lips and tongue and teeth.

I am wearing your favorite panties -- the ones with the tiny, cream bows, a blanket of lacy gray cloaking my hills in a light fog, giving you a hint of the treasures that lie hidden. Your hot, assessing eyes would roam, determining where to start as we both savor this anticipatory moment.


When you are done with your appraisal, I would turn and run my hand down your firm stomach, licking you with my fingertips and devouring you with my eyes, as I slowly unbuckle your belt and release the button on your pants, tempting you to make your move. I am uncertain whether you would choose to remove your belt and press me back into position or if you would, instead, allow me to ease your pants down to receive a proper homecoming kiss.

I sigh, knowing that if you were here we would erase the days spent apart by writing our new history in the living room, over the kitchen table, scrawled across the countertops and painted on the floors.