Fingers breach the gape of lace
your pale supine back
beneath my questing hands
unpinning one unruly fall of hair to lift-fasten another
a sense of the forbidden almost (but not quite, perhaps never, but this, oh this…) within my grasp
firm moist sweep of movement over muscle, bone, nerves.
pressing down, seeking release
offering – pleasure?
Fingers rub, fingering lace…
a visual feast of (previously unseen) tangled hair
punctuated by firm stubs of flesh
pierced through with mismatched silver
grasping, letting go, catlike motion
a sigh’s expulsion –
A SILENT BREATH…
a sigh’s expulsion.
to surprisingly delicate hands.
CHANGE OF PLACEMENT
beneath my touch
from my willing hands…
his pale back canted forward.
the feel of him,
my (lightly tensed) welcoming thighs’
Whoever thought giving a massage could generate such f(r)iction?