A note from Indaba…
I want to create characters and scenarios that are just one step beyond imaginable, or rather one step beyond what the reader has done. I want to write the scene where a woman sees a man she wants, flirts, and takes him home without fear. Where she takes the lead in the encounter, deciding when to kiss, when to pull away, and when the clothes start coming off.
I want her on top. I want him to have his eyes open, feasting on her as she kisses her way down his torso. They both know where she’s headed but only she knows when she’ll get there and what she’ll do when she arrives.
He watches, images flitting through his mind while he’s turned on by what’s in front of him, wanting nothing more than to feel her mouth wrapped around his cock. His cock that is thick, hard, and straining to reach her. He would, if this was a movie, reach down and begin stroking his cock but, since this isn’t a movie and he’s not in charge, he keeps his hands where she put them, above his head. He knows that his patience will be rewarded.
She trails her lips with her fingers, caressing his skin and revealing in the heat he’s emanating. She knows it’s her doing, that the sensations of her working her way down his body have sped his heart rate up and caused a sheen of sweat to form. She wants her mouth around his cock almost as much as he wants it to be there, but she is taking her time. Seeing him watch her, feeling that heat, feeling his pulse, it all makes her wet. She sits up on her knees when she’s gotten as far as the top of the triangle of hair that surrounds his member, and chuckles at the groan he makes when she lifts her mouth away from his skin.
Her fingers are there, playing with his curls, brushing ever so lightly against the base of his penis. She smiles each time it jumps. With one hand pressing on his pubic mound, her index finger and thumb circle his cock, squeezing it into submission, his gasp all the encouragement she needed. She pounced on his cock, taking the length of it into her mouth as she slid two fingers inside herself, joining him in wet pleasure.
And, most of all, I want you to read it. I want your eyes to dance over my words, feeling the experience shared on the page excite you. I want your breath to quicken with theirs, and I want your face to flush. I want you to be so engrossed in what you’re reading that you forget where you are. I want your hand to go up to your neck, seeking a bot of skin to touch. I wan’t you to imagine being him, being her, being both of them. I want you to imagine being neither of them and, instead, being an unwritten character watching from the corner.
I want you to fill in the blanks, imagining the sounds and smells and light in the room. I want you to think about what came before and what comes after. I want you to take my words and run with them until there is nowhere to go but the sweetness of release.
And then I want you to come back for more.
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