She Is The Wild

At my desk, I work. 

From the task at hand, the aroma distracts.
Her scent, sweet and subtle.

My head follows my gaze. In front of me, she appears. Framed by soft, shiny hair, eyes so deep, beauty so genuine, my heart, for a moment, ceases beating, then beats much too fast.

More than a decade, it has been.

She speaks, a choir of angels fills the air.

Across the room she glides. The hypnotic sway of her hips controls me. Over her shoulder, a glance is an invitation.

The staircase, she climbs. The uneven gait, to her walk, gives a new rhythm. Her sashay beckons me to follow.

Half way into our ascent, overwhelmed am I. I turn her to face me. Our mouths meet. Inhale her, I do. I imbibe, immediate intoxication, under her spell, again, I fall.


To her legs, my hands explore. Permission I seek, I ask, I am given. Moistness allows unimpeded entry. With feverish haste, within her, my finger explores. One, then two, finds entry. Quickly, I lower my head. The taste, my God, the taste. The finest honey could not be so satisfying, the darkest chocolate so rich, nor the most expensive wine so pleasing --- the true nectar of the Gods is this.

Wider, her body opens. Her scent, overpowering. Faster, I move my hands. 
Panting passion is expressed in earsplitting, salacious screams.

“Fuck me!” she demands.

Our enemies are time and location. I want to, so desperately I desire to again be within. Hopefully, one day I will. Today, I am satisfied delivering.

From her succulent snatch, I take my fingers. Coated with her, I lift to her mouth. From my fingers, she sucks. Within the confines of paradise, I replace them. As I take from within, my fingers glisten. I sample ambrosia.

I need to have her.
I want to have her.
I must feel her around me.

Never, by only giving, have I been so satisfied. Her body is meant for pleasure. Her body is meant for lust. Her very being is meant for unimaginable sin.



That night I sleep. Visions of her flawless, curvaceous body dance in my head – incredible bosom, nipples so tantalizing,  her wet, dripping, inviting, cunt. Her scent, her taste, her soul stirring screams.  Each perfectly memorized, perfectly etched. Each in the present as they were in the past.

Embrace the wild?

She, whom against all else have been measured, was born for the wild, she was born to the wild, she was born to define the wild.  

She is, as she has always been, my wild.