Warning: the following piece contains strong language and sexual situations. Reader discretion is advised.
I came to you in the sauna of night on cold feet. You shed the skin that concealed a buried beckoning and bid me closer, come. Not glancing behind, I deferred: let you unwind my cork, and anticipated the rising pressure (not yet – almost – now – POP!) until I overflowed. You labelled me a hairless lap-cat; stroked my see-through skin as you slurped the flesh-warm streams at last undammed. Damned…so what? I do not care who knows I am ignorant of your body (excepting its nudity). Rich raiment merely drapes the form of your deceit. Nipples (no breasts) not large enough to fill a cup size fit my mouth just fine, though I need to teach you how to stuff–or else, strap on a bigger cock.
Ring. He does not grasp the crux of lust. He sees not the roots that have fastened steadily as tendrils escaped from your pulp fiction wig over a fortnight of winters; summers when you clocked me in downy meadows and even the most boisterous of birds could not over-sing that urgent madness we fought and felled and failed to quell. I am fucking you in every gold-leafed verse–have been unfaithful since that J-word month–the first.
Reckless. We are equally wrecked, and I do not need a drop of drink to loosen my tongue and un-prise my grasp and concede my bestial organ to your demand. The bloody thing betrays me, will not keep its promise to un-skip beats; will not comply with the court’s orders to keep me out of your gameboard’s isolated harem. If I were outward bound, I would tangle your loose-locked hair, lost in the pleasure of blaspheming pope-anointed follicles; performing fervent thrusts; proffering friction from the fingers I have taught (and learned) the art of fictitious confrontation. Erstwhile, I ripped snarls from you, as you wrenched banshees free of me, and there, on that infernal deserted planet, our hearts charred black, singed by space-lost meteorites. You clapped behind my back.
Rogue. Your malodorous troubadours take us both in hand. Everyone wants in to dip their wicks. But my obsession belongs in you. With him. I know why you pretend. You could have asked me first—did I want the worst position? Could I spread myself that thin? You have a cabinet full of dolls to break, why choose the one who won’t docilely take the initiative to imitate? Meanwhile, you speak of forging a false truce: “Let’s not, and say we do.”
Rascal. I surrender. I give in. I love you. You win. I will not beg you to let me live. Happiness is yours, yourself to give. A lesson in a lie we both should have—must have—learned. And neither can outrun the quickened curse; nor drown the famished thirst. What prescription does one take orally to cool the dry (eyes) ice burn?
© Jane Bled 2018
All Rights Reserved.
For Rio Shayne. “Overwhelmed” doesn’t do justice to the description of my rapture when I opened my commission package and noticed the early birthday gift you’d enclosed — a hand-drawn card (to be featured in a future post); and a surprise companion painting to my beloved blue moon commission request. Super Bloodmoon: Divine Awakening pairs perfectly with its sister, as I hope “Inamorata” provides a pleasing contrast to its antonym “Splendor.” Thank you, dear Rio. I appreciate your artistry, kindness, and benevolence. I am thoroughly honored to be your patron, as well as your friend. Much love. <333
Rio Shayne lives in Portland, Oregon, where she was born and raised. Rio creates works of art predominantly in the mediums of painting and drawing. During her time at the Arts & Communication Magnet Academy, she won an art contest for her paintings, which resulted in a scholarship. She has been in art shows at the Goodfoot Pub and Lounge, the People’s Art of Portland Gallery, The Ford Gallery, and various local businesses and First Thursday venues. Rio is known for her use of vibrant colors and rich textures. Her art is influenced by psychedelics, expressionism, impressionism, cubism, abstract, and contemporary.
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Rio is available for commissions via email@example.com