The Perfect Lover
Un et seul.
With her body pinned against me, and my back against the door, she smiles as she asks me, "Do I make you nervous?"
And what am I to say? Lie, and have her leave me, or tell her -- yes, Love, you have me shaking -- and let myself fall to her mercy? Is this infamous "love" worth risking my own self -- my pride, my security, my privacy... What would I make of myself, granted she leaves in the end?
Her head cocks to the side and her teeth meet her lip, and I have the sinking feeling that she becomes restless; she pushes harder against me and grabs my hip, my wrist... Her eyes stare into me.
An Angel -- a perfect human being -- throws herself at me, and my own self -- my own mind -- decides to resist. I do not live in the moment as I think of tomorrow morning; of where we shall end up once the sun awakens. A perfect woman asks me to love her, and my first instinct is to decline.
She moans against my neck, eyes closed, and she brings my hand to her breasts; she slides off my clothes and smiles like a demon, but I love her just the same.
Though I'll hold her tonight -- hold her and so much more -- I shan't tell her that she is perfect and angelic, for she does not act it as I realize this to be true. I shall let her kiss down my neck and turn her on her back soon and do what I want to her, because in these moments I can't love her as a perfect human being, but as a lover and nothing more.
Yes, my dear.
I am shaking.
And what am I to say? Lie, and have her leave me, or tell her -- yes, Love, you have me shaking -- and let myself fall to her mercy? Is this infamous "love" worth risking my own self -- my pride, my security, my privacy... What would I make of myself, granted she leaves in the end?
Her head cocks to the side and her teeth meet her lip, and I have the sinking feeling that she becomes restless; she pushes harder against me and grabs my hip, my wrist... Her eyes stare into me.
An Angel -- a perfect human being -- throws herself at me, and my own self -- my own mind -- decides to resist. I do not live in the moment as I think of tomorrow morning; of where we shall end up once the sun awakens. A perfect woman asks me to love her, and my first instinct is to decline.
She moans against my neck, eyes closed, and she brings my hand to her breasts; she slides off my clothes and smiles like a demon, but I love her just the same.
Though I'll hold her tonight -- hold her and so much more -- I shan't tell her that she is perfect and angelic, for she does not act it as I realize this to be true. I shall let her kiss down my neck and turn her on her back soon and do what I want to her, because in these moments I can't love her as a perfect human being, but as a lover and nothing more.
Yes, my dear.
I am shaking.
♠ ♠ ♠
297 words.