Friday, August 28, 2009
scorched earth policy
I should probably mention somewhere along the line that Naomi was from another country. I’d mention the country but then certain people just seem to get big ideas about everything. Suffice to say she was from about half-a-world and one ocean away and I suppose it’s fair to guess that while the fact of her foreign birth and upbringing may have contributed greatly to her uniqueness in her adopted land, everything about the way she moved through space said that she’d be a rebel anywhere and everywhere.
She was a honey dripping slow motion goddess who could shake her ass, a wild young hell raiser on a rampage, then pose with perfect grace and gravity for the adults; she could be calm as a cool summer wind then erupt like a busted fire hydrant. She adored old people and when she talked to kids she was one of them with no act.
Her voice coiled around you like a smooth snake, stroking, soothing and a trifle scary just like any wild thing, her words imperfect and too tempting in their imperfection. I don’t know where she learned English or if she learned it, maybe she was born with it already sleeping inside her and waiting for its time to bloom, as she was surely born into revealing the secrets of those blossoming thighs, her magic waiting to happen like flowers in spring or the sun coming up. No one could’ve taught something like that and no one could’ve learned it. You either had it or you didn’t and she had it to spare but kept it part of her mystery, like her language. If she had plotted and planned to speak the way she did it could not have been any better than the way the words actually left her lips; teasing you, enticing you, pulling at your heart and forcing you to lean into the heat of her body.
“Oh my baby…. My man…. It’s so sensational….. I love yours.”
That’s what she leaned into my ear and whispered as she reached for my dripping half hard cock and stroked it softly just as we’d finished off that morning after retrieving the bags. When she said it and stroked me I was loving mine too and I was loving hers more than that.
Her favorite word in English seemed to be,
Which she used often and rolled off her tongue lowly and slowly, the r’s tumbling into the l’s and the whole word sounding like one elusive seductive come-on command whose true meaning must surely be “Cut the chatter and come fuck me good.”
At least that’s what it sounded like to me.
“Damn! Baby I love the taste of you” pressing my mouth into her.
That’s what she’d say.
Anyway, she wasn’t from around here.