She lived marginally. On the fringe. Her head in pages. Covered in ideas and fantasies about what passion could be, would be, once she found it.
            As a girl, she walked alleys. The back of the houses, the yards, fascinated her. Once she found a book. It was not marked. In it were words that she didn’t understand. Women and men finding each other. Men penetrating places that seemed impossible to one who knew only the mind. The idea was frightening, though somehow compelling at the same time.
            She lived years only dreaming of the possible. Dwelling in the impossible, until one finally one came across her naïveté and filled it with what was her truth, her dream.
            The man wore a uniform. His chest was splashed with sparkle and feathers. On a night when all seemed hopeless, she found the polish. Found the letter behind the ornament. She was drawn to him. Kissed him. Told him that he was what she knew in her depths was meant to be. The night was alive. The time was not right. She pulled him into a dance that he couldn’t find his way out. She didn’t stop at the thought that others saw her. She was magnetized to his lips. Pulled to his breath. Wanting what she had no business desiring. He found her pulse and returned her impulse.
            The shower of her kisses led them to a small place. His hands slipped her dress up to her waist. The hands were knowing, determined. Quietly he impassioned her. But others found them. He sat under her. She looked down and absorbed his dark head and broad shoulders. Her breath stopped at the beauty that was between his legs. The idea of it was overwhelming. The desire penetrated every pore of her self. What had she ever done to deserve even the sight of such beauty?
            Pulled away by time and space, she marveled still at the loveliness of the man. Wondered if he would ever find her a second time.
            He came to her again. His kiss melted her. A hand on her back led her. The tongue, full and languid, pulled her out of the day. She found space to be. The possibility beyond dream, beyond light.
Wondering how to react to naked desire, natural desire, she opened herself as far as she knew how. His pulse quickened against her submission. His penetration finding space in her held dormant by years of neglect.
            The movement of him against her was dizzying. The farther he went into her, the more she gave over to the desire that she kept hidden from the world. Pleasure broke over her being. The harder he pulsed, the wider her dream evolved. Delight sprung from the core over and over again. His drive soothed every tiredness, awoke every desire.
            Sated, he fell to her breast. His heart beating love and lover. She touched his pulse and found herself.
Lowering her kisses to the source, she built the desire again. The fading fire needing only a pulse of heat. The tongue wrapped around the beauty of the first night. Madly tasting that which was fire, he sprung alive again. Crawling to him, she felt him and begged for more. His erection the life source, the difference, between living and only being alive.
            Over him, holding her warmness against him, she found the strength to ride it. Pulse against it. Hold it. Explode against it. The man held her gaze. Held the sight of what captured him. Breathed her. She melted.

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