Porcelain dreams

I could get that musky smell from his body on  my clothes.  Traces of his scars lingered on my neck. His steamy breath felt like fire against my back. it was a cold night. The rain hammered hard against the window. Cars flew past. But we were oblivious to everything but each other.  It was a cold night, but his breath, his warm breath against the nape of my neck promised me of warmer things. Of warmer luck. That’s what it was. Luck. 50 billion girls and I his tonight. It was My neck he was kissing. It was ME.  Course, no one, not even I want to be a possession or belong to anyone but he had his own way of owning me. Maybe it was the way his brown eyes glistened as they pierced through mine leaving me naked and lifeless. Maybe it was the way his coarse hands could softly graze my back making me tremble at his slightest softest touch.  It was almost electric. His hands grazed up and down my thigh, setting them on fire, as the stubble from his face tickled my neck and cheeks. His tongue moved along mine, almost in a non rhythmic motion. Tracing my skin, he made me his. He was soft. Gentle. The opposite of what his physical appearance deemed him to be. He held me as if I were a porcelain doll and never did let me go. Would this all just be make-believe if I woke up? Would it be make believe just like everything else?

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow


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