Orgasm is not Catharsis

I could describe the way
she teases my waistband
fingers slipping just beneath
when my body reacts
hips move to meet her touch
mouth dry, giggling
knowing that she has
my attention, she palms down
the length of my cock

The way her eyes say
without words
how she wants to touch
as much of me
as she can
she wants me to take her
panties off
lay her on her back,
knees spread
wet, desperate
short breaths,
guiding me inside her,
skin hot

But why bring the audience
into the bedroom?
Why eroticise, why attempt
to convince you
that I’m fuckable?

Is it artful exhibition,
vain posturing,
or servicing a vice?

What are we trying to

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.


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