So late one Friday evening,
She challenged me.
“Can I take you on a trip,” she asked?
As if daring me.
“I’ll take you…your mind…to another place.”
“But you have to trust.”
Despite a week’s worth of work,
She had me.
And she knew it.
There, in our family room, late in the evening,
Something told me to take this departure,
From our everyday routine…
From the constant pressures,
And dulling demands of daily life.
So I accepted her challenge.
“Where….and how will we get there?” I replied.
Both asking for clarity, and
Conveying an immediate interest.
“Oh…don’t you worry,” she whispered.
“Just leave the travel plan to me.”
So I succumbed, neither knowing the plan,
She produced a black, silk blindfold.
And as if both offering,
To take this sense of sight from me.
Slowly, she wrapped both ends
Around my head, and
Tied it softly over my eyes.
There, almost reclining on the sofa,
She pushed me back farther,
Now, totally open to her.
Darkness, intrigue, weakness ensued.
As I lay there, blinded from my work week,
But anticipating my future, with sharpness,
She gently took my right hand in hers,
And extended my right index and middle fingers.
And so the journey began.
First, her hand traced my two fingers
Across her left thigh,
Supple, smooth, luscious skin.
Somehow, now unclothed.
To the point of departure,
One thigh, to the next.
Across a gap of air,
As if moving from one chapter of her book,
To the another.
Reading without eyes on this journey,
I consumed every word of her.
My fingers, still in her hand, were now
Drawn across, and
Up the silk of her right thigh,
Only to pause at her right hip.
My mind and pulse,
Begged for the journey to continue.
And she pressed onward.
My fingertips soon found the flat of her,
Beneath her belly button,
Across her pelvis…
To her left hip,
Gliding on her skin
And totally uncensored.
Then, eyes still blinded,
But fingers still seeing,
She urged all upward,
The curve of her waist first,
And the feeling her ribs.
With barely a pause,
She then drew my fingers across her,
The fullness of one breast, then the next,
Feeling the whisper of her
As my fingers traced beneath each.
She didn’t stop,
Nor did I want her to,
And so the journey continued,
Up the middle of her chest.
As her head arched backwards,
She exposed her throat to my fingers.
Those same fingers sensed her pulse,
Guiding ever upward,
She moved them vertically,
Now to her lips.
Just barely opened,
Her lips parted further,
And with an exhale
My fingers felt her
Mark the journey’s end.
In that softness, mind seeing
For my eyes,
I saw all of her,
At this destination.
But she, and I knew
Yet another journey of
Heat and passion,
Was about to begin…
© 2017 W. C. Stacia, Jr.