metaphoricalsimile's profile

Growing older but never grown up.

Who knows where I'll be tomorrow?

Eddie removed his worn, brown fedora with one hand and ran his other hand through a sweaty porcupine of blond hair. His blue eye furtively twitched at the peephole of the front door to his apartment. When he felt, if not safe, free from immediate danger he turned away from the door and flopped down on his unmade bed next to Lola; she squeaked. He had rescued her from a wretched hive of scum and villainy, a white-slave den called "Adult Store." When he had seen her on display like a puppy, he ...

She was kneeling on the carpet. Her long, blond hair was bound in a bun. Her thin, stringy frame quivered with the violence of her scrubbing. Her long fingers tingled at the edge of burning from exposure to the chemicals which lay strewn about her: a Stone Henge of brightly colored bottles and cans of bleaching, foaming, color-restoring sprays and solutions, some upright, and some fallen where they had been cast away after failing the woman. Their lack of utility brought tears of frustration ...

Play that eternal Song with me. Pluck the strings of flesh, quivering with quickening ecstacy. Sing with gasping notes: a half-heard harmony for our ears alone. Beat those drums: a percussion of pounding pulse and energy. And dance that dance of sweat slicked skin and writhing limbs that lasts forever in just one night.