Pleasures I Have Known
His lips tasted like warm strawberries, so moist and juicy and beautiful. He made some kind of sound. Words about where he was going, I suppose, but I didn’t hear him. I just felt the vibration of his words and my body tingled at his timbre. Then he left. All I had was the warm indentation in the bed. My hand traced the concave dip from tip to tip. Not wanting to waste his heat and his energy, I closed my eyes hoping he would be there when I opened them, but he wasn’t. The warm salty breeze made the sheer white curtains and mosquito netting melt into a sensous wave, a physical reminder of his absence. He never came back.