Until now, I have shared with you a number of my thoughts on creativity, intelligence, and on the balancing act required to live a thoughtful, creative life. What I have not done is share any of my creative work with you (at least, outside of that required to design a blog post). Writing is, undoubtedly, my first and strongest creative passion, which I alluded to previously, and which I also enjoy blending with other creative and intellectual pursuits. While I do like writing on a variety of topics and experimenting with different genres, I have developed, over the course of the last year or so, an affinity for short erotic fiction (and, sometimes, poetry). And I have decided to start sharing that work here, occasionally, in a series of posts titled, “Pillow Talk.” I am thinking of “Pillow Talk” as an experiment of sorts. The first is a vignette, titled “Tangerines.” Let’s see what happens, shall we?
It was nighttime in the grove where Annie always sat splitting tangerines. Kyle’s back was covered in green, a mess of dark curls spilling over the sides of his forehead. His limbs sprawled under the lights of a lazy sky, while Annie lowered her half-naked body onto his. He sipped a lukewarm beer. A perfume of citrus perforated the dank Florida night.
It was Friday. And Kyle’s kisses were blue, blue like Tuesday, and hot like the inside of a flame. They stung her lips, plump with the sweetness of tangerines. He grabbed Annie’s hair and pulled her face from his. She’d worn that lacy pink bra before. When her nipples were hard, they jabbed through the sheer center. He played with each of them, and then with a firm fist, lowered her blonde head to his lap.
Annie inhaled a mixture of sweat and cologne, as her mouth traced the folds of his skin. She worked her hand slowly and deliberately. Heat groped the back of her tongue. Kyle was moaning. She could feel his skin grow clammy through the fibers of a worn Allman Brothers t-shirt. His body squirmed, and his hips thrusted backward and forward in short, jerking motions. She gagged, although she didn’t think he noticed. Annie released her clenched hand and fought the urge to put him inside of her, the moist flesh between her legs beckoning, greedily, for attention.
She didn’t want Kyle to come yet. If she could have had her way, she would’ve kept him suspended there for ages, on the edge of orgasm, where her own prowess excited her even more than the man who was wanton to receive the greatest pleasures from her mouth. Annie often had thoughts like that. Out there in the wide open, where there was nothing between her and the air and the stars and the sound of tangerines hitting the grass like overripe softballs.
There were times when she wanted Kyle’s big body to force her down to the ground, to allow her to sink gracefully into the damp night. But, there were other times when Kyle was rougher than she liked, and he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands. There were also nights when she was on top, and he closed his eyes for a long time, and she wondered if he was thinking about someone else. Then, there were times when Annie worried too much about whether she felt good to him, or if he liked her body enough, or if that lingerie she sometimes wore actually turned him on. She had to force herself to concentrate hard on giving and receiving pleasure, which she knew she wasn’t always good at. And sometimes she had to embellish a little. Those were the times when Annie just wished she could let go and become the night.
Her long, blonde hair created a veil around her face as she eased herself back down. She licked and sucked. If she’d had a hundred mouths, she wouldn’t have been able to contain the eagerness of that man’s flesh. She rubbed him. Tickled, teased, and tasted him until she drained every ounce of resistance from his muscular frame, trembling in the wake of its own surrender. Sweat drenched the clump of curls now matted to Kyle’s forehead. Annie swallowed hard, reached for another sip of beer, and moved slowly toward his face.