Skin On Skin

An afternoon rendezvous. Two hours stolen from the world in which they can never live like their own. The longing, the rush. The anticipation, the release.

“I don’t know what you are thinking,” she said, sotto voce, as she cast an uncertain gaze in her direction. The lover stood by the window, her breasts proudly thrust; standing next to the thin, sheer drapes, her modesty was barely concealed.

Quietly, she retreats to the edge of the bed, where her clothes laid strewn. Moments after she has thrown a shirt around her trembling shoulders, she felt her lover’s arms wrapping around her.

“I don’t know where we are going from here,” the lover breathed into her ear.

“But I do know I want you.”

* * * * * *

Skin On Skin was meant to be a nude photography exhibit at a venue (which shall remain unnamed) at the invitation of its proprietor. Unfortunately, due to the proprietor’s absolute lack of eloquence, and on a belated condition that the prints would have to be vetted by a celebrity (who shall remain unnamed)—no, Violet, I really don’t see how it is any of her business—we parted ways. Obviously, the exhibit did not take place after all.

And this was after I had sunken a grand into the shoot.

So… any one wants to buy some prints?