My parents were young when I was born. From my adult and parental perspective, far too young to have become parents, but they made it work. In some ways, we all grew up together, discovering ourselves and learning about the world. However, in all the ways that counted they were most decidedly not friends or compatriots, but PARENTS. They were strict and set exceedingly high expectations for me, expectations that I internalized and pushed myself to exceed. Read more
I stumbled across the blog Two Shoes in Texas earlier today. The author, a woman named Josie, posts writing prompts for her readers to participate in, and the one that started accepting submissions today is called Six Sentence Stories. Each Thursday, Josie posts a new prompt. This week’s prompt is “dream.” Here is my submission.
Your hand snakes over my hip and curls around my hard, rounded belly, tugging slightly to let me know you want me to move backward into the curve of your body. I breathe, feeling you tighten and push between my legs. Your lips on my neck make me shiver, and I put my hands out in front of me, pushing back to get closer to you. Waves of pleasure wash over my consciousness, and my body responds to your touch. I feel my hoarse breath pulsing at the base of my throat. My eyes fly open and I stare out into the dark, but you are gone, the only traces left the echo of my ecstasy and the swirling presence inside me.