Deep End

He dived in me, “head” first. 
I could hear his thirst for my windows to open up and give birth, to the tiny drops of water he needed to cleanse his throat. 

Unlock bolts, I’ve kept hidden to relieve my mind from leaving my body every time his fingerprints climb my upper thigh. 

His odour so tempting, I shivered not once but three times.

 I think I’ve finally found my Mr “at least he can do something right”, avoiding the awkward tongue tied conversation you meet when a man doesn’t know how to say “you’re beautiful”, without staring at the sauce he could make with you inside his sheets. 

I mean it was all going well, fountain deep, until he missed the spot my ex so tightly leaked the day we last saw. 
Yes, “I’m a cheat”, but I’ve been stressed for a while and it was either blue balls cheese for breakfast or a slice of French toast from the street. 

So you see it’s all about what happens next…

Do we make out or copulate like desperate hounds begging for a treat?

Swimming in too deep, no life guarded by the pretence and yet an uncanny resemblance to the way my stepmother and father became friends.

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