you give a new meaning to ‘cold, hard bitch’

i have this little video clip playing in my head
of me creeping into the kitchen on a sultry summer night,
the kind you can only find in louisiana–
those wet-heat heavy nights that cloak you close
and slip their fingers between the fullness of your lips
so it tickles to speak and to breathe

and i open the refrigerator in the dark and
pull out the ice cube tray– crack it on the edge of the counter
just like my mother does
and use my nails to claw out a cube;

replacing the tray i close the door
and as i walk back down the hall to you i slip the cube into my mouth,
sucking it leisurely, savoring the pain in my teeth.
you look curious, languishing across the bed;
you ask if i went to get a drink, and i nod.

“why didn’t you get me one? asshole.”
we laugh. by this time the heat of my mouth and intentions
has melted the ice to a sliver on my tongue
and i slink over to the bed, kneel over you
and ignore your inquiries as to my reasons
as i hook my fingers into the waistband of your jeans
and tug down your zipper, listening to the skrrr-y buzz of its trek;

slipping my hands into the warm darkness between the zipper halves
i grasp your cock, fondle it lightly so your hips lift and you sigh
and for a moment i consider reducing the amount of clothing i’ve got on
and pulling you up into that place you belong in (you know the one)
but i’ve got a plan here and it’s better, for now.

and bending down, i rub my cheek against the warmth of your skin
brush my lips along the tender flesh, graze it a little with my teeth
(your breath catches) and, holding it steady,
i push my lips just over the head of your cock, and wait.
(your knuckles are bent, sheets scrunched inside your fist.)
and when the last sliver of ice has melted
i raise my eyes to yours to show you my special wicked smile
and opening the frigid wet cavern of my mouth,
slip you slowly inside.

that first cry of shock, of pleasure–
it’s exactly what i was looking for.


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