Picture It and Write from ermiliablog@wordpress
Write a paragraph of fiction or a poem to accompany the image.
She had pulled the beaded divider down from the archway between the two rooms.
“You want an exotic woman?”
God, she was beautiful.
“What are you going to do now? Huh? Are you going to let me see the real man you say you think you are.”
She was a contemptuous concubine, inglorious, mocking me with tight lips and arrant eyes. I had to have those lips. I had to kiss them hard between the hanging threads of her veil. I had to make her close those eyes, and I had to have her right then. Lifting her up, I thrusted against her, against the wall that she had just torn the beads down from.
Those beads that hung between the two of us were harsh grains of resentments that had distanced us from one another for far too long, which now would go tumbling off her naked shoulders and down the hollow of her arched moist back, as I tore at the rest of the clothing that still separated our skin from one another.
“You want me to show you how much I want you!”
“Yes,” her lips and breath hot on mine, her chest heaving; she, leaning back, thrusted her own hips forward into that sweet spot between mine.
“Yes… prove yourself to me.”
The veil between us was not sheer, the years had created many secrets between us, but passion and arousal is greater than any of the most guarded indiscretions that time had wounded us with.
And beads create a concupiscence of sedition that inflame engorged libidos, causing them to overpower and succumb to one another, and maybe, ultimately, to overcome again, and even again…