The pressure continues to build. It is escalated by every look and sound and lingering scent. It fills my mind, dictates my mood and influences my motions.

Then, she whispers. Her voice vibrates with electricity and pushes my pulse. Beginning coyly, her words slowly become more pointed with truth and more carried by desire. She ignores her inhibitions. I reciprocate her attitudes.

Apparent, always, is the risk. We feed from it until we are filled and empty, though insatiable. Every scheme is sketched beneath a vale with the care of a tenured tutor. We step quietly, then quickly. We dance until our breath is chaotic amid the sweat and sound and struggle.

She begs for more and I acquiesce to her demands. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow we continue, as if it is all we need: without thought for food, or rest, or feeling. Time allows our indulgences, and she consumes me. Then, we begin anew.


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