Doing Things With Skin

I am over-run, jungled in my bed, I am infested with a menagerie of desires: my heart is eaten by a dove, a cat scrambles in the cave of my sex, hounds in my bed obey a whipmaster who cries nothing but havoc as the hours test my endurance with an accumulation of tortures. Who, if I cried, would hear me among the angelic orders? - Elizabeth Smart

I run my fingers, down along the length of my neck, and think of you. Your hands, your fingers. Tracing circles around my nipples, following the concave arch from my breasts to the softness of my stomach. My muscles tighten as your name slips past my lips.


Through the wonderment of my own paradise, I see you there; in my minds eye. Exploring, tasting, touching. The wetness pools between my thighs - my finger tips like butterfly kisses from your lips.


My breath catches, my heart races while beads of sweat form on my brow. The heat nearly too much to contain. My hands create just the right amount of pressure, cupping my breast, rubbing my clit. One finger in….then two…. your touch creates waves, my hands channeling you; waves of orgasmic glory.


Stars appear before my eyes. Bright and full of you. And you are there, waiting to meet me ….in the stars.

Her skin was already glistening as she stepped out onto the porch early in the morning. The humidity was high and she was prepared for a miserable day. Sometimes, life on the farm wasn’t what she wanted. She knew the land was precious, and she was passionate about it to the core. Yet, she wanted more. On this day, she was feeling unusually frustrated with it all. Maybe the heat was just getting the best of her. It has a way of doing that from time to time. She used her bandana to tie her long hair back, and went to work.

She made her way through the muck to the barn. The horses were restless today, probably feeling irritable due to the heat as well. That barn seems stifling when the air is so moist and she always feels bad for the animals. She hurried along her way so that she could let them out to run. Today was her day to clean the stalls, so the horses were going to be freed much earlier than usual. Lucky horses, she muttered to herself.


She is a beautiful woman, lithe and tan with a sinewy frame, her movements reminiscent of a wild cat on some level. Her daily work consisted of farmin’, work boots and jeans, and dirt. Some days she dreamed of having one of those fancy corporate jobs in the city. The ones where she could fix up her hair, put color on her face other than the sun kissed bronze she sported year ’round, and maybe high heels. She probably wouldn’t know how to walk in them though. She pictured herself as the boss, giving orders and directing an office through firm words and gentle gestures. Couldn’t be much different than breakin’ a bronc, she mused.


Lost in thought as she pushed and shoved the soiled hay until the stalls were clean. It was time to lay down fresh hay. She was singing to herself, her mantra as it were, and she never even saw him coming. Him. The mere thought of him gave her knots in her stomach. She despised that man. Gruff, angry and pompous to the core. Yet, she couldn’t deny that he was good looking, but that is all there was to him. There was no heart, nor intelligence beneath those muscles and tanned flesh. There was not a single selfless thought resting behind his ocean blue eyes. He was despicable. He was also her daddy’s best friend’s son, and she had already been warned about being disrespectful when he was visiting. “Mind your manners, young lady” her father always scolded. She was a grown woman, for god’s sake, and she should be able to express her likes or dislikes in any fashion she so chose.


He startled her as he entered the barn. Wearing freshly pressed Wranglers and a bleach clean wife beater, his golden skin glistened in the sun. He was, what the locals called, a weekend cowboy. His boots never thick with shit as hers were right now. Dirt never rested on his skin for longer than a mere second or two before it was quickly wiped away. She couldn’t help but wonder what in the hell he wanted in her barn. He was well aware that their father’s were out hunting together this weekend and her manners would not have to be minded just now. He just better watch himself. She was in no mood today.


“Whatcha doing” he called out as he entered her realm.


“Building a snow man” she called over her shoulder condescendingly. What did he think she was doing?


He approached her slow and sure of himself. So full of confidence that it made her stomach turn. She had to admit, silently to herself of course, that he was a fine looking piece of meat. She watched his muscles contract and relax as he moved through the barn, careful not to step in any dung. His thighs were strong and defined as the muscles strained against the denim with each step he took closer to her. She quickly looked away as his eyes caught her gaze. She could swear a cocky smile began to spread across his lips. Asshole, she muttered under her breath.


She turned away from him, facing the rear of the building now. Not that she had much to do in that particular spot. She was just about finished with this chore as it was. No, her turning away from him had more to do with hiding. Hiding her physical attraction to him, hiding her own wry grin at the thought of his physical presence, knowing he was checking her out right now, too. She new that she was a looker, as her father called it. She bent over, to scoop up a rake that she really didn’t need, just to give him a show. “Look what you can’t have” she thought to herself.


Just then he grabbed her around the waist and her pulled her close to him.


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