It is in the small hours of the silvery dark that our truth, the truth of our desires, our need, the veracity of the yearnings that stir our minds, arouse our bodies, tremble our souls rises up to meet us; to sigh and whisper, to sensually caress, to scream and shake and jolt us out of the somnambulist existence which often typifies our days in the bright.

It is in the shadowed quiet that the passions profound and profane overtake us, unwilling, unable to be kept any longer at bay. It is in this stillness, this dim that my flesh sings its torch song, my lips aching to feed and tongue to taste, my arms craving to soothe and fingers to trace, my heat hungering for communion, for otherness, for the sweetest of violations.

It is here, it is now, all pretence is stripped away and I can freely confess to the phantoms of the night, I can openly admit in the safety of this velvet embrace, I can finally own in the sphere of my reality and the realm of my wonder, he is the man I have always longed to meet.

I woke startled and frightened, with the room enveloped in darkness. I woke alone and afraid, my skin glowing with a chilling sheen. I woke with the vivid imagery of my dreaming flashing before me, playing in my head, its afterimages seared on my eyes. I woke with the phantoms, their menacing scowls and glistening blades stepping out of the shadows, their cruelty, coercion and horror following me through the night. I woke calling out his name, calling out your name, calling to you, my body calling out for you.

As I lay in bed, eyes on the white ceiling, ears listening to my shallow, recovering breath, hands registering the heartbeat thudding through my chest, I longed to be held and soothed by you, longed for the safety of your strong arms, the sweetness of your tender kiss, I longed for you to hush the gentle cries and drink away my salty tears.

Gazing out onto the thundering summer storm, her reverie takes her to another time, another place, another age of men where the voracity of her passion, the nuances of her femininity, the intricacies of her heart, mind and body, her very soul, are craved, caressed and loved.

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

She vows it will be the last. She vows and promises it will be her final hit as she plugs herself into the slim silver box nestled in her palm, her body resting gently against the window of the crowded bus, the landscape a blur of rose-tinted shopfronts, flickering neon lights and a beeline of traffic winging its way homeward.

With the lightest touch of her delicate finger, the cable of pure white cocoons her in the voice deep and accented, transporting her to his room where he is lying in bed naked, his cock oiled and very hard, his hand stroking the flesh that has been aroused by her body, by the woman, by the desiring eyes captured for him and him alone, by the need to feel her warm skin, his fingers gliding and moving, registering the transition from lace to nylon to her soft and yielding flesh, by the overwhelming urge to fill her, fuck her, to come deep, deep inside her, the walls of her velvet heat absorbing every last drop of his seed.

And even though her face betrays very little, the only movement her eyes, darting and snatching the odd detail as the vehicle picks up speed, her body screams and shouts, riots, the blush blooming on her fair skin, the prickling mist merging with her perfume, the black silk triangle fusing to her cunt with each beat of its slick and needy rhythm, the full mouth involuntarily parting, the pink lips even now aching to swallow the ragged breath, the groan, the very essence of the man half a world away.

I wake
With you
The warmth of your flesh
The flavour of your skin
Lingering still on these soft lips
Your heady musk
Your masculinity, your being
Overwhelming, engulfing my senses

I wake
With you
This supple body craving
Instinctively seeking, curving
Ever reaching
For your sleeping form
Your touch
Your kiss

I wake
With you
I wake
With you
I wake
Without you near

Words are not enough. My words are not enough. They pale in the face of yours, in the face of you. They are small, paltry, shamefully inadequate. My mind, it can not tame them, it can not craft them; it can no longer articulate the excess, the intensity, the passion that threatens to consume, to corrupt, to craze.

All that remains, all I have left is my body. This flesh, this blood, this bundle of nerves, this collection of freckles dotted along fair skin. This body. My body. The body that writes my desire. The body that longs to speak its own language, its truth, that aches to merge its nakedness with your own, that begs for your possessing touch, that calls for your seductive kiss, that screams for your sweet invasion, that seeks to know you, know of you, about you, as it has known and written of no other.

As the darkness blankets the sky, as the approaching witching hour sings its silence, I long to worship and indulge you, to make love to you, to know the man who sets this restless ache, who leaves me craving always for just one more taste, who compels me to want nothing more than to coax and tease and entice his flesh to release the cream of his passion with the heated whispers of my own yearning, with butterfly kisses and the trails of this slick, eager tongue, with hands and fingers, lightly touching, possessing, stroking, with the searing velvet dripping its sweet liquid lust, with my hips gliding, back arching, legs entwining, with the tender grip of my violent desire, with all that I am, with everything you require.

I want you
I want you too
I want to lose myself in you
Forget the hour, the day
The lands that cruelly separate
I want to dive into your body
And simply float away

I woke with you on my mind, with the vision of your body hovering over me, with the urge to feel our warm nakedness entwined in the low morning light, with your heated murmurs on my neck, your wiry curls tickling my breasts, with your eyes firmly locked on mine.

I woke with you in my body, with my flesh reaching out for your all, with our aching desire igniting my skin, with our yearning to merge inflaming my form, with your slippery hardness sinking right in, your lips tracing the curve of my mouth, with your seductive moans crashing over us both.

And as I woke with you on my mind, in my body, in my thoughts and sensations sultry and sweet, I wondered if you did just the same.

With an effortless double click, his reflection is before me: eyes framed, expression pensive, lips full and inviting, he is the picture of suave sophistication in the tailored cloth of black.

As my gaze travels the length of his form, seeking out the nuances of his handsome face, noting the strong hand resting easily on his thigh, taking in his caramel skin pallid under the glow of the artificial light, I realise just how very much I have missed him.