Neverland (A fragment)

You walk into my room.

You're not here, my dark lady, but you walk into my dreams every night.

The click-clack of your stiletto heels crossing the stone floor pings off the walls like hailstones off the pavement, and every motion captivates me.

You know what I like to see, and wear it well. Your silk stockings are so sheer they only exist as a platonic ideal, and the seams could be used as the plumb-line for the monument to my desire. The skirt is black, and just long enough to cover the tops of the hose, but each time you move there's a flash of creamy thigh, and the hint of a strap.

The blouse is cream silk, swollen with potential, and open far enough to show the shadow of cleavage, enhanced by a soft white brassiere.

You walk towards me, snick snack on the floor, and as you reach my chair, without a word, you lean over and kiss me.

Sighing, you run your hands down your sides to your knees, slowly, seductively; knowing the effect it has on me.

Lifting the hem of the skirt, you run your hands between your knees and lower yourself until your gorgeous backside is resting on your heels and your legs are slightly spread, hands coming to rest on the inner skin of your legs between the stocking tops and delicate delicate, ephemeral white panties.

You're turned on now, and the air is heady with the sound of our breathing and the piercing heavy perfume of your femininity.

You look to be sure I'm getting as excited as you are, and stroke over your panties. Digging your painted nails into yourself teasingly through the silk.

Tonight, you end there. Other nights it goes further. Some nights you leave after a kiss, or a word.

She's gone. She remains. She will come tomorrow.