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Erotic to the core

When he reached for her she tingled from

Head to toe, when she touched him he

Pulled her to him causing her to squeal with

Excitement and when …

Thunder rolled deafeningly across a billowing

Unstable sky, rain struck the windows with rich

Intent, and a high wind tore into nearby trees

Heavy in summer leaf, a hot day had given way

To an electrified sleepless night, a scintillating

Canopy of super-charged energy, weighty in

Ozone and lusting to break loose upon the

Darkened Earth below,

In the bathroom, a sliding shower door faithfully

Reflected a tumultuous crash of rapidly heated

Air directly overhead, an ear-shattering voice

From above that spoke volumes as to the power

Of nature over man, and on that point, both the

Storm outside and the present occupant of the

Shower were as one.

Wet steps tip-toed over twinkling black marble to

Greet deep luxurious carpet in a gallery of wealth.

A well-to-do young woman with the world at her

Feet suddenly caught herself unawares, inspired

By an incautious spirit of Devil-may-care, spinning

Round in a moment of Sheer joy and exuberance,

A dizzying carousel that gave flight to her bathrobe

Revealing a glistening blur of a body, a vivacious

Work of art, ready for love, ready for anything.

Here was a woman who knew her worth, and knew

Too how to capitalise on every luscious inch of her

Curvaceous festival for the eye, the hand, and the

Heart. She drew great enjoyment from nakedness,

A state she exploited to the nth degree in daring

Garments that sought to hide nothing, whilst hidden

From sight, but only just, lingerie that one might say

Barely existed. A true daughter of Hera, Queen of

The Gods, her body was all she needed to draw the

Eye, to fix the focus, raise the temperature.

Low-light and the trappings of wealth, where at the

Centre of a satin lined shell lies a priceless pearl, a

Beautiful woman purveyor of dreams and the seeds

Of seduction, sown with sumptuous aplomb by the

Ornate fingers of love itself into garments of fantasy

Spun on the heady looms of desire... For now though,

Dressing could wait, time to enjoy the spirit of the

Moment, to pleasure oneself, to do as she likes in

The fanciful corridors of personal excess. An outline

Of heaven, a silhouette to stun the senses, ready

To be savoured, ready to be devoured.

Buildings, places, décor, all have their role to play

In the art of sensation, and thus, a long sash window

Presented the perfect opportunity for a lady to parade,

To put the world aside and dwell entirely on herself.

A stunning reflection, a spirit of joy, a temptress, an

Enchantress, a fountain of life, the light and the dark

Side of love.

Blushing glass and candlelight, steamy radiance

Swaying gracefully from side to side, tempting the

Devil to join hands, to rush, to touch, to feel. A

Feminine glow of unmistakable fulfilment, hot,

Bubbling, quickly rising to boiling point, inside in

Turmoil, skinside on heat. Everywhere a secret

Revealed, nowhere beyond bounds. Love

Indiscreet, tales told, deepest desires unspoken.

Unsaid, unheard, but always in the forefront of

The mind, when a guiding hand is all a girl may

Need to voice love without uttering a word.

She stood for a while, walked to a chair, sat down

And crossing her legs reached for a pair of nylons

Still secure in their shiny cellophane wrapper. A

Moment of uncertainty as to which dress to

Choose for the evening ahead. Fact was it didn’t

Matter much which dress she chose, any dress

In her dazzling gob-smacking wardrobe would,

She knew perfectly well, fit perfectly, and perfectly

Suit any conceivable occasion.

She liked to play with her wardrobe, in and out of

Silk after silk, satin after satin, cotton after cotton,

Halter neck, low-cut, defiantly plunging, peek-a-

Boo ... and the final decision? A touch of flagrant

French chic, Cervin Paris fully fashioned 15-denier

Champagne stay-up stockings paired with Christian

Louboutin six-inch heels. ‘Perfect,’ and only just in

Time too, for there, a distant chime echoing along

The gallery, her date for the evening had arrived;

And if ‘memories are made of this,’ here was one

He’d never forget...

© Joseph G Dawson