The specter of every phrase
goes brittle at the edges.
I cut myself on them
to make sure they
were ever said.

I’m usually at a loss for poetry. This, however, is not lost on me.

She trembled as I stripped her in the dark until she was naked, her smooth curving form contrasting eerily with our jagged and shadowy surroundings. My fingers explored her wet and wanting sex, delving, touching, toying, finding and tormenting her clit and her increasingly wet hole. She clung to me desperately as she gave in to her base desires. I spanked her pussy as she murmured her want and pleaded for mercy.

Superbly dark.

At one point he was teasing me about my accent and i laughingly told him that i didn’t have an accent. It was in that moment, the moment i laughed, that the atmosphere in the room changed. The sound of my laughter died on my lips and my breath caught in my throat as i watched his expression change from something light hearted and relaxed to something dark and intense. i had no idea what had happened, but i knew something was very, very different. i didn’t say anything, i just watched him with big eyes as my heart tried to pound its way out of my chest. He slowly leaned forward in his chair, unblinking as he looked at me as if he’d never seen me before. When he spoke his voice was still deep and calm, but all traces of my friend were gone and in his place was a Dom.

That instant, that moment, where the change happens from one to the other: it’s sudden, jarring, and complete. It reminds us that there’s only one thing as fast as the speed of light: the speed of dark.

So there was that. Then there were the kisses that became starved, vicious, desperate, and movie scene worthy sweeping me down, bending me backwards. The exhibitionist in me delighted in the fact that we were on the dance floor, and inches away sat other party goers, some perhaps glancing in our direction. We weren’t being discreet, as his hand trailed up the thin fabric of my dress, in between my legs.

The scenery is the key, here. An adventure— something possible in the doe-eyed enthusiasm of youth.

Secrets are by definition monogamous things: you don’t share the secret. A secret told is a person betrayed, which may be the other main reason why holding a secret feels so much like fucking. Telling another a secret is an intimate, trusting and ultimately imperiled act. It’s handing another a tender slice of power. It makes you vulnerable. It bonds you to that other in ways that make the two of you glow subtly incandescent in the crowd. Nothing hurts as much as having a lover tell your secret to some stranger; it’s a double betrayal and it flays the figurative flesh.

I agree— secrets are delicate and deadly: poison orchids dripping blood red in a garden full of razorweeds, thorns, and strangling vines. The more you tend to them, the deeper their roots sink in, rooting themselves to you in an ever-frightening embrace.

And those shoes…well, it was the shoes that gave her away when she walked in the door. No sensible black heels for your little secretary, no she’s wearing tall black stacked heels, with buckles and straps encasing her delicate feet atop sky high heels so that she’s always precariously balanced just so. It makes you ache to knock her off guard, to strip her of all clothing and artifice to reveal the girl beneath. To make her beg, to make her crawl across the plush carpet of your office, completely naked except for those shoes, her silk stockings, that garter belt encircling her narrow waist. To put her across your lap and spank her until the professional gloss fades, until the steely exterior cracks and she’s moaning and crying, her ass red and hot in the palm of your hand. To put her on your desk, to tie her down, to fuck her, her mouth, her ass, that glistening valley between her heaving breasts as she slides her tongue out to meet your swollen glans on every stroke. To watch her eyes go wide when you hit the button on the intercom and call the office interns in, the same interns she’s tormented and treated like shit over the past few weeks, the same interns she cockteased all the while looking down her perfect nose.

Some people might not think so (and I guess those are the types of people who openly notice footwear), but little details like shoes can tell you so much.