The Erotic Writer

This is the first time I’ve written in response to a prompt for #anything, but this is for #wankwednesday. I hope this is a good start. – X

She stooped suddenly to tie the ribbon at her ankle, and he bumped into her.

He was so hard she yipped before looking behind her. His face was twisted in a grimace of lust and misery.

“Timothy?” He was both familiar and strange, the face you see so often it blends into the crowd, becoming invisible.

She had been so focused on herself she’d never seen him following her form as she danced across the floor along with the other women. He’d been the unseen hand always ready with a cold bottled water or a fresh towel to dry the sweat from her limbs, whispering advice or encouragement.

Dancers appeared and disappeared in the shadows backstage – powdered wraiths, silent with concentration…

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Piedra preciosa de jade

Sin mancha es tu esplendor

Y de un fulgor creciente

Es el fuego de tu interior

Mariposa hermosa que en el tulipán te posas

¿Qué canto tan galante y refinado entonas?

¿Acaso es la voz de la juventud?

¿Qué con gallarda valentía arrastras tú?



Mujer, yo hubiera sido tu hijo, por beberte
la leche de los senos como de un manantial, 
por mirarte y sentirte a mi lado y tenerte
en la risa de oro y la voz de cristal.

Cómo sabría amarte, mujer, cómo sabría
amarte, amarte como nadie supo jamás!
Morir y todavía
amarte más.
Y todavía
amarte más
y más.

Pablo Neruda