olive oil

Molly moved Jake into the room and pushed him onto the mattress. She looked like a pixie, her short hair a mess, and soft face full of mischief. The bed sunk as Jake fell back, and Molly climbed on top. She took a scarf from the headboard and wrapped it around Jake's head, covering his eyes.

The cool, silky material sent a shiver down Jake as he felt Molly climb off the bed.

"You stay right there," Molly commanded, running her hand down Jake's leg as she walked away.

Jake wondered where she might be going. It was a long night at the bar, and Molly didn't have her car with her, so he offered to drive her home. When she invited him in, he didnt expect to be pushed up against the back door. She had stood on her toes, against his body, and let her lips linger just lightly against his. He could feel each of them breathing heavier and harder as the tension built-- each second, moving just a tiny bit closer. Her lips lightly closing in on his bottom lip. His tongue lightly caressing her top lip, until Jake grabbed her and pulled her into him. Kissing full mouthed, wildly, letting go of tension that had built for months.

Molly pulled Jake forward as she kissed, leading him through the living room, down the hall, against the bathroom door, and then into the bedroom, where she had left him there, on the bed.

Molly went to the kitchen, bringing back with her a small bottle of olive oil. she poured a small amount into her hands and lightly rubbed them together. Slowly, she crept onto the bed and moved her hand over Jake's. Taking his hand in hers, she began to massage the oil into his palm, and through his fingers, slowly massaging them one by one. She pushed her thumb into his palm, feeling Jake instantly relax.

Molly did the same with his left hand, smoothing the oil over his palms, through his fingers. Slowly caressing each finger and moving her hands up his arms.

Stradding Jake, Molly slowly lifted her summer dress over her head. Jake could feel the shift in her body and hear the movement of cloth. Jake moved his hands up her thighs, not feeling the silk dress that was there seconds before. Looking down, Molly held his hand, moving his fingers across the lace the ran across her hips. Jake could feel the softness of her skin above the lace and bent his finger tips to slide them inside.

Molly could feel him now, growing hard beneath her. His breaths becoming more shallow. His hands becoming less patient. He slid his hand below her hips and between her thighs, feeling her warmth--letting his thumb wander lower, rubbing deeper.

cassidy

Cassidy sat at her desk biting the end of the ball-point pen. Her eyes dove into the double monitors, setting work aside, and wetting her lips with her too eager tongue. She slid her privacy filters on, even though she had the office to herself.

Jake had messaged her the daily report, and then a second email came through.

I'd love to feel that silk shirt up against me.

Cassidy smoothed her hands down her blouse, examining it closely, checking for wrinkles. It was a lavendar, button- down with two small pockets in the front. It was professional and tucked neatly into her black skirt that fell just above the knee.

What stood out to Jake the most though, was how clearly he could see the outline of her lace bra that seemed to be patiently waiting for him under that blouse. He wondered how deftly he could undo the small pearlesant buttons and expose her-- just the first three, he thought, as his eyes grew bigger, thinking deeper. He wanted to push her up against the wall and feel that shirt against him. Wanted her to move down his body and set him free.

Cassidy knew Jake loved the color purple. That it did something to him. She remembered the conversation at Happy Hour weeks ago. Sipping on his dry martini, Jake had leaned over and whispered in her ear. "You have no idea what that color does to me." She had on a deep indigo dress-- velvet, with a short black jacket. Her stilleto heels matching as she crossed her legs and looked down at her cosmo in disbelief.

She remembered how, at that moment, Bill from Accounts Payable had stepped over and spouted, "How are those reports comin along Cass?" He never did understand the point of Happy Hour.

Jake had interjected, turning towards Bill. "Cassidy is doing a fine job at the reporting, Bill. We are still waiting for that purchase order to be rectified, however. But how about you have a beer and let go for a bit? We can worry about that on Monday." Jake looked sternly at Bill, turned to the bartender, ordered a Heiniken, and handed it to Bill.

"Thanks, Mr. Emery." Bill half-smiled as he trodded away.

words

Missing those words you left

whispered on my lips

the unfailing mystery of how hard you'd grasp my hips.

I move my hands down, embracing the showery fog

The water dripping, slowing, settling down my skin

taking the path I know your lips would take

from my open mouth, to neck and breast

encircling, exciting, the water's pressure biting

down to my navel, sliding closer

warm and eager, pooling softly over me

the shower's ecstacy.

Finding myself

Finding myself in stone walled silence

There was beauty in your breath,

or maybe it was the stunning stillness

or your voice.

elongated notes, penetrating ears

like the buzzing of bees through a field

or the way you toss your hair while talking.

I remember now, why I left you there

So concerned with "me's" and "I's"

That you forgot about my...

...

Broken

It's hard to admit you're broken

When you never quite knew if you were complete.

swallowed the sun

Long Island Sound swallowed the sun eyes first

The sky turning an eerie blue

holding it's breath,

counting it's fingers

one by one.

...

The water was green from years of tin-cans,

Bathing in the sun-drenched water,

using the reflection to tan

as the waves weathered their wrinkles away.

...

I was thirteen when I saw the sun give up.

I found that broken coke bottle

smooth, translucent, a sage green.

...

It threw itself back into the ocean.

I didn't throw it.

...

It wanted to be back with the wedding rings,

and sun glasses,

and mermaid barbie-dolls

...

I didn't throw it.

...

It wanted to be back under The Sound,

Where only the eyes of the Sun could see.

Weight of the Moon

She ran down to the stream,

her hands covered in rose petals

her veins exploding against her too-thin-skin

luminescent under the reflection of the

pooling coolness.

The moon was talking now--

it's poetry stuck to her bones,

made her heavy and full

thrusted into her like newborn titalwaves

only easing to feel her body weaken

at the thought.