His name is Jack, Jack of all trades. He’s got rough edges and calluses on his hands. Nothing feels as exciting as his touch carefully adjusting the ropes ‘round my wrists. You could not imagine the eye for detail he’s got. He is sure to make you feel beautiful.
He talks carelessly, stroking innuendo’s while lighting up a cigarette and passing it to me. I catch his stare and that boyish smile. He is charming and I never know when he is fooling around or making a pass. But he is serious. It’s just those few seconds when his glance lingers too long as I’ve already turned my head. An open invitation. Somehow the moment passes because it ‘s like a game of chess. It’s better if it lasts. Move after move.
So we play some more, getting comfortable with every minute. Putting on some music, drinking wine, talking about fantasies and what is titillating, all for a greater good. He runs his fingers across my lines. And I try my best to hold back not succeeding very well but his judgment isn’t off, not even slightly. We act out a story and boundaries get blurry.
When we get there I know I want more. We are past being polite. We’re sexual. And I can’t help wanting to be more naked than I am. So Mr. Jack in a box, surprising me pleasantly, making me smile for days whenever I see you. Next time let’s take that steaming hot shower and get our skins burned. Rub me in oil and instead of calling me to tell me you want to smell, taste and feel me, please do it all. Put your hands on me as I make a sound of someone trying not to make a sound and watch me close my eyes.
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