POEM — Vanity

 

I run my fingers along the wall

tracing imaginary meaningless shapes

as I make my way upstairs

this new home still such a stranger

 

I’m unattached to much of my surroundings

having never been the type

to get caught up in the

who

what

where

when

and most definitely not the why

 

Which explains how I landed here

in the first place

 

“I love it,” he said

sounding more like a woman

than I ever could.

 

“It’s cool,” I replied

unable to share his enthusiasm

but willing to indulge his need.

 

“Let’s do it,” he glanced my way

touched the inside of my wrist

just so

grazed his full lips

along the curve of my neck.

and I was sold.

 

Fucking horny slut.

Goddamned sexy bastard.

 

Now I was here

in all this space

amongst all these people

living this life

of absurd bourgeoise privilege.

 

Dinner parties

Networking events

Charity functions

Weekday drinks

Sunday champagne

Swim clubs

Lawn clubs

Yacht clubs

 

Fucking horny slut.

Goddamned sexy bastard.

 

I grinned to myself

as I reached the top of the stairs

making my way to the most random place in the house

to call my own

despite his good intentions

 

“It’s all yours,” he led me into the space

and smiled

because he knew I loved windows

and sunlight

and woods

“your own office.”

 

I kissed him

open-mouthed and deep

eliciting a groan

so masculine and full of desire

as my hands touched all his places

and I fucked him on that desk

and I never once looked around that office.

 

But this bathroom

with its picture window

and views of the city

its free-standing tub

and open-air shower

its heated tiles

that massage my tired feet

its earthen tones

that calm my frantic mind

its vanity

of stunning design

a piece of art

in a room designed by an artist

this bathroom is MINE.

 

And he knows it

so he stays away

allowing me to linger in the mirror

after i step from the shower

naked

fresh

wet

and stand at that vanity

going through the motions

of preparing myself

for whatever bourgeoise exercise in the bizarre

we have planned.

 

Except tonight is different.

 

He’s waiting in the doorway

a smirk curving those full lips

those brown tatted arms

of muscle and sinew

crossed loosely

relaxed

as he watches me

at the vanity

one

two

three

four beats

before he steps into the room

his heat

stealing my chill

and wrapping me in all kinds of sexy

 

“This is my room,” I close my eyes and hiss

as his hands slip between my thighs

and his lips leave wet heat along my shoulder

and he laughs

the sound low and full of sex

and I know I’m going to share my room with that gorgeous motherfucker

because I just cannot help myself

 

“Get up on the vanity,” he commands

as he turns me around

hands on my ass

and lifts

because he knows

just how I like it

and he knows

just how I want it

and he fucks me

hard and fast

dirty and raw

until we’re nothing but a

seamless

boneless

useless

puddle of each other’s

sweat

tears

come

and we’re closer in those seconds

than any other time of our togetherness.

 

Fucking horny slut.

Goddamned sexy bastard.

 

“This is still my room,” I smile the wicked smile of the sated

my eyes closed

enjoying our post-fuck quiet

as he kisses me and grins

“It is most definitely your room, sexy,” he whispers in my ear

his warm breath doing things to me

“but this vanity right here,

it’s got my name written all over it.”

 

Fucking horny slut.

Goddamned sexy bastard.

 

*

Madhuri Pavamani is a writer of dark and erotic fiction and poetry. Her novel ‘Dutch’ has been called ‘unapologetically smutty’ and ‘dark and sexy and bloody’ — and you bet we’re looking forward to reading it! Madhuri can be found at madhuripavamani.com or you can follow her on Twitter @MadhuriWrites