Crimson Crossing – Stories in Erotica


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Describing the event from that night has been a failure each time I’ve tried. I know that because as many times as I have relived it in my mind, the presence of what it was to be there has escaped me. Still, I push forward, attempting to fool reason into believing we are there again; in person, face to face, with that moment that I so forth attempt to relive.

My lips were covered in scent; that aroma found in moisture that is as much a torture as it is pleasing. I continuously struggled between choosing to inhale it, massaging my tongue throughout just to experience the taste, or standing at a slight distance not to miss the sight. I was as much in delirium as in despair. The choice might have sounded simple, but at that moment it was not. For each decision I took, the rest of my senses felt ignored, moved aside for just one to enjoy. Yet, when I tried to simultaneously use them all, my mind would cease to reason, turning me into a blind man. A man trapped in darkness, one that forgot his whereabouts, along with his actions.

Sometimes it was easier to stay in the darkness than others. Too often I would quickly see light rush in, causing me to gain feelings on my lips, becoming aware that my tongue traced, contoured as if pleasing the sense of taste upon a trey of bleeding ripe nectarines. Whether it was best to be aware of my actions, or be in the darkness is a thing for debate. I could argue that there was as much pleasure being in the darkness, as there was being cognizant, perhaps more.

The moisture wasn’t that, such as it is found in an orange; where upon attack, it pours juice throughout one’s mouth leaving residues of a duel between fruit and hunger. An attack quick to start, and quick to end; messy, without rhyme, rhythm or purpose. This was sinking the teeth into a ripen nectarine. The type where the bite draws drops of liquid into one’s lips, mouth creating a cascade of imagery soaked in delirium. Of it’s kind, there aren’t many. There was only emotional chaos surfing through the body, screaming at each organ it encountered to move from its path before, it too, got washed ashore.

I longed for the travel of each drop from the nectarine down to my lips, at times I wanted to go straight into my mouth, and others I simply felt it collide against my lips, allowing it to travel down to my chin. I was in emotional decontrol, free of rules, of restrictions. Had the actions not been geared at all my senses, this would have been total chaos. This is the type of unreasonable event that builds an entirely new outlook on fruits.

I was at a loss, my senses were overwhelmed and reason was intermittent. Each time I inhaled, it drew inexplicableness. The scent left stranded in my nostrils shook me; I’d become saddened that my lungs had reached capacity. Unable to inhale without restrictions, I would turn to my lips, to my tongue, to resume this journey. I’d trace the outlines, covering my tongue with the dripping juice, and as many times I have been told that sometimes the liquid should remain just at the tongue, I ignored it and allow the throat and tummy to delve where the tongue and lips had been. That was no time to place boundaries on my body. All of me, was to feel what part of me had been feeling.

Was it better to smell the aroma or to taste it? I can tell you that had I only one, I wouldn’t want to choose either. They were part of one, intertwined in driving my wits out of sorts. Sorts that I don’t believe will return to normalcy. I’ve learned so much in such little bite that I will ignore years of learning just to feel it one more time.

But the touch, umph, the touch. The warmth caressing my lips, it was unreasonable of me to limit it to just the lips, so I bit, perhaps more often that I should have bitten, but I bit. I wanted to feel the pulp, the supple between my teeth, even if I had no intention of cutting through. I ran my lips, up, down; every so often lowering my nose to join the delight. It too, wanted to be warmed, cuddled. Who could blame me! Why should the tongue, lips, and teeth be the sole recipients of such wonders? I claim they shouldn’t, as my left thumb, soon soaked by the juices found new life by following my lips and tongue around just to feel the emanation, and the warmth that accompanied it.

I stroke the area with a calmly uncontrolled, I had a purpose, I had a reason but carrying out the plan was interrupted by the feeling, the taste of it all. Still till today, I haven’t forgotten, what it was, for that feeling to soak up my mouth.

Author: jibarican

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