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Creative Noodling

Whisper your words. Whisper them in my ear. Feed my soul with your lines, your prose, your tangled, twisting mind. Whisper them in that space one inch, no—one centimeter—above my body.

But don’t touch me.

Instead let me feel your hot breath warm my flesh as you speak oh so softly. Whispering. Soothe me with your magic potion of vowels, consonants and punctuation. Coat me with them. Pour them over me like one applying organic honey on a burn. Paint pre-Raphaelite pictures of us bathing in crystal lily ponds in the center of an enchanted wood.

But don’t touch me.

Just keep whispering. Tell me what you want to do to me and watch as I begin doing those things to myself. Feel yourself harden as I run my hands over my erect nipples teasing them into even sharper points. Control your throbbing when I reach between my moist folds and…

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