Visceral Lit











{May 8, 2007}   Fucking Fiction

Motion sensing security lights flicker on as we pass a graffitti-slathered wall. Bright colours, fine art in an alleyway, urban culture expressed through bold strokes. The tagging detracts from the art and I find myself angry at the defacement of a painting. Incensed that this gallery of unauthorized art is considered no better than adolescent ink excretions, primate territorial markings akin to chimpanzee shit-slinging or a canine who lifts its leg every half block to sprinkle another surface with urine.

The quickening dusk makes my companion’s features virtually indistinguishable. I stare into facelessness as a strong hand reaches around the small of my back and guides me towards one of the walls. Soon, my shoulders are pressed against it. The texture of the brick is translated through a thin summer shirt. A deep rumble in the distance echoes a building libido as a hand works its way down my torso.

My breath catches, just a bit, as a single fingertip lightly brushes the outside of my thigh. Scarcely making contact with skin, the finger slowly lifts the hem of my skirt. Denim rises to meet the thin fabric of my underpants, rapidly dampening without the help of the scattered raindrops which are beginning to fall onto us; around us. A flash of lightening illuminates my partner’s face, reflecting most strongly off spots where the rain has caught in his hair, or runs down the sides of his cheeks. I watch, transfixed as lips approach mine, a single drop clinging to the upper one.

I meet them with mine, sucking the water off, chasing my lips with my tongue, thirstily drinking the rain which now begins to stream down our faces. A crack of thunder prompts a gasp of breath and a thrust of my hips. Breathing becomes labored as I struggle with wet denim and leather. My underwear is gone, my skirt lifted and pressed between barely exposed abdomens. I wonder only briefly about its state, torn and crumpled in a gathering puddle at my feet.

Finally I free his cock, and feel it press against me, the heat of it cooled only momentarily by the rain. Strong hands press my shoulders into the brick. The storm has built now to its apex. Our gasps are muffled by the sound of water hitting pavement, the rumbles and cracks of thunder drowning out my quiet whimpers of pleasure. His cock moves up and down against my pussy, drawing me out, teasing me. I look along his arm, noticing the definition. Muscles standing out as he strains against me.

A hand grasps my thigh suddenly, lifting my leg, level with his waist and he enters me quickly, violently. My chest heaves and my head arches back as we fuck in the rain. Time is lost to the rythm of the rain, the rumble of the thunder, the sensation between my legs. An explosion of pleasure brings me back to myself. A slowing of rain and rythm, slick bodies moving apart, wet clothes clinging to glistening skin, the spot is abandoned.



et cetera