A challenge from my Saturday writing class, 200 word erotic/sensual writing.
Your feet, bare, brown, gritty with memory of sand and salt, driving home sans shoes after a seaside day.
At night, my breath on the nape of your neck, most vulnerable of all skin, the neck invites confidences.
The scar on your belly, my tongue traces the ghosts of stitching. Bites just enough to make you wince.
Wrists too large for me to circle within my fingers, curiously hairless, the skin there softer than your hand.
The dent in your nose, bone long broken from a life before I knew you.
Your balls, strange fruit, cool to my touch, fitting exactly in a palm. Their weight a known certainty
Shoulder blades like bird wings, sharp against my skin, my breasts when I lie behind you.
The curve of your spine, arching towards me as I play out each vertebrae in turn.
Your nipples stiffening with just my out breath as I whisper your name I to your chest.
The smell of you, of musk and sweat and sex and cheap cigarettes and expensive cologne.
I name your parts, a mapping, a memory of senses, to keep you real, to keep you here.