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by
Kat Williams
Sunday afternoon. Quiet, restful. I spend most of them propped up on the couch reading a book and listening to the TV.

She does what she does. Moving, making noise.

I ignore her. That’s what she likes. I understand. I ignored her when she walked in, looking..testing the waters. I ignored her when she sat down silently on her hunches in front of me. I ignored her taking the remote and muting what was essentially background noise to the book I was reading.

I ignored the hands, her hands when they slowly crept up my thighs. Outside first. Pushing my oversized T-shirt up. I couldn’t stop her. It was hers. I am hers. Smelled like her, molded into her shape from the night before. Plus I was ignoring her…you understand.

I ignored her leaning in, bracing herself on my thighs as her hands moved inward seeking softer…wetter destinations.

My book was interesting. Interesting enough that I had to hold it closer to my face to focus and read the oh so important words. The words telling the tale of seven cities, of he said/she said, of… words, punctuation marks, numbers.

Page 120.

I kept ignoring her even when her warm breath washed over my clit. I trembled slightly but only because of the temperature contrast. Nothing more, nothing less.

I ignored when her tongue reached out and tasted tested the air down there. I kept on ignoring her even when those hands, her hands pushed my thighs further apart, forcing muscles to strain.

Some have to visually see the pathways they are traveling.

Fingerprints moving closer and closer seeking warm ink. Sliding in, cruising, thrusting. Tongue resting on a hill, lapping at the lake below.

My book was interesting. Page 120.

I ignored her and I ignored me. I ignored the sounds I made when her lips sucked my clit in laid it to rest between them. I ignored the sounds made as her fingers, the one on her right hand…one, two, three entered me slowly…up tempo, mid tempo, rappers delight.

Don’t get me wrong ignoring someone is hard work that’s why I was moaning. Hard labor does that to me. I was wet, sweating…all the same right? My hips were moving to the beat because it’s easier to read to music. The beat her fingers were producing, especially the middle one…the one that kept touching that spot…kept tapping that spot. Tap..tap..tap..rub. Tap, tap, tap..slow and easy. Sensitive, I am.

I ignored her left hand as it crawled under my T-shirt, her T-shirt, and lazily drew patterns on my stomach before encircling my left nipple. She pinched, she pulled, she squeezed. I ignored all with only a slight gasp, again it was the temperature difference.

I kept on ignoring her while she kept on doing her Sunday afternoon thing, moving, making noise…me.

I ignored her till I couldn’t. Til I couldn’t hold back the moans, til I couldn’t hold back the wetness and finally my climax.

Page 120…interesting.

The End

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