Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

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She wasn’t there for him. She was there wholly for herself. Kevin clumsily tried to take charge of the moment, but she moved away, guarding her position on the bed as if she weren’t interested, as if she’d just stumbled into this situation and it wasn’t anything to just be laying half naked in his room when he walked in. He moved to kiss her again and this time she allowed his lips on her, but she watched him as a lion tamer watches his partner in the ring. She knew this wasn’t right, there were fewer things that were as wrong, but she could feel delight teasing at her center. Kevin was young, too young for her to even think about doing anything with. But his parents were away and she knew from her son that KZ, as everyone called him, recently broke up with his high school sweetheart, a tight-ass (their words, not hers) named Allie. So now seemed right, especially as his young arms, strong legs, tight ass and defined but still thin jaw had enticed her when she saw him hanging out with Ben at her house, the two talking smack while spending hours playing Grand Theft Auto after school. She’d wear tank tops on those days, bending over before Kevin to refill snacks or pick up empty plates and she watched him eye her, could sense his adolescent pulse quicken. And now he kissed at her hurriedly, stupidly and she smiled under his rush and hot breath, feeling the thickening in his pants against her leg. She was going to take him, she’d decided some time ago. But tonight was an impulse, a break-in and long, patient wait during which she nosed through his things and changed the sheets on his bed. And as he rutted above her clumsily, she bathed in the sweet smell of his effort and the liquid filth of this shattered taboo that made her own bliss swell, blossom and curl within her. Emily had lived a long time in service to men and boys. It was high time she took something back for herself. (at Saved)

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