pining for the moon

She curled her painted toes over the edge of the wooden dock.

The sweet, sticky summer night air hung over her like it had been generously brushed on with oppressive affection.

She heard the slightest ripples of waves gently lapping on the shore.

She closed her eyes.

And she dove.

The lake water cooled every inch of her naked body.

She opened her eyes, taking in the blurry darkness.

She looked up at a wavering full moon.

She broke the surface.

She rolled over and floated on her back.

She moved her hands instinctively.  She kicked her feet gently when absolutely necessary.

Crickets began their first set of the night on the invisible far shore.

She looked at her inaccurately and unevenly pale skin.  The soothing lack of colour gave the night a timeless feel.

She floated.




She turned her head and saw that the deck was sneaking away into the distance.

She closed her eyes.

She rolled over and begrudgingly began swimming slowly back towards shore.

She dove under the inky water.

She swam.

She opened her eyes.

She surfaced.

She reached the dock.

She put her chin on the smooth boards.

She didn’t want to get out.  Not yet.

An arm wrapped around her stomach.

A hand moved her wet hair aside.

She melted into the strength.

Lips marked their territory on the back of her neck.

A chest pressed against her back.

Lips laid claim to her shoulders as well.

A hand swam around to her breasts.

She pushed her ass back against him.

Only water between them.


She spread her legs.

He bit her ear.

She curled her painted fingers over the edge of the wooden dock.

6 thoughts on “pining for the moon

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *