Deck Night

The bush was black, the insects sang their sound,
His colleagues slept in cabins all around.
Her hand took his, a pull he understood,
To step outside and risk being found.

The couch inside was warm, a memory now,
The wooden balcony bench was cool beneath his knees.
Her hands were sure, he didn't ask her how,
He just gave in and let her work her ease.

A slick, slow pressure, just a testing tip,
His body clenched, a tight and nervous fist.
She pushed so slow, a gradual, sure slip,
A stretching, burning, full and constant twist.

Then deeper still, a rhythm, firm and sweet,
A feeling so intense it stole his breath.
The night air witnessed where the rhythms meet,
A secret dance that flirted hard with death.

She pulled away and sat, and drew him near.
"Your turn,"she said. He climbed up on the chair.
This time, he took the length without a fear,
And drove it home,the thickness filling air.

He rode her hard, he set the frantic pace,
His own hips moving,taking all she had.
A tension built deep in his hidden space,
Then shattered, wracking, leaving him so glad.

It pulsed through him, again, and then once more,
His body clenching tight around her core.
He fell against her with a satisfied back door,
A secret shared with trees and nothing more.

___

www.esa.co.za/forum/thread.php