Two Women

They had met for sex, in a

complicated choreography that let

two wives explore their mutual

curiosity before surprising one

very lucky husband.

They chose somewhere discreet

with a large bathroom where they could

pamper and primp and

drink wine and just maybe

chicken out.

But like turned to lust via the

kisses they remembered practising in

pink bedrooms and smelly cars, the

touches wonderfully strange and

wholly different.

After, they had to bathe,

enjoying their womanliness,

laughing over lingerie,

primped and pampered and

perhaps ready.

A ting-ting told them their

beau was imminent and they

planned arousing poses, one

sat astride the other

erotically entwined.

But breast to breast,

heart to heart, both

beating madly, they

simply embraced and

held each other tight.

 

(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

Anticipation

Anticipation made her antsy all day, kept

drawing her back to the window from which

she would see whether her husband was

alone or had company.

She caught herself playing with her hair, something

her mother had warned her against—“It’s a

signal, dear, that you’re interested”—but she

was interested, was curious, was scared.

She knew she should get dressed though she

often greeted her husband naked, but with

someone else it would give the

wrong impression, wouldn’t it?

If she saw him/them arrive there

wouldn’t be time to dress, but

watching was so hypnotic and

waiting was such a powerful aphrodisiac.

 

(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)