Poetry/Erotica
My Wet Pussy
Sex-positive free verse
The warm water cascades from the faucet filling the room with the intoxicating scent of one of my favorite flowers…Night Blooming Jasmine.
Before I fully submit to its lure, I let my hand trail through the bubbles that are slick from the oil and as iridescent as the Mother of Pearl ring, I once saw in a catalog.
I breathe in the scent that makes me think of hot summer nights when I was more than a little reckless and given to wild flights of sensual fantasy.
Standing up, I shimmy out of the shorts I’m wearing thanks to the early fall weather that is warm and soft like a whisper…your whisper.
I pull my T-shirt over my head and a loose string gets caught in the wild mane that I haven’t bothered to get trimmed in months. I rip it free.
My panties are next and I yank them down and gleefully kick them from my feet where they sail across the room like a child’s kite coming in for a soft landing.
As I carefully step into the now-full tub, the heat and the scent envelops me and I lower my body so that it is fully and completely submerged. Oh…heaven.
I allow myself to surrender to the blissful feeling of my body now weightless and free of the mundane aches and pains of daily life in a world that has known nothing but pain for months.
Closing my eyes, I imagine your touch, your hands gliding over my slick skin as you firmly yet tenderly wash my back, my breasts, the place between my legs that you love.
Suddenly, I hear something, soft, but there nonetheless, quiet footfalls so gentle as to be nearly nonexistent, but real or as real as anything can be in these surreal days.
I don’t open my eyes as I’m lost in my dream, my fantasy and I don’t want the sound…that tap, tap, tap to break the mood that I worked so hard to create.
Slowly I breathe in and out, close to drifting off completely when all of a sudden…SPLASH! YOWL! And I realize that one of our cats has joined me!
Before I can help her, quick as lightning, she scrambles out of the tub and down the hall, leaving little wet kitty prints as she goes.
Now that’s what I call one, wet pussy.
© Sherry McGuinn, 2020. All Rights Reserved.
Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.
