Here I am at 11.51pm, nine minutes to a neon white luminescent dot filled midnight, blanketed by a backdrop of a shadowed navy hemisphere. Observing my sparsely furnished apartment with it's eggshell blue paint peeling walls while sitting on an old rickety barstool in my bone bare kitchen staring at a bottle of tantalizing vodka dripping with rivulets of melting ice and a small empty tumbler glass. Contemplating on whether I should simply open the transparent receptical or not. If I should succumb to its masculine taunting and come hither smile and throw caution to the wind and say to hell with it, to hell with this life and the next. Hell that strong and seductive devil knew I was barely holding on by a thin thread, merely scraping by, ambling from one day to the next like some vintage wind up mechanical robot. So here you'll find me currently sitting in anticipation, with the humid and scorching January wind gently wafting through my clean fifth floor window and me and an enticingly freezing vodka bottle doing battle, each wanting to dominate the other.
My ombre dark auburn hair piled high in a disheveled loose bun, in my simple black lace underwear, braless with my ample breasts heavy with need, my nipples perfect rosebuds erect and heaving with every breath of stifling air I inhale, barely covered by an off the shoulder cotton mottled gray t-shirt. My five foot and seven inch slender waisted, hourglass body sheathed in glistening perspiration from the penetrating heat caressing its viscosity around me and on the kitchen bench-top it waits with the prowess of a lion, the magnificent king of the lush rich jungle forever beckoning me, tempting me with its opaquely irresistible liquid, daring me to open it and pour myself a glass half full of its delicious lip licking nectar. How intensely mysterious it smells once you open it of snapbacks and tattoos rippling with well carved muscles and something more substantial as the aroma lingers for a subtle moment before it engulfs you and you can almost taste it's arousing well embodied smoothness on your supple lips. An underlying smell of refinement, of nice suits and decent jobs almost unable to contain the large sculpted marble bursting and straining at the seams.
Vodka you are both my salvation and my ultimate down fall. If you were a man I'd be lost mesmerized by your scent alone, an intoxicating alchemy of allspice, dry cedar, leather with a hint of vetiver, and driven to an unbridled madness thrumming from within, pantiless and naked pleading for respite. You're like an invisible tether reeling me in. I can no longer resist your charismatic appeal. I'll give in to your temptation, your whim, your icy golden caress and pour myself a glass half full and take a swig like a drunkard, a sailor, a military man on a night's reprieve, straight down my ravenous parched trachea as it courses through my veins downward into my sinews feeling it's unadulterated pleasure inbetween my sensuous creamy thighs as it pulses with a light feathery touch at my apex like a petulant child seeking release while my throbbing heart feels like its being torn from behind my sternum; always irrevocably melancholy and half empty of love.
BlackLilith
© All Rights Reserved
22 September 2017
4.35pm
(Note: Full of grammatical error and thus will be edited in due course.)
