PLUNDERTECHNICS

I know what it feels like to lust after someone. I know what it feels like to imagine how they taste; to imagine how their wet skin would feel, tangled with mine, in a post-coital ecstasy. I know what questions will swirl in my mind in those moments afterwards. How fast is their breathing? Can I feel their heart steadily pumping blood to all of their oxygen deprived body parts? Does sweat pool at the small of their back? How smooth is the groove of their spine as I trace my fingers down to that pool?

I know what it feels like to lust after someone to the point where it isn't lust anymore. It has become an excercise, a repeated meditation. It is a carnal desire that becomes a series of images, played over and over until the fiction of it all threatens to turn into a fond memory of events that have yet to pass.