Erotic Fiction: The Second Letter

I have sent you the letter that I want to you to see. It is practical and wise, full of smooth, measured lines and things that are best for us both.

I am now writing you the letter that I wanted to write. It is not smooth. It is not measured. I am writing on my skin, down the length of my leg and up again, higher and higher, to my warm, wet cunt and the hollow places that you kissed. I will start at my hip and scrawl, “To my Love,” on that curved, hard bone. I will write of the silence my tongue couldn’t fill; of the ugliness and  envy I swallowed just to keep your taste in my mouth. I understood your responsibilities, your conditions, your life. I embraced my confinement in a small, lush room.

I was your escape you said as you kissed my thigh. It was creamy and white when you did—not smeared with ink, but clean and sweet, a tactile expanse of improbable trust. Your words poured into my skin and diffused, filling my cells with your precise, exacting love. Alchemy. Magic. I became an extension of you.

You cast a spell with every lick and bite. Every time your fingers drifted between my thighs, in bars and restaurants and cafes and streets; every time you found me wet; every time you sucked my breast through my thin, cotton blouse, I lost an inch of myself. More ink on my skin.

You love me, you love me.

Your words seeped, slow and profound, until I lived for your teeth and the thrust of your cock. I became an arching back, a curving neck, a gaping, needy cunt. I was a response to the words you scrawled on my skin with your rich, invisible ink—a room, a haven, the bottle and the djinn, a pretty little box….

I have sent you the letter I want you to see, one written by a woman who no longer exists. Now, in the quiet of my lush, little room, I cover my skin in my very own ink, thick and black, from my pen. Once every kiss is covered and every lick and bite obscured, I will wash the ink away in a claw foot tub—the one we shared last Spring in a hotel I won’t name, because the distance between then and now hurts.

You are in me and on me. Your name is in my bones. I will soak and scrub until it dissolves, and the water and ink go cold. I will write until I am calm. Because I am not calm. I am not calm. I am not calm, my Love. I am the product of your words.

Want to hear me read it? Click on HERE for the audio version.

And lastly, thank you to Happy Come Lucky, whose image inspired this story, and to Exhibit A for hosting the Sinful Stories Competition and for selecting this story as the winner.

57 comments

  1. Simply. Amazing. The emotions in that piece buried me. You said so much in such a small space, wow. Just wow. Exquisite.

  2. this is so good, i almost cannot stand it! the imagery of the ink on and off of her body, your wizardry with words…there are too many savory lines for me to pull from this story, just completely amazing!

  3. There’s so much to admire about this. I agree with F Dot Leonora. I plan to go and read it again to break it down and see what I can learn from it. There’s just something about the way you string your metaphors together, and the way you make them fresh and alive.
    “I will write of the silence my tongue couldn’t fill; of the ugliness and jealousy and envy I swallowed just to keep your taste in my mouth.” I adore that. Also, the last two lines. Really powerful.

    1. Thank you so much for that lovely comment. I’ve been making my way through the entries and just read “The Great Rite”. I’ve yet to tackle erotic poetry – you did a beautiful job with the form. Such lush, dark, imagery..

      1. Thank you for your own more than kind words in return.

        I also noticed your remarks on the power of a kiss, it is something I at least attempted to describe physically at one point after a discussion with a friend.

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  5. Wow…this is so beautiful and powerful! The concept and imagery is so simple and complex all at once and that last line…well…it was the literary equivalent of a suckerpunch. I felt it in my bones. Thank you!

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