Dissolved Into Smoke

I’m lying on my back, arms up, fingers laced behind my head, wearing nothing but you. You sit atop me, smoking a blunt, knees bent, legs splayed to the side. Naked, but it’s as if you wear your hair... it drapes down over each shoulder, covering your breasts almost entirely, except peeking through your golden-brown hair are your nips... so cute.

You smile between puffs as you trace my muscles with your fingertips, blowing smoke against my body, encasing me in an outline of ethereal, wispy clouds.

Whispering your dirty, innermost thoughts as you gently glide your body against mine, you tell me how much you need me forever. You tell me how I'm in your grasp between your thighs, how you've got your grip on me and are never letting go.

We are still very much making love, only halting the motion nearly to a stop momentarily to smoke. On the outside, I’m playing it cool; on the inside, I writhe with pleasure, trying not to squirm. So I press my hips deeper into your pelvis and hold the slowest, most torturous grind against you. I could come again any second, but I fight to keep it in.

I reach my hand up and motion for you to pass the blunt. You take another puff before placing the tightly rolled cigar between my fingers with a cute, sexy smirk.

I take a hit, puffing pools of smoke in and out at each break between inhales. As I exhale against the heat of your skin, I reach my left hand out toward your breast.

My hand lands on nothing but cold air.

The smoke dissipates, and in the last wispy cloud, you are gone. It is just me, alone in bed, smoking a blunt.

I put the cherry out on my tongue to extinguish it—the way you hated—

turn out the lights, and lay there in the dark missing you.