We make memes and we make stories and we tell lies and we think sick thoughts we feel guilty about the morning after. Or we don’t. As she looks herself over in the mirror while clasping a thin strand of gold around her neck, she decides it’s going to be a good night because her makeup is flawless and her hair just so with that perfectly imperfect bend in it which he loves to finger when they kiss. It has been some time since he’s been close so she is surprised by the sudden memory of their lips intertwined, tongues stroking and searching. Something about seeing herself so pretty and the mental image of his body on hers starts a low simmer which runs hot from her throat down to her stomach down to the dampening slit between her slender thighs. Finishing her lipstick, she steps into heels and pulls up her skin tight jeans but does not button them. Instead she slides a hand inside, gently massaging her swelling sex. Waves of pleasure run over her from head to toe as she closes her eyes imagining her touch is his, her mouth, her body, her breath is his for the taking. Wet and mute with precious ache and unable to break her mind away from the tease of his thickness upon her soft silk tongue, she inserts two elegant fingers, gliding them slowly in and out of her exquisite tightness, circling her throbbing pearl until she is nothing but heat, panting and moaning with the rhythm of her need for him, for pleasure, for release. Subtly increasing the speed of her penetration she slides a third finger inside while pressuring her mounting sensitivity with her thumb. Too weak to stand the ecstatic torture any longer, she leans back upon her bed and parts her long smooth legs like scissors, sensual images flashing through her like electric shocks over and over as she brings herself to the edge and blindly crashes over into sheer euphoria, pulsing with hard, excruciating strength, her muscles clenching so tightly in quick quivering, her fingers are forced slowly out of her soaking core. As she lay there alone, dizzy in the shimmering afterglow, she rests her fingers upon her naked hip feeling the delicious warmth of her slickness as she gently flutters back down to earth, back into herself spread open in the silence. All dressed up with no where to go for hours, she lazily straightens herself up and crawls to sit inside the deep windowsill over looking the traffic rushing down below. Feeling like a web of diamonds and sparks are glittering their way through her sated veins, she lights up a cigarette, blowing curls of smoke into the spicy autumn air. Life is tricky and there is so much she has yet to understand. She knows she pulls away from people too quickly and if only she weren’t so skittish perhaps she’d not so often get herself into tangles she can’t get out of without scars, without fights, without shattering the things she loves, or tries to love if only anyone could really say exactly what love is. She is beauty like stars dancing through the vastness of the heavens even as she is a mess down on the ground and she knows it. But there are times when just by believing, just by trusting the dark glimmer in her own ragged hopeful heart, she runs fast enough to fly far, far away from here.