front burner

Copyright 2009.  All rights reserved.

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Bliss...

The calm, sweet and peaceful like a running brook.  Shallow, above the surface…just enough to immerse the epidermis and keep it safe.

Those good times, when they first met…when she finally revealed her intentions to him…when it finally dawned on him exactly what was going on…

Aah…sweet, succulent burbling…

beneath the surface…tucked in neatly, compacted and confined…the roil.  Because the burn…that was too much to take, certainly all at once, and he had had to find a way of mitigating things…of controlling urges and natural inclinations so they didn’t get the better of him.

…but then thoughts of her extruded again as he drifted back, dangling over the whirlpool, the smell of lava being released from the depths threatening to steal his last gasp in a poisonous vapour trail…

…grabbing her and holding her and squeezing her and loving her…

Focus!  Better things to think about; healthier things to obsess over…

The daily grind.  The 9 to 5; the chores and the duties and the obligations and everything that HAD to be done, NEEDED to be done…

…this was better?

…warmth flooding over him as he drifted again, to when things were better, times were good…

…when she’d loved him…

Running a metaphorical finger over the front element in his mind, the impassive neutrality of it refreshed him, bringing him back from the brink.  Yes, he knew full well where he ought to stay, where his heart would suffer the least damage, and yet…

He recoiled in the heat of their differences, their disagreements…everything that he despaired over.  But he kept his fingers there – nay, placed his entire palm flat onto the incinerating surface.

What pleasure could possibly be derived from such a connexion?

…he knew full well.  He wanted it; savoured it…LOVED it:  the intoxication, the pain…the sinful pleasure…

Because feeling her, being hurt by her, LOVING her…gave him a lease on life he’d never before experienced.  And, call it a narcotic if you want to, but it was no less important than any other nourishment.  T’was needed, desired…and absolutely necessary in order to survive.

One hand on the front burner kept him grounded in reality, the same way he was unable to remove his hand from the back burner.

Yes, this despite the possibility his flirts with disaster could one day subsume him entirely.

Mea culpa…

Explore posts in the same categories: erotica

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