Showtime

Long, long legs poised seductively
Your eyes meet mine
as your hand carresses your thigh
I see a glimpse of cotton
You sense my view and reward me
Your fingers draw back your skirt
like a curtain on a command performance
I smell your scent, I see your dampness
I feel myself grow hard in acknowledgment
You sense it too, purring your own appreciation
Your fingers finding moist fabric
A wry smile finding your face


(C) Robert Ford 1997