My wife didn’t care for the first draft of this, thought it should be sweeter, less porny. More like poetry than prose, she said. Let me know how I did, if you’re so inclined.
Make America Come Again
She was sitting in the chair by the door, the one she always sits in. No panties, a tank top not hiding her nipples. I think some old Soul was on. We went all over the place that day.
We sat and talked and adored each other. I love her. She knows it, even when she forgets. We were so relaxed, so into the moment. I couldn’t help kissing her, the first tender caresses giving way to a deeply passionate embrace of tongue and twining. I held her face and neck in my hands as we grew our blaze of desire with every movement, each sense. The rich scent of her hair and throat. Innumerable places of wonder, each explored as if unknown.