Flashing #58 - Erotica
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
I was going to call this “Post-Atomic Erotica” but realized that’s the most pretentious thing I can ever call anything. This story is inspired by The Postal Service’s “We Will Become Silhouettes,” the most beautiful song ever written about dying in a nuclear holocaust. I wanted to capture that songs sense of beauty and life and move it into an erotic story. So this is the result – short and to the point.
More Flashing at the main page.
There’s a calm about her thighs. He finds it out of place as he moves his finger from her neck down to her knees, finding goose flesh and shivers over every inch of her body except for her thighs. They’re smooth and relaxed, accepting, comforted. As the rain cracks and the sky burns red her thighs remain at peace with the air, the grass, the poison, his hand. Her breath picks up, her chest heaves, her heart pounds, her lips quiver, her eyes tear, her skin burns, but her thighs – they’re in a different world.
He turns her towards him and whispers, “It’s time.” Her eyes are wide and her face is red and her hands are clenched and some of her organs are as cooked and painful as her charring skin but her thighs open gracefully. He comes on top of her and wastes no time, his cock slides smoothly into her pussy, moist with heat and rain and a wetness never meant for this but fitting for the moment.
With each thrust of his cock she bites her lip, drawing blood, the flesh is weak. He kisses her and sucks the rapidly dividing cells from her mouth. As their faces lock his hands move to her breasts. He pinches her nipple and the feel as if they’re giving way – as if they’re melting into his fingers. He moves his other hand to her ass, covered with rain and soil, and it once again feels as if he’s pushing through her. It’s happening in their legs, as well, and their stomachs and their chests and their lips. Everything’s losing boundaries, merging together, combining to form a solitary mass of energy and dying skin.
His cock thrusts deeper and faster. She wants to scream but their lips are now inseparable. He pries his hand from her tits and moves it to her hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck, his other hand reaching up to caress it and do the job his lips can’t do. She twists as he moves his searing fingers across her most erogenous area and he twists with her. There’s no longer movement without both of them moving – their bodies are no longer separate. She cums and snaps her head forward, leaving his hand with a clump of hair and scalp, he moves it to her cheek and strokes her until he can’t move it anymore.
His movements become frantic as the pain becomes unbearable. He manages to look into her eyes and he sees a tranquility that’s juxtaposed to his chaotic desperation. He stops his movements and rests inside her, eyes locked, bodies melted – everything as calm as her thighs, now. Everything satisfied and ready.
jason rodriguez is an eisner and harvey-nominated editor and writer. email him. or become his digital BFF below:
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