One

"on"

In the universe of perversion, I celebrate my hypersexuality.

For Stormboy- Rhiannon Bannenberg 

Ariem

And then he found her. His forever. His heart warmed as though a mottled light; a dying candle was held up to his chest. He knew she was part of his healing, if not his healing embodied. He didn't want to quote any bible verses about love but he knew that with her he embodied love and nothing but love. 

For their first date, they walked in the streets of New York listening to guitarists busk and vocalists belt. They admired the sky scape and the lights and their towering heights. They stopped at a pizzeria truck and ordered a pizza as well as chocolate covered waffles. Then they sat at a bench and indulged in the fatty goodness only to be cut through by the lemony tang that was presented in the chipotle sauce. When they walked into the hotel and snuck into the bathroom stalls, time seemed to be infinite.

They had known each other for only a week though even a day with Ariem felt like an eternity, in a good way of course. Ariem hadn't felt a love this enigmatic since the day he started creating. Each time he wrote he would feel his heart expand for imaginary characters that weren't so imaginary to him. It was like being transported to another tranquil world were anything that was said would go. 

They had that wayward, teenage love. The kind of love that consisted of making love in bathroom stalls and doing wall talks against the cold polyester walls (In place of pillow talk, which would be much warmer and softer, almost but not identical to the inside of Cyan Lerato)

If their love was a multi-story building he'd be on the upmost top floor, almost kissing the sky the way he had kissed the insides of Cyan Lerato's thighs. She was a pudgy girl, round and curvaceous and soft, almost like the other babes he had fucked. She remembered the pleasure that followed in her clitoris, the burning sensation, the need for more. More of his cream skin against her chocolate. A need for the both of them to become one again. Then it dawned her, they were so hell bent on being each others present that they hadn't got to know their histories.

She knew for one, that she was exactly five months older than him and that caused a discrepancy in their maturity. Though loving him was like rising, like a gust of warm air she couldn't help but feel that her feelings were marred by the fact that they saw the world from different perspectives. But he was a creative, a creature of literary fiction that understood that perception perpetuated creativity. He pushed the fabric of her red bodycon dress down and over her rounded, supple and huge breasts. Then he sucked her nipples, tenaciously.

She loved him, that was a fact never to be questioned, that's why she let him raven himself with her so abruptly. He explored her body, like the gull of a thousand seas. Exploring her body was like tapping the black and white keys of piano meekly, in front of an audience. Her bronze skin as supple and soft as the inside of a thornless rose. Each touch, as uncertain and as hesitant as that of a curious and inexperienced teenager, like a soft ballad on a freshly tuned guitar. If he was wind, her pleasure was definitely the vapours of the surface of the water. Waiting to rise into the sky, condense and fall back to earth as a bead of utility.

After a myriad of orgasms (particularly from Cyan Lerato) they shared their first kiss. And kissing her was like inertia itself, like stopping a mass from within and bringing it to a stop. Like opposing the force of motion, itself. Each kiss was like unacquaintedly pressing the keys of a piano, black, white and mottled. Their love was lacking in the deep conversations and passionate lovers fights but was too young to be compared to the love he shared with Vorissa Sekana. He played with her dark brown nipples as they kissed and she felt herself getting wetter.