"Poetic, would you like some ash?"
She looked over at me, huge smile on her face, a two inch head standing vertical on her cigar.
"Oh God, yes," I said, my submissive voice squeaking out. "I've cried each time ash was flicked into the tray."
On my hands and knees, I crawled towards her. Stopped. Sat on my feet. Opened my mouth wide and put out my tongue.
She rolled the ash into my mouth. I held the lump for her and the rest near her to see. I looked at her. I smiled with my eyes. Made a small connection.
"Thank you," she said. "You can swallow."
I closed my mouth and grinned. Then crawled away, happy.
He had a pretty head of ash ready for my mouth. I extracted myself from my corner. Bodies squeezed together to fight off the chill in the air and the wind that assaulted us on the balcony.
I crawled towards him, head bent. Rested my hands on his knees to keep balance. As I was about to sit on my feet, his hand found the back of my head. Gently petted my hair. I stayed as I was. Head bent. Forehead near his crotch. A feeling of connection being built. I nuzzled a little. Purred a bit. Felt warmth even though it was so cold.
A small touch on my chin signaled for my head to rise. I looked into his dark eyes. Saw him, and his ash.
"Open your mouth. Wider."
I did as he told. Tilted my head back. He rolled his ash into my mouth. I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened again. Looked into his eyes once more. Our gaze locked. I felt transfixed.
He brought his cigar to the side of my face. I felt the heat near my skin. Heard the burning of my hair. Didn't move because he didn't want me to.
A caress of my chin closed my mouth. His fingers traced across my cheek and back down. I closed my eyes. Leaned my head into his touch. Let myself get lost in our shared moment.
His hand stilled. I opened my eyes again.
He thanked me. I thanked him. And then crawled back to my spot.
He looked over at me, a knowing grin on his face.
He was only two seats away, yet he was the hardest to get to. We'd all huddled in close, trying desperately to fight nature. I backed out, swiveled around, and meeped as I sat in place in front of him.
His eyes were intense. His small smile almost mischievous. His hand reached behind me. Grabbed my hair. Controlled my head. Brought it forward.
I opened my mouth. Stuck out my tongue. He rolled his ash. I felt the heat of the cherry near me. He kept his eyes on mine. Saw his control over me. My submission to him. Had me close my mouth. Thanked me in his quiet yet strong voice.
I smiled and thanked him as well.
Crawled away. Found my spot. Snuggled up to those beside me. Happy to be around people I don't see nearly enough.
Martin Luther King Would and Did Fuck Trump's Shit Up (Housing Edition) - As we prepare for an open racist to ascend to the never more aptly-named White House, we need to remember, as this blog does every Martin Luther King, Jr. ...