Erotica for each Astrological Sign
Libra, by Laura Roberts
For all the poems you wrote about me (the me missing from each vague, circular comparison), and for all the poems you dedicated to other women—so much more brilliant in your descriptions of limbs and loins—I am leaving you tonight. Poet, convinced of your own glory, you will be the one begging this time like all the poor, naïve girls who followed after you for weeks, tearing their hair and beating their breasts. You will be the one to grovel, to pray to any and all gods for my safe return to your bed. And you will be the one to play the part of Sobbing Mess this evening, wondering how something so flawless could have become so flawed, because tonight I will tell you in vivid detail about how I fucked your roommate to create the world's finest balance of power.
You’ve secretly suspected all along, this little crush I told you about at the beginning. “It’s nothing,” I said, “I thought he was sweet. Like a brother.”
A brother I’d like to fuck; maybe more of a monk promised to chastity, but secretly yearning, burning inside his darkened chamber. Early to bed, early to rise, vespers whispered, matins chanted. Holy holy holy. Didn’t he say those things as he worshipped my cunt? I could have had him every night of the week, in Latin or vulgar Anglo-Saxon. But I spent my nights, chaste, with you instead.
That is, until yesterday, when you were out so late and I lay on the couch waiting for you, my sexy negligée hidden beneath a ratty old robe. A kinky surprise for the old man. The sun set, the hours ticked past. You never showed.
“Are you going to bed?” he finally asked, turning out the lights.
“I was waiting...” I began, biting my lip and glancing his way. “Will you wait with me?”
I saw his eyes light up at the suggestion. He was mine in an instant.
“Let’s wait in my room. We can play some music.”
Not music! It gets under the skin, into those places where all logic is void, where words are meaningless. It removes inhibitions, forces limbs into motion, draws hips and lips close, then closer.
The door closed behind me as he flicked the stereo on and the light switch off. I suppose you could use your imagination at this point, but leave that to me. You always were a bit light on the details, darling.
Your dearest roommate loves religious music, as you know. Gregorian chants, with their pious voices pleading for mercy, souls light in the divine presence. Was it me or was there something sinful on his mind? It seemed he felt like cleansing his soul, or perhaps soiling it, as he drew close and then ducked away. He finally knelt to pray as I stretched out upon his bed; the world's sweetest supplicant at last unburdened his confession.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment for three years,” he whispered into my ear, head bowed, fingers laced.
I smiled.
“That's a long time to wait. Tell me later if it was worth it.”
I pulled his chin up and kissed him with the lips that have always been reserved for you. He was nervous, stiff, but warm and eager. His fingers unlaced to cradle my neck as he rose, confident, and straddled me on his bed. We drank each other's lips like the sweetest sacristy wine, an act both sacred and profane.
“We’re going to hell,” he muttered, in between kisses.
“Make it worth the trip,” I said, forcing him to kiss me harder.
He removed my robe and gasped at the sexy surprise beneath.
“The old man's really missing out tonight,” I said, putting his hand to the satiny bosom of the corset.
Nude with Corset by Frank Luzian York
“Holy fuck,” he breathed, cupping my buoyant tits.
“It should be. It's about time God's name was screamed in vain, don't you think?”
In response, he removed his own robe to expose his handsome cock, held high.
I just smiled, ran a finger down the shaft, and parted my thighs. The crotchless panties said it all.
Without another word, he was on top of me, kissing me hard as he slid his cock in deep. I moaned and tossed my head back. He went on kissing my neck, licking my flesh as he thrust upward again and again. His cock was bigger than yours. Much bigger. Yet he was softer, gentler, better than you in bed. Understanding the temptations of the flesh, he reveled in every twist and turn, every curve and cleft. I balanced my betrayal on the scales against your own deceptions, choosing pleasure over pain. I balanced my need for affection with my desire for stability. I rode that fine line between love and hate, coming to rest on an even keel.
As he came inside me, I cried out too, feeling both empty and full. I was the deceived and the deceitful one, together in one flesh. Let us call it even and be done with it.
Originally published September 2009
