He watched her from afar and enjoyed her beautiful curves — so delicate, refined, elegant. She was like a piece of art. A gem. She was a true aristocrat — inside and out. His eyes trailed down her seductive features with barely contained passion. He could almost taste her heat. She always burnt him from the first touch to the cherished finish. She was hot, unique, unrestrained.
She was the one he craved.
So many disappointments, failures, and broken oaths followed his life. Beauties that humbled him to the depths of self-pity — mediocre and mean souls who made fun of his weaknesses. They left him in the middle of the road. They came back and left him again.
And she was always genuine and never let him down.
She delivered on everything she promised. Every time he looked at her, he was filled with mad euphoria. Soon he would touch her beautiful and smooth curves, sink into the tender taste that left the tip of his tongue and clung to his lips. He liked to taste her slowly — little by little, to prolong the pleasure to the climax and finally to enjoy the unique peak of ecstasy. And sink into oblivion. He knew that there always would be a new meeting. With her, he fell into the weightlessness of that deep attraction that no one else could bring to him.
He reluctantly broke away from his contemplation. He couldn’t hold back anymore. Impatience and excitement made him tremble.
He made a few quick steps and approached her. He took a deep breath. His pupils were dilated. He adored her. He wanted to kneel before her, embrace her, and immerse himself in her haunting beauty.
He reached out and ran his fingers along her curves. He moaned softly and grabbed her. His lips were dry, his throat tight in anticipation. She was so perfectly smooth and cool.
His new bottle of vodka was waiting for him — a source of cherished pleasure.
He could not think of her as an inanimate object. She was his lover forever, until his end.
He picked it up and drank. His thoughts melted away. All that remained was the unbridled desire to swallow her whole — to the last drop.
***
Thank you for reading.
About the Creator
Mariana Busarova
Reading and writing are part of me. I feel them both so naturally connected with me.
https://medium.com/@busarovamariana
https://substack.com/@marianabusarova
https://www.facebook.com/ani.busarova/?locale=bg_BG
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Welcome to our first Winners Announcement of the year and to the final challenge in the Fall Poetry Series. The Last Flame invited writers to sit with endings, using fire as a central image to consider what remains when something burns out: ash, warmth, memory, silence, or the faint promise of what comes next. The strongest pieces treated endings as gradual rather than sudden, allowing them to flicker, dim, and linger.
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Comments (2)
Here after reading the recommendation from JBaz! Great descriptions and details, definitely subscribing and looking forward to reading more from you!
Sad yet so true. You really did a wonderful job of misdirection finishing with a splendid twist.