Bad Moon Rising



She came into my life like a comet, ripping apart the days and setting fire to what didn’t fit into her way of seeing things. With rain falling and leaves sticking to our worn out faces, we left work and walked back to mine down darkened streets that appeared so different from how they had been a few months earlier. Taking off our clothes, we slipped beneath the sheets and cuddled while watching American Werewolf in London on TV. Illuminating the room and our naked bodies, the candle on the windowsill cast shadows that danced as if intoxicated. Its scent was vanilla, and as we breathed it in, it loosened our limbs and made us as horny as toads. Spreading my legs, she gave me handjob after handjob, and after the fourth one, my lower half was numb and my mouth dry from sucking on her right breast. She was an October sky, and although she’s now lost, back then in that moment, she was nature and everything else. She liked the way she could feel the veins in my cock throbbing, and long after I shuddered and lay motionless, she would keep hold of me in her hand and watch as I transformed from lover to monster. Just like David, the more she tempted me, the more I changed into something quite unreal. Into the early hours we would go, and then we’d sleep with London reaching out to us from the fields outside the window. Calling our names, all the streets and buildings would beg for us to return, but if only for those few hours, we were happy in our solitary and macabre ways.

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