MORNING... AFTER

[YESSSS...I'm still SEXIN STRONG, via blog that is. The events detailed in this post provided the real life initial inspiration for my marathon multiple blogasms...Enjoy. ~Management]
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Last Monday...


It's always best in the morning...after a full night's insomnia. Tossing and turning, anxious for dawn to usher in the energy and hope of another day. The morning…after I’ve been satisfied.

On this morning, I caught my breath and stepped one foot onto the hardwood floor…the contrasting sensation of cold zipping like mercury through my heat.

The blast of water in the shower has a similar effect in the morning…after a full night’s sweat.

In the 30 or so steps it takes to get from the porcelain foot of the tub to the window in my bedroom, my skin has already absorbed the excess mist. Summer is on hiatus at the moment, as the storm clouds bum rush my horizon. Humidity plays sidekick. The muscle.

There’s something about the rain in the morning…after a hot midnight. The earth’s shower. There’s something about its cadence upon impact on my windowsill. On the concrete. Atop the hood of my car parked just across the street.

I stand in front of the window, the vertical blinds allowing only strips of a vertictal view. I see my car and the rain’s onslaught. And I wanna get back into bed. I want the sheets to umbrella me.

I turn toward my shelter, when out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse through the blinds.

A thigh.

Then a forearm.

A cross-trained foot pulled up to a taught...

My eyes are bad, but I can see that ass clearly.

I’m moving my head slowly, left to right…boring a hole through the blinds.

He’s all charcoal skin. Sinewy, shirtless stretches. Dreads tied back. Arms dented with strength.

At the moment, I need to be reached. I need his arms not on the tree parked beside my ride, but rooted on my sides.

Instead, I’m now rubbing lotion there on me, as I do most mornings. After all, ashy ain’t a good look when you’re expecting company.

Every morning I stand in this exact spot, at this exact time, flirting with the commuters down below who have no idea that nakedness dances just beyond the blinds. If only they’d look up.

I’d wave.

Or perhaps there is someone just beyond the blinds just across the street, also 3 floors up, looking directly across at me looking down. If only they’d let me know.

I’d hide.

If only the charcoal man would look up from his morning jog out in the rain. If only he’d turn his attention away from the tree on which he is leaning for balance. Stretching, bending, reaching for the rain clouds.

I’d throw down my house key.

If only I knew he was coming. We’d both be, right about now.

But I never listen to my dreams. When I saw him, around midnight, in a sleepless dream, I rolled over and counted the hours ‘til morning.

He's gone now. A blur in the rain.

I almost run after him.