On the Porch In Stockings

Here is the place that he kissed me, on the lips, and then here again on my cheek, and then here again on the side of my neck, where just below the skin my pulse beat and beat quicker and quicker as his mouth moved over me. There was a roar in my ears like surf breaking over slippery wet rocks, and my grip on conscious thought became slippery as well.

How high did I pull up my skirt, I wondered later. Not too far, not all the way. I think I was concerned that the effort I’d put into the stockings, the garters, the sexy underthings that were out of character for me, all of that would have been wasted if he hadn’t been allowed at least a small, brief glimpse of what was beneath my clothing.

I couldn’t let him in, not into my house, not yet, so soon. I’d left the black cage open in the kitchen, and I feared that my heart would leap back out of my chest and into it if I stepped foot into the room, and of course I’d have to if I let him in. I’d have to offer him something to drink, and the moment I came into the kitchen, there would go my heart, and the Kitchen God would slam the cage shut again. He has many jobs, the Kitchen God, and standing watch over my heart is only one of them.

But on the doorstep, barely out of sight from the street, pressed up against the stone wall, he put his mouth against mine and I tasted him, salty and bittersweet like chocolate and coffee, and I felt like I was in a photograph from the nineteen-thirties, a figure blurred from unconscious motion, a ghost woman imprinted on paper and yet still almost intangible, and I pulled my skirt up higher along my leg, until the top of the stocking was bared, and he didn’t put his hand there but I did, running my fingernail along the skin that peeked over the top of the stocking, making my flesh raise into bumps from my own touch and causing me to gasp into him, into his mouth which was still pressed against mine, and it was all I could do to not bring him inside from the cool night air and into my warm empty bed.

But not this time.

I must remember to put the cage away into the hollow behind the loose brick in the kitchen.

Some things can’t be overlooked.



2 responses to “On the Porch In Stockings”

  1. Deanna Avatar

    Hot and steamy! I liked the use of the cage as a sort of protector of your heart showing you’re fear of getting hurt.

    1. Kameko Avatar

      There’s a lot of hot and steamy around here!

      Hope you enjoy poking around.

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