I explore my body amazed
at the softness of my skin.
I am in awe of my breasts,
the ease in which they fall
to the side as I lay on my back.
I use my index and middle finger
to trace my areolas and nipples. I
clasp a nipple between my fingers,
and gently fondle it. I move on to my stomach,
a glorious rounded mountain
when I’m upright is now an odd-
shaped hill, flattened in some spots
curved in others. I use both hands
to rub it. I’m my own personal Buddha.
My arms are ignored
as I turn onto my right side
and allow my hand to fall into
the fold behind my knee. My hand moves upward
caressing my thigh
touching each dimpled
inch of it, mini valleys
of puckered flesh. As my fingers
round my hip, I squeeze a little
rougher than I intend to and
think of the saying, the bigger
the better. Heading to my
buttocks, the creamy, velvet
feel of it tempts me to spank my
own ass, but I refrain. I’ll wait
for larger hands to do so tonight.
I return to lying on my back.
A knee up with legs spread exposes
my target. Before my fingers
touch my vagina, I feel a hand
around my wrist.
No baby, not there.
You can touch yourself anywhere
else. That belongs to me now.

He smiles and he reaches down

between my legs, I laugh as I squeeze
my thighs together, crushing his
fingers in my sweet spot.

Photo Credit: Damara Avila Flickr via Compfight cc



Arlene Antoinette

Arlene Antoinette is a novice poet/lyricist with dreams of one day writing a piece that breaks hearts. She holds an old outdated bachelor’s degree in sociology with a minor in psychology. You may find additional poems by Arlene Antoinette in SickLitMagazine and Girlsense and Nonsense.

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