"This apple has a condom pocket..." erotica

His hair lingered over the edge of the bath,
sweeping over the clean white marble,
falling over itself as his head turned
to stare up at you.
He extended a finger like a mural of satanic temptation,
hands big and gentle but only a lure
a deception in light of their plans to grope you.

You step back as you feel you have intruded
and the image fades into dawn.
A dream such only to be seen as morally wrong.

Another fantasy later; years apart
A twist of foreplay and a body in a bed
which it should never know to exist.
Sheets play only as handcuffs
keeping you there in your imagination.
His hair is shorter now
and you know the only attraction
is what should never be.
Morally mistaken twice;
"shame on you again you bad bad girl."
You feel you could see him saying this
but worse is you'd like him to.
He's leaning towards you, touching you.
He's musing you and rubbing the illusion
of his lips on your own.
His mouth is opening on yours
and his shoulders are so close
as his clothes disintegrate:
falling away like all they were made of
was dust.
His naked body is so close to yours
and his tongue slides past your own...
you scold yourself in wake.
It's so wrong, so very unfortunate
that you cannot control your dreams.

And all these images: he's filling you with inspiration.
He'll never fill you with anything else.
You begin to radiate a kinetic energy whenever you see him.
You stall to run into him
and ooze desire with pheromones detectable to any male
within a 15 foot radius.
He lingers very briefly, though subconsciously.
This is an instinctual response:
either primitive or you're delusional.
You would never take it as far as your imagination is willing.
But there are times where you lose yourself in dreams of day,
you're in his office and his body is held up against yours.
He's dominatingly taller and his mass is pinning you against the wall.
Your wrists are held up by his hands
and you start to sweat as your body temperature rises.
You grow hotter from the fabric of your clothing brushing
and there's nothing more than a dangerous, intense moment between you.

Dreams consecutive, never the same.
Last night he pressed himself to you on the bathroom wall.


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"Yes." You say in gutter-head perversion,
"Yes." you imagine whilst masturbating to this daydream.