Golden liquid arousal. Tequila. Sending flash floods of heat along estuaries
of veins, nerves like tiny rivulets . . . and raw moments of lust peek from
behind the broad back of respectability, while my tongue slowly, suggestively
caresses the edge of my mouth. Sensations tingle from my lips . . . to lips.
And ever increasing wetness in both areas, as heat sizzles, sending jolt after
jolt to my mind to explain this slow heavy languor stealing over me. Allowing
me to float in this stew of wantonness, all inhibition drifts away leaving me
naked in my lusty desire. Strange hand, warm palm caresses my waist while
unknown fingers slide down the side of my face, sending alarms throughout my
frazzled awareness. I know you not. Not know you I. Know you not I.
Strange eyes, sharp, cunning, lies. Sweet smile hiding Devils' wants. This
is not my "Prince of Dreams." Wizard of the heart. Keeper of the message.
This impostor, spinning me into his warp and woof faster than I can cut my way
free. My thoughts like frozen fish, flash sporadically behind my startled
eyes. Sending SOS's of danger. Pushing away from this unsolicited violation,
hand against his warm chest, my fingers curl in disgust at what folly could
have been perpetuated here. Tequila. A gateway to new horizons. All with an
area code of 911. Tequila. Mysterious Goddess. Whore of Babylon. Favours
scattered among the cities and byways. To turn my "Prince of Dreams" into
another Pimp, Mack Daddy, the man who says when and where and how low.
Training me to peddle my ass. Transactions of the blood.
(c) A. J. Heard 1998
I was born in Los Angeles in the 50's when you could still see its rural
backbone. I moved here to Santa Cruz 20 years ago after attending the wedding
of a friend and losing my soul, had to move to reconnect. For this moment,
here is where I am.