The Lighthouse
We stand at the rain-streaked window, one behind the other and swaying slowly with the spinning of the earth. Your hands are by your side, back a little and towards me, open. Mine rest on the slight curve of your hips and I can feel the fabric of your dress, an itch beneath my fingers. In the darkness the light flashes over us, a steady strobe casting shadows across the room. The moles that scatter your shoulder are hidden under a fallen strap, and the whiteness of your half exposed breasts...
First Time