September morning

Feels like a real September morning. Like when we met. I want to wander through the streets in love, seeing what there is to see and walking about hand-in-hand and poking into small shops while wearing our fetish clothes and making people smile or scowl. All a matter of fabric -- just how you sew a piece of leather together. In a shoe, it’s uptown, in a vest or harness, its kink. Still the same cow's hide.
I want to lay in our warm bed in the morning twilight and feel his heart beat through the walls of his chest. I want to lay beside him for hours, forever, knowing that his eager cock will be there time after time when I roll over; if I sleep It will nudge me awake, it will dive between my legs forcing them apart. It will seek my inner folds and find them wet, and he will laugh and call me his little slut for wanting him so much. Then he’ll confine me to the room, naked and go and fetch us food and coffee, laced with Bailey's, from the cold kitchen while I listen to his footsteps --wondering what he has planned for us next, what scandalous thing he force me to do next to please him. Walk down Broad Street naked except for a vinyl dress and heels, dance with a gay man in drag, bend over just far enough for the man eying me opposite to see my clit hood piercing? Will he make walk about with a collar on in public, will he direct me to the tattoo/piercing parlor to stare in horror at the pain awaiting me if he gets me further pierced? Then, smile at my face. This is what I want.