Kofi Fosu Forson
I’m honest. No, I really am. If I’m attracted to you, I’ll let you know.
It wasn’t that way with her. It was something chemical. I say “chemical.” Actually all I wanted was to plug her. It never works out that way…Not at a party. You don’t just go off into the bathroom and have a go of it. I’ve heard stories. There were some real reputable people here. She was all lit up…like a Christmas tree. Everywhere on her body were lace, pearls and gold. Our eyes met. I took a sip of my cocktail. I don’t think her smile could have been any brighter.
What does it mean when the woman makes the first move? Is it my fault if she’s leading me on? How far can I go? She pinned me up against a wall. Her left arm was tapping the wall. There was no music at the time. I guess she was getting impatient. I asked her why she didn’t have a cocktail in her hand. She goes, “Then would I be able to do this?” That was our little secret. Let’s just say the ear makes for a strange orifice.
Some people know what to say. We’re on the phone having a normal conversation. She’s got me talking in a way I never imagined. I’m saying things about her body. I had never seen her body. Not that way. She’s breathing. I’m talking dirty. One month into the relationship…I made her cum…of all places, on the telephone. I’ve since tried it on other women. It never works. That’s the same thing as having sex on opposite sides of the planet. You lie there naked. Concentrate on each other’s bodies. Breathe in and out. Somehow, some way, you reach a climax.
I know a writer who gets high after each manuscript. Can you imagine having sex with your characters? I’d never understand. The word “tit” on a piece of paper can give some men a hard-on. Sue me! I have no imagination.
Copyright Horatio Monologues