Picked to Perfection

He was like kissed by the sun perfection lazily leaning on the car cradling an acoustic guitar while gently holding a pick where I longed to be- between his lips. He was a tamer of freely fornicating fillies and I knew that trouble regularly rested on his knee... but still I wanted to be broken. His demeanor was casual as he switched to strumming flamenco while the mouth that once was occupied by a pick now held a cigarette as plumes of smoke clouded his eyes and gave me a moment to breathe, just breathe. Not long after, I was caught inhaling his sex just as the smoke cleared and now we both knew that I would be a willing participant to his every intentions. The notes were clear and plucked with resonate emotion causing my heart to feel weak and my innermost legs to be wet. As dusk fell into night, for the first time I knew these hormones stewing inside me would be satiated by something other than my own hands.