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I am the forbidden beauty next door, sunning myself while reading foreign literature and erotic theory on my vintage lounge.

You catch a peak of me hanging up my laundry in the backyard: delicious lemon-yellow panty hose, aqua fishnet tights and blood-red transparent thong.

You can see I use them often, from the hard-to-remove stains that glint in the sunlight as the fresh soapy water drips from the fabric.

You want to secretly leave an envelope of cash in my mailbox to multiply my collection of laced goodies, so you can see me wash the cum stains from them knowing they can never be yours.

You wish you were brave enough to ask about my sexual studies, you wonder if I could give you that perfect piece of advice to cure your deep dirtiness.

You wonder what I do inside my petite cabin with all of that lingerie, how I learned to chop wood flawlessly and if my moonlit evening habits are as nasty as yours.I terrify you because I am sharp, firm and know how to swing an ax.

You begin to imagine my bedroom: scenes of silks, creams, our fervorous skins and musky tobacco perfumes through your fantasy senses.

You snap back to reality and I am taking a long drag of a hand rolled cigarette. The smoke pools around my face and my almond eyes and chocolate lips warp within the smoke curls.

I am your unrequited obsession, you wonder if I too masturbate to the impossibility of our backyard penetrative savagery beneath my rose bushes.

Call me Now to quench your wettest wishes of worshipping me, pleasing me and begging me; all to culminate in the powerful ecstasy of never being strong enough to make me yours.

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