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It had become their sweet mid-week ritual.

Pasta at their local trattoria, served in huge parmesan-laced bowls, with a shared bottle of red. Their legs, under the table, intertwined like strands of tagliatelle.

Afterwards, they’d stroll three doors down for gelati, choosing their cool palette of pastel flavours, sampling from each other’s cups as the sweet mounds softened in the summer-night air.

They’d walk home through the quiet back-streets, taking slightly different routes, yet always arriving at the playground.

Carrie had come to think of it as their playground. Their twilight play-time world, after all the children were gone for the day.

Along the back of old wooden palings separating a back yard from the playground, the words “Love is Love”, in florid spray-painted flourishes, always made her smile. They had joked that the graffiti artist was no philosopher.

Chris would settle her on the swing, seat generous enough to cup the ample curves of her very grown-up buttocks. Standing behind, he’d wrap his arms around her, swaying gently, allowing the swing to take their gravity. Then he’d start to push her, sending the little girl in her skyward, squealing, higher and higher.

Carrie had come to think of it as their playground. Their twilight play-time world, after all the children were gone for the day.

One night, while she was still dizzy from the swing, he knelt in front of her, running his hands up the inside of her thighs.

“You haven’t got any underwear on.”  He gripped the chains, pulling the swing towards his waiting mouth.

“Too hot …” she murmured, as his tongue delved into her depths. Head back, gasping, she swallowed stars.

Next time, in a drizzle of rain, it was his turn on the swing. The saltiness of his cock, mingling with the after-taste of caramel in her mouth.

Then there was the night he took her on the slide, the hard angle of cool metal at her back, his warm body weighting down on her, his cock finding her hungry centre with ease. Carrie couldn’t help but slide towards him with every thrust, relishing the length of him, the heat at the hilt of him. Sliding. Grinding.

Gravity was on their side.

Their sounds of pleasure, rising, set neighbourhood dogs a-barking,

“Shh …”

Then, they’d race each other to the round-about, glee dancing between them as they grabbed hold, running, winding up their horizontal ferris-wheel.

“Now. Now!”

On they’d leap, landing in a tangled heap, looking up as the stars whirled and blurred above them.

If she turned her head sidewards, she could see the graffiti, illuminated by streetlight, stretching like taffy across her spinning vision.

Love is love is love is love is love is love …

This love was not control.

This love was not a strategic, aggressive monopolization of her attention.

This love was not a manipulation of her needs, her vulnerability.

Be here, now, she told herself. This love was reciprocity. This love was light, expansive, accepting.

Be here, with this man.

Love is love.

Turning, she kissed him.

Maybe the graffiti artist was a philosopher after all.

Love is love …

©  Adrea Kore, October 2016

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Have you ever had sex in a playground? There is something so wickedly forbidden about indulging in such “grown-up” behaviour in a children’s playground. And the equipment certainly makes things more interesting! This image inspired a little bit of the romantic in me, as well as the naughty. Leonora’s graffiti captured on film reminded me of the beautiful quote by poet and philosopher Kahlil Gibran.

“Love possesses not, nor would it be possessed; for love is sufficient unto love.”

I actually know that one by heart.

It came out originally as 480 words, final version 497 words. The more flash I write the more I notice I’m “training” my mind to write about 500 at first draft, rather than starting with 700 or 800 words, and having to work hard to pare it back.

If you enjoyed this, you might want to check out my recent guest post for Leonora on the “art” of flashing here.

Flash Leonora by clicking below on the giant tyewriter buttons – or head there to read more fabulously naughty flash fiction.

Friday flash meme 2