From 9 ⏰ to midnight on my balcony: a mosquito coil and zero rules

About me

Nine o clock. I light a green mosquito coil and set it on the balcony ledge on its little tin stand. The smoke rises in one thin line and the street below starts emptying out. 🌀 Nine thirty. You arrive and I pour two drinks. We sit on the floor, backs against the grille, knees touching. I let you stare at this short silk slip until the ice in your glass melts. 🍷 Ten. The first kiss is unhurried and tastes of rum. Your hand finds my waist, then the bare skin above the silk. I swing one leg over and face you, and the coil has burnt one full ring. 🔥 Ten forty five. The slip is lying somewhere near the coil. I move on you lazily, whispering exactly what I want next, while the grille presses cold squares into your back. 💋 Eleven fifteen. Lazy stops working for me. I grab the grille above your head and go faster, and my noise carries further than the smoke. A dog two buildings away starts barking. 😈 Eleven forty. You try to turn me over and I refuse. Instead I lean in, take your lower lip in my teeth and hold it until you give up trying. That is when you stop being polite, jaan. 🔥 Midnight. The coil is a curl of grey ash on the ledge. We lie on the cool tiles, sweat drying, and one of my fingers is already drawing circles on your chest. ✨ The balcony is mine every night, but a coil burns the same in any room you pick. Tell me which one, and at nine I light a fresh green spiral there. 🌀