when a flirt becomes too much

 she made him sit down... on a chair...directly in front her,

making sure,

nothing else he would care to look at,

on that windowsill... as she sat.

a deliberate shyness in her posture

knowing his attention to capture,

for her limbs ...those legs and arms,

like magic charms...

did hold him breathless as they came to life,

his mind now rife 

did cut like a knife!

no longer sheathed his lustful need

that gluttonous greed!

enough of her, he could not get

and very set

be his intention, on the edge of the chair

did he dare

to try move closer

that nakedness of hers, a definite arouser...!...

of manly stiffness

a swiftness

in the growth of his desires did he taste

the need to make haste

for a dribble he began to feel...

 

no haste did he sense in HER flirt,

nor curt

was anything that she did,

the intention was not to rid

him of that throb that pained between his thighs

nor, stop those breathless sighs...

more, the intent to make him wet,

be real set,

to beget

a moan 

a groan...

from a man pained in the denial of juicy bits

her nipples, the roundness of her tits...

he began to salivate

logic gone, obliterate

her bodily display did know,

and forth sprung, he had to show

that hardness he no longer could hide

that refused to abide

to the restriction of his jeans...

RB.