Knee Socks

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cropped shot showing hip and thigh of woman splayed on her side, wearing knee socks


The Late Afternoon

I pull the soft of my over-the-knees up my calves and slide my arms into the sleeves of his blue shirt, buttoning it once at the navel.

With Alex Turner’s voice echoing through the corridors of my mind, I walk down the hallway toward the streak of late afternoon sun shining through the sliding glass door.  The warmth calls to me, an echo of the heat that’s been rising in me since morning, and all I want now is to stretch out like a cat and bask in the bright window-pinpoint ray.  To feel the sunlit white penetrate the pale of my exposed thighs.  To recline, to relax, to revel – in the prolonging of sweet-heat arousal and the elongation of the soon-summer evening – without constraint or obligation.

The ghost in your room that you always thought didn’t approve of you knocking boots

The sunlight flitters through fluttering sheers, the filtered shadows smattering my skin like the ghost of a memory.  Sifting through memories of my own, I shift and arch, stretching simultaneously toward the light pouring into my living room and into the dark recesses of remembrance to dance with the ghosts of lovers past ~

The one whose voice melted my insides, turning the humdrum of everyday conversation to humming thrumming arousal every time we talked.

The one whose awkward accent and sweet babyfaced adoration led me to his door at 2am, where I was greeted with reckless enthusiasm and fucked with sweet abandon until I had to leave four hours later…

…to return to the once-mine-but-mine-no-longer home of my ex-boyfriend, with whom I was supposed to be lodging for the weekend.  And upon whom I climbed, naked and spent, to lay safe and held while I slumbered like a babe.

The one who couldn’t ask for what he truly wanted, but who was so damnably beautiful when I gave it to him anyway.

Here, stretched like a cat in my sliver of sun, I allow my thoughts to drift, shining their light:  on past delights, on present pleasures, on future desires.  On the tremble and ache, the heat and need, the excitement, the palpitation, the swell and drip, the crash and roll, the knee-weakening bliss.

Moving through the making of memories and with an eye toward creating new ones, I ruminate and contemplate in flash-frame freeform, thoughts wandering from lovers past to paramours present – letting my body feel the penetrating warmth of the sun, letting my hands roam over my flesh, teasing forth the lambent pulse that’s been vibrating hotly just under the surface all day – and spread my soft-cotton clad legs…

Never stopped you letting me get hold of the sweet spot by the scruff of your

…seeking my sweet spot, between my

Knee Socks



10 thoughts on “Knee Socks

  1. Chazz Vincent

    I never thought to characterize memories of long-gone lovers as “ghosts” yet that is perhaps the best label.
    Maybe then our current lovers wouldn’t be so likely to feel threatened…
    “…you can send me dead flowers every morning
    …and I won’t forget to put roses on your grave…”

    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      I think a relationship becomes an entity unto itself. There is he, and there is me, and there is the relationship between us.

      And when those relationships end – whether they die or simply change form – the spirit of What Was lingers on. And so: ghosts.

      Transluscent shades of past pleasure still whisper their truths in our ears long into The After; the question is, Are we willing to listen?


      And now that we’ve talked PhilosoFeve, I’m about to embark on a pleasure-seeking endeavor of the “right now” variety: It’s time for ice cream. 🙂

    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      I have a black pair of over-the-knees with raspberry red tops that always call to mind a very specific set of (erotic) memories. I like wearing them when I feel chilly – they never fail to warm me up. 😉


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