The Bet, a sexy wager between lovers.

The Bet…

* by Levar Chase *

I sensed the set-up of a sabotage 

when you slipped into my section,

Soft sex wrapped succulent smoothness,

Smelling of caramel and sage.

Salvaging my sagaciousness

I look away for my own sake 

but my self control 

has betrayed me.

My mind is no longer my sanctuary.

My body seeks sanction 

to sample your sap.

It’s sweet scent slices my saneness


Your satin touch is scary.

Sovereign eyes

scan my scatterbrained thoughts like scripts.

Spellbound by your sparkle and splendor;

sprinkling my spirits with your speech 

and a spot of sake,

“But what about the bet?” you ask.

It’s no secret between us.

You’ve securely planted the seeds of seduction. 

My imagination steams with thoughts of secretion,

sold to the sensation of what you’re selling.

I’m sensitive to your sensuality,

struggling to separate from this session.

I don’t think you overstand 

the seriousness of this situation.

How ready to succumb to your service I am.

How ready 

to settle 

into the role of submissive servant I am.

Shackle me to your shape and sexuality.


I’m in shambles.

“But you’ll lose the bet” you say.

I’m trying to shake the shame,

shelve images of sexual intercourse.

But I’m shell-shocked,

searching for shelter and 

the shimmer of your smile offers none.

Your eyes showcase siamese shooting stars.

Slowly sliding closer to my side,

I swear when our lips touch 

it’s a sign for you to sigh.


it becomes significant that the t.v. signed off.

Lights and shadows enslaved by your silhouette.

It’s becoming self-evident 

I can’t sustain this self-denial

(which of course is no self defense)


My words slurring

I can feel you smirking.

“But I know you haven’t forgotten about the bet.” you say.

You snuggle a bit closer.

Smuggle another kiss 

like it’s 

some sort of sexual science.

My soldier?

Salivating to salute your sachet,

sail your silver sea of sugar 

with sincere simplicity.

Hoping to spontaneously splash 

in your special,



Simultaneously siphoning

your starchy stardom.

Saturate your satisfaction.


I surrender,

softly sucking strawberry spouts.

“I win” you say.



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