In public we speak in code.
“Looks like rain,” she says, which means her panties are soaked.
“Work has been hard,” I say which means my cock can not wait to be inside her.
Among friends we use hand signals. A clenched hand means she wants to stroke my cock. A scratch of my chin means I want to eat her pussy. A slow blink of both eyes means someone is going to get spanked.
Online we have a secret tumblr account that we both share. I’ll find a picture of rough sex and post it. She’ll find a picture of the lingerie she will wear for me the next time we fuck. Thousands of people perv on our posts without knowing that it is our foreplay.
On the phone we text each other filthy messages that would make the NSA blush. We dream up new positions, promise new extremes and fellate our imaginations.
In private we fuck in secret harmony. We are co-conspirators in perversity. We are agents of desire completing clandestine missions on each other’s genitalia. We are intelligence operatives using our wits to bring each other classified pleasure.