On a hot early summer's night

Thinking sinful thoughts as I listen to ancient, after midnight jazz. Thoughts of Coco Chanel, Anais Nin and other such figures, creating mist with their lovers at this time of the day. A music that conjures a notorious, fashionable era that was still decent compared to today, if only by impressions, where lust could only be expressed in the dark or discreet and that meant plenty of restraint.
Restraint that built up into intoxicating desires. Unadulterated, uncomplicated lust, unartificially fertilised by mass media obviously using sex to sell. It kills anticipation like artificial flavouring destroys pure fresh food.
To slowly savage the other, first from the eyes, then the ears and then some. Hints dropped tactfully here and there like sugar trails. One of the jazz lyrics droned this 'A sailboat in the moonlight and you, wouldn't that be heaven, a heaven just for two. A soft breeze on a June night and you, what a perfect setting, for letting dreams come true. Attempt to sail away to sweetheart bay beneath the stars that shine, a chance to drift, for you to lift, your tender lips to mine'. From A Sailboat In the Moonlight.
Compared with a recent single My Neck, My Back. 'Lick my back, lick my neck, lick my Uhh just like that'.
If I can imagine this existing at the jazz age, the black and white hard-core would probably look like so. I see a scratchy black and white film. A mute picture with bar material piano accompaniment. The one that appears fast forwarded so that an oral on a woman, who would be full figured as the fashion was then, be like a frantic lick on an iceblock on a heated summers day, to calm the throat. And a doggy be like marathon darts.
An hour's work would be over in a couple of minutes. Ended by the screen going black and the caption 'OOOOOhhh' emblazoned accross the tv.
My own sinful thoughts confined to the four walls of the confessional and a priest.