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Wednesday, May 25, 2011

To Pieces

In this place. There is a part of you I can't touch. Can't reach. That's just beyond my finger tips. It is perhaps the part I miss the most.

It seems simple. To think of us chatting.
Laying side by side.
Shoulder to shoulder.
Body parts lazily intertwined.
And then the inevitable irresistibility of you. That would make me. Touch you. Somewhere warm. And wet. And welcoming.

It strikes me that we are so different. Physically.

My dark. Your light.
The constancy of tone in my skin. The playful freckles on yours.

The warm brown of my hair against the deep dark auburn of yours.

Yet it hasn't ever been the contrast that I found most interesting. Touching you. Loving that. Has always been about the response. Your response to my 'call'.

And even to say response. Is to suggest it is aggressive. Overt.

It isn't.

A taking in of breath. A shift in position. A giving in that let's me know I'm welcome. Wanted. Craved.

My face next to your mouth as I'm touching you. Your breath hot and rushing into my ears. The softness of you.
The fleshiness.
My teeth on your chin, neck, shoulder.

Sometimes I look at you.
When I'm touching you.
And your eyes are mostly closed.
And your face is beatific. A look of satisfaction, bliss, openness.

It's almost stopped me. A few times. Looking at you.
Wondering if I deserved all that surrender.
Unsure if it was real. Was I really making you feel that good?
There have been times, when I was nearly certain just the sound of you would make me cum.
Just the sounds you were making. The sounds I was making you make.
The hearing and doing all at once. Would be enough. To push me over the edge.

The giving has been a gift.
Your giving.
The taking an almost spiritual practice.
The finding. The learning. The knowing.
Where and how and which place on your body to touch, caress, kiss, lave - it's been a revelation.
A discovery indebted to your selflessness.

I miss you.
All parts.
The lips I never could have known I'd long to kiss. The curve of your collarbone, its dips and curves. The sway of your back, an alluring and nonsensical tilt just like mine. The stiff pink peaks of your nipples, their implicit invitation to suckle. The softness of your backside, more than enough to grab. The thick wet sweet folds between your legs, the very best I ever ate.

I miss ALL of you. ALL.
Every piece.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

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