I forgot how delicious it feels to wanna devour someone. The teasing. The wanting. The craving. Positioning yourself under the covers, sliding in and out and imagining how good it would be to feel them right now. Early mornings always seem to be the time the yearnings are insatiable. Wanting to feel hands roaming freely, fingers playfully tracing the panty line and just lying there silently begging to feel them. Soft kisses on the nape of the neck as the heart beats fasten at the height the excitement. “Tease me” I wanna whisper. It’s such a forgotten skill. I wanna beg. I wanna be merciless at the tips of your fingers. I want dams to break as you drive me insane. Bring me to the edge. Demand my thighs to part and kiss me. Kiss me softly, kiss me slowly but kiss me to the point my back is arching. And then, stop. Just stop. Make her cry a little and then taste it once more.
All day at work this is all I could think of. This morning I used both hands trying to find a cure for this fever. Nipples poking through my shirt and I just kept mouthing your name. I wanted you so bad this morning. There was an aching for your pressure. I had to take care of it the best way I could. So I made myself cum 2x before work. But even that couldn’t stop the fantasies.
Hands intertwined in hair and the sounds of lips smacking filled my ears. Soft movements of tongue and fingers carefully finding their way around, I wanna scream and tell you to take me. I want it all. All of it daddy. I wanna feel the thickness. Fill me tonight. I can give you kisses from within. I’ll moan my appreciation in your ear. Just take me.
Mornings are meant for cumming.
So when you coming over?
It was raining that evening.
I remember the sky turning gray.
The clouds were full and ready to nourish the grounds below.
I left the window open.
The softness of raindrops echoing through the apartment.
It’s a game of cat and mouse we played.
Taunting and teasing until the water began to overflow. Any idea how soft the flesh becomes under stress? It’s reminiscent of a flower blooming underneath the sunshine. The flesh is warm and tender. It yearns for the attention of fingertips.
Hesitation met first with thoughts of secrets becoming exposed. The excitement lies in our escapes.
I knew how tainted this could all be.
But we’re all so very selfish in what the bare flesh wants.
Consequences mean nothing under the haze of passion. The sky faded to a richer shade of gray. Few stars appeared but were hiding in between the clouds.
I smiled as my heart began to pound.
The sensation of new is mesmerizing. Euphoric in nature. Exploring new land.
Exciting to the touch.
Soft, succulent breast waiting for the fullness of your lips to enjoy them. Fingers ready to be submerged.
I wanted him so bad.
All the teasing was wearing me down.
Even the breath against skin was causing waters to rise. I normally can keep it together but there was something….
Something too big to ignore.
So we made our way…
It’s always so smooth the first time undressing.
The mouth slightly parted moist with desire. It was like in the blink of an eye I was exposed and ready to be taken.
I laid there ready to receive.
Ready to feel. Ready to gasp at the intensity between us.
I was ready for him…
I felt his fingers reaching inside.
Warming me up.
Stretching me. Expanding me. Prepping me for all of him. I want him so bad
I’m begging silently for this man
“Please” I whisper. Grabbing my thighs,
Trail of wet kisses he’s leaving down my back. He’s driving me insane. Legs trembling with anticipation
He wraps his lips around me
And begins to say all the things to make me smile…
Artwork: Isabel Munoz
I really want to talk about the way you kissed me the other night. How you kissed me… I think that’s why I’m so overwhelmed. It’s trying to make things black and white and when shades of cream and ivory begin to appear, don’t you think it gets confusing what we’re asking for? Intimacy with no strings attached. I’m not downplaying causal interactions by no means. Are we not a few levels above just casual interactions though? I ask you to give yourself, freely. Every inch of you is taken and savored. My God, you’re beautiful in how willing you are to surrender to my selfish needs. Lines don’t blur when “I’m yours” sets sail in your ears? We set rules for clarifications. No misunderstandings. Guidelines to keep us inside lines. To keep from over reaching. Over stepping boundaries. Why do you think we have boundaries? Placing these invisible limitations on ourself and those in our surroundings in justification of comprehension. It’s easier to follow the rules and it just gets confusing when you break them. So when the tables turned and it was given back to me as if it’s my comfort zone I’m asking you to step into, the answer is yes, this is what will make me feel comfortable. This is what will keep me in line. This is what will remind me those lips are not mine. Applying the rules lets you know things can get messy. I like romance and passion, how many times have you not confused yourself in the lines of fire? I’m asking to only dance with these concepts, not to have realities form. What fun is reality for lovers anyways? It’s fantasies we feed. Just like the fantasy you fed me with your lips. All I could mouth was the word “how”. How are you so good at this? What do these intense kisses mean? Why are you forcing me to think deeper into your lips? Questions never amount to much in our world. We leave them there, unanswered. Forgotten. Because the moment these questions are asked, there lies the moment we break the rules and I begin to look for in ways you’ll never appear.
I got tired of upping the ante. Needing more vibrations. Deeper vibrations. Different vibrations. Different wavelengths. I wanted to feel dizzy and euphoric. The body needed to be twisted and tested. There was a necessary sense of pain that was required to convince that the mind was not creating another fantasy not within reach. Each new level brought less and less satisfaction. Rolling around in an empty bed with my hands between my legs. It just wasn’t exciting. It wasn’t fun. There were tears of frustration that formed even when the body climaxed. A few seconds of intensity and no warm kisses to prolong this feeling. My body was no longer reacting to the thought of self love. My body was tired of itself. Tired of the ins and out of AA batteries in the middle of the night. What a bore. What a sad tired bore when thoughts of masturbation just don’t do it. Did I stop loving myself the right way? Did I love myself too much? Too often? I know the love wasn’t intense. It was temporary. For the moment, you know? Just to take the edge off of not having a warm, muscular, sweaty hard body next to me. Did it really take the edge off though? Did it? Mornings would come and I, still in the heat of my own thoughts, would rise angrily. Annoyed. Irritated because I can not do the one thing my body needed. What the body needed was out of my reach. So the decision came in the middle of another exhausted session of dissatisfaction. I grabbed my phone, forgetting my chain analysis bullshit, I needed to feel something… something strong. Solid. Thick. And I needed something, well actually someone, to feel me. To explore me. To kiss and devour, to make a meal out of me. I wanted to serve. Offer my body to a very hungry mouth. My body wanted more than another night of AA batteries and a quick cheap way to achieve a subpar orgasm. I was tired and growing very restless. Phone in hand, the decision was made and 3 words contributed to my body becoming your favorite meal ….
The act itself is an art and with art, it’s open to any interpretations and understandings. It’s not one dimensional and this is your only option or this is the only way you can see it. It doesn’t work like that. The creation is meant to inspire. To stir. Bodies were made to explore. How does it make you feel? And then we build off that. And we explore. Dig deep. We converse. We begin to create. And I think that’s where we begin. The mistake is thinking that love making comes naturally. That’s not true nor is it fair, for yourself or your partner. It’s never about the love. It’s not about that. We need to become better readers. Better listeners. The root of the problem lies in the communication between lovers. The openness. The body’s ability to perform is based off the communication process. Pay attention to what’s said and how it’s said. You have to be able to understand your partner sexually and emotionally. Validation is necessary. A person’s sexuality is to be treasured and respected. There’s so much beauty in the art of sex, love making. So it’s not about love, it’s about, can you reach each other. It’s about what is behind those closed doors. Does it make you feel more than just an empty vessel for your partner to achieve their goal? Is there an effort being given from your partner even though the day was long and stressful? Or is this just a dead body hoping within 5 minutes the act will be over? Is there a connection? You can create a connection. It’s not a far fetched ideology when it comes to sexual chemistry.
I’m learning. I promise.
There are so many things that we can do. We can create. We can destroy. We can divide. We can collide. We can combine below horizons. Following the dotted line with our tongues. We can kiss and laugh in between. We can intertwine our legs and fingers. We can make patterns with our lips against skin. We can guess which words escape as moans in our ears. My favorite thing we do is melt into each other. The pressure becoming overwhelming, hands searching for something to grab. We can push the limits of our bodies and enjoy. It’s such a freeing experience when you and I are under waterfalls. Hushed words and closed eyes heighten the senses. The formation of warmth and togetherness is exhilarating underneath sheets. We can count the many times we begin and fall with the number of kisses against necks. We can find different ways to say each other’s names. We can introduce new languages into the softness of thighs. We can do so many things before the sun rises.
It’s automatic when I melt. Involuntary movements. It’s such a surreal feeling when I hear the intro “Good morning, my name is….”. Do you know how many people share your name that make my heart skip a beat? It’s like a whole lifetime flashes before me stinging my eyes. Oh the nights that I prayed for our beginnings. I want to melt through the phone into the voice that speaks your name. No. The tone is not the same. I’m more than certain there are more differences than similarities in reality. I’m sure the person behind the name could never really evoke the emotions that you actually brought forth but damnit my heart can’t decipher shit sometimes. I would love to say your name once more. Just to feel it on my lips once more. Mouthing each letter between escapes of delight. The taste of two syllables have never been so satisfying. It’s even better when it’s whispered against skin. It’s punishing not having what I thought would’ve been something beautiful. There’s difficulty in keeping a heart that still aches and yearns. You know, I learned how to sow so I’d be able to create new ways to stitch my heart back together. What was the purpose of us meeting? It’s cruel the way life works itself out. Don’t you agree? But I didn’t really want to start conversation again with you, he just introduced himself and it made me smile. I just remember how good it felt to say your name.