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Feel It.

Baby, tell me you want it deeper, I don’t ever wanna come out, put you in a coma, yeah a sleeper. – “Feel It”, Jacquees featuring Rich Homie Quan and Lloyd.

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I love how he’s always ready for me.  I don’t have to do much, just a slight touch like so and…

Oh yeah, he’s ready.  I pull my hand away slowly and let it rest on his thick thigh and look over at him.  He catches my eye, his dark eyes go even darker, like he’s ready to pounce.

I watch as the thin line of smoke escapes his lips into the dark and humid night.  He flicks the end of his smoke out the driver window and turns to face me.  He moves closer and puts his hand on my hip.

I take his hand and move it in between my legs, over the flimsy material of my cotton dress.

Oh it’s like that?

I smile and he bends down to kiss me, the unmistakable taste of the weed he’s been smoking on his tongue.  I inhale him, his own scent mingled with the weed and the last remnants of his after-shave.

It’s like that.

His kisses are savage-like and unadulterated.  Ardent, like a fucking fire you need to extinguish.

I tell him this and he says:

It’s you.  You alone do this.

This.  This what?  Lovemaking.  This fucking?  My mind is always in a constant battle…

Lovers love.  What is this?  This is sex.  We’re fucking.  There’s no feelings…

He moves quickly and pulls me on top of him and slips himself in between my thighs. Perfect match.

I feel him.

I feel the pounding of his heart over mine.  I feel his mouth on my skin.  Warm and wet.  I’m trying not to feel, but motherfucker, do I ever feel…

I feel his hands on my face, my neck, my shoulders…I feel…

And as he’s kissing my mouth, calling me “baby”…

I don’t want to, I really want to avoid this feeling, but I’m unable, not wanting to fucking feel this man and all he does to me, I’m not wanting these feelings, but I can’t resist him, I can’t leave him alone and all I do is….feel….

….his hands in my hair.  And then…

…his hands on my throat.  God.

…his warm breath in my ear.  Why does this feel so good?

…his length deep inside me.  Fuck me.

No feelings?

Why then, why does he touch me with these goddamn big hands like this?

Why, why does he push his body into mine like this?

Why does he press my breasts into his chest like this?

And why, dear Jesus, why does he kiss my forehead so tenderly?  Why does he rock into me, while he stares down at my face like this, speaking to me like:

That mouth baby…

Why does he stare into my eyes, waiting, wanting, asking for this pleasure that’s his, this pleasure that’s mine, this pleasure he gives me, so right, just like this, so lovely, ever so lovely?

Look at me…

He says.  He tells me to look at him.  Fuck.

Don’t look away.  Look at me.

And I’m shaking my head, avoiding his stare.  I know it’s time.  I feel it.  He brought me here.

Give it…

He says.

Let it go baby.  Don’t fight it.  Give it to me…

And I swear his voice is an aphrodisiac, because right then, I can’t help it, I can’t control it, I’m staring into his eyes and gasp as if something struck my heart and he smiles and lets go with me, as if he had this planned, as if this was his purpose, as if this is meant to be…

And as if he’s trying to fuck with my head and heart further, he whispers:

I feel you.

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Too Deep

I won’t make you pull out, getting it all tonight, all that I want, I just wanna go down, in history how you like, as the one who makes you comfortable, ’cause your lips they got me, feeling very vulnerable.

– “Too Deep”, dvsn

His forehead kisses are enough to make me blow…

No. Lemme start over. When he cups my cheek with his palm, his tenderness exuding from his eyes, this I know, it’s more. It’s more. We’re in too deep…

He pounds away and then stops, almost sorry for hurting me, and then slow strokes, long and easy, like he’s loving me…making sure I’m okay, just slow enough to control himself, before he’s about to blow…

And I smile and open my mouth, and that’s enough to entice him more, and he’s back to the pounding, and I hear his voice:

Goddamn that mouth, he says.

And that only entices me more, as I stick my tongue out, wanting him deeper, and harder and longer. He’s in too deep. Heh.

He stops moving, ready, slow stroking some more, enjoying every depth of my being…

And he puts his hand around my throat, uncontrollable now, waiting for my cue, waiting for my voice:

Goddamn it, don’t stop.

And he moves with me, his hands down on my backside, guiding me, feeling me, caressing my skin…

And now I’m uncontrollable, uncaring about the pain, the length of him ripping me apart as I feel the wave, feel it deep in my soul, as he watches my face, and he smiles and I know my pleasure is his pleasure…

But his pleasure is my pleasure and I’m eager to please, wanting this to end but wanting it to go on forever and I’m torn between letting the feeling go as I throw my head back but open my eyes quick enough just to watch him as he releases, all his love pouring into me as my love escapes my lips in moans and tightness, and waves and goddamn oceans in between my legs.

And as I lay here, weak and shaking and spent….

He kisses my forehead.

And I’m in too deep.

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How Bad…

My mind reels with thoughts of you.  All day.

I want to ask you questions, keep the conversation going.  All day.  Stupid questions too…

Questions like what your favourite colour is or what your favourite food is.

My brain hurts from having your face in my head all day.  I swear I have it memorized, that face.

Your eyes and your nose and your lips and your ears.  That damn line-up.  Your eyes.  Your mouth.  And those goddamn teeth of yours.

I hear your voice, randomly.  And I imagine it calling my name.  Over and over and over again.

I think of the length of you and how I want to climb you so bad…how I want to slowly crawl over you and kiss your thighs and your torso…

…your belly and your chest and your neck and your ears, dip my tongue along the edge of your earlobes, hear you moan.  That moan.

And your eyes.  I want to kiss your eyes.

And then I want to sit up on you and slide you, slowly, slide you into me, feeling my walls tear open with the thickness of you.

And then my head instinctively goes back, my eyes close, clear indication of the pleasure you’re filling me with.

I want to ride you slow but my insides want you fast.  My insides want to feel you deep in my belly, so deep that tears form in my eyes.

And thinking of this now, thinking of you now, thinking of how my walls will feel once you’re inside, thinking of how wet you’ll make me, makes me wet.

I feel a slight throbbing deep inside me and my mouth falls open slightly, as my tongue slowly slides across my lips, just from thoughts of you….

…that’s how bad I want you baby.

Just What He Asked For…

He had my legs up to his ears as he pounded away…holding my legs apart with his arms…as he dug deep into me…
 
I wanted to switch positions. I wanted to get control, get on top…
 
But he didn’t let me. He kept pounding and pounding. I begged and pleaded to have him let me get on top but he wouldn’t allow it.
 
He kept saying, “Get it. Come for me. Come on. Come.” And he looked deep into my eyes, watching my face for signs of his deep pleasure.
 
I said, “I can’t. You need to move. Let me get on top. Please.” But still he didn’t move.
 
“You’re going to come,” he said. “Come for me.”
 
I pushed up on him and as he fucked away, I could feel it, way deep inside my innermost pleasure point.
 
The rush was coming faster and faster. And again he said, “Come for me. Give it to me.”
 
And as he moved above me, inside me, I came. A rush of emotion and feeling and satisfaction all throughout my body.
 
Just what he asked for.

Make Me Smile…

He smiles at me.
I make him smile.
And he moans with me.
Because I make him moan.
It’s dizzying really. Heady. Instant laid back passion. Not laidback, but back laid kinda passion, my head all the way past the edge, head back kinda passion.
And I feel drunk. And high. Weak in the knees for what he’s about to give me in between the knees….
He fills me up, his length fitting perfectly down and deep and he holds my throat like I’m his possession, a prize, owned by him and his throne…
And then he tips his head down over my valley and dips and licks and smiles…
Because I make him smile.
But then he flips this script and turns me over and suddenly I’m underneath his weight..
“I need to put this weight on you…”
And I smile because he makes me smile and I’m moaning now, getting crushed by this love he’s giving and..
“I can’t look at your mouth…”
Because he knows what this mouth can do and..
“It’s going to make me come”…
“Are you sure it’s my mouth that’s gonna make you…”
“Shut your mouth,” he says, “just shut your mouth.”
So I tease and love him and his mouth is on my skin and on my eyes and on my throat and he knows I can’t deal, he knows I can’t deal with all he’s got.
“Ask for it. Tell me what you want.”
“Give it,” I say. “I want it now. Give it to me now.”
And with a couple of thrusts, he does as I command and I respond, my body responds and we’re together now.
So I smile. Because he makes me smile. 

It Wasn’t You

I shut my eyes.  Tight.  It wasn’t you.

As his hand slid over my  breast, and he moaned, it wasn’t you.

His hand slid over my belly, dipped down into my valley, my eyes just got tighter and I turned my head, willing his eager face out of my mind.

He moved on top and his head buried deep in my neck, his mouth breathing hot air, his tongue darting in and out and I groaned.  Where are you?

Why aren’t you here?  Why aren’t you him?  Why isn’t he you?

He entered me and my body gave in to the pleasure, gave in to my weakness and I begged my body to respond quick, begged my body to hurry up and get mine.

And within minutes, as he moved against me, grinding on me, filling me completely, my body released, pushing against him for that extra inch that would give me that extra mile.

And still my eyes remained closed.  Wide shut.  Your pretty face in my head, looking deep into my eyes, that smile spreading on your face, asking for my want, asking for my need, asking for me to give myself, your voice in my ear, your scent on my pillow, your touch on my skin.

But you weren’t here.  

Because it wasn’t you.

I’m Not Ready…

I’m not ready, to end this freaky affair, I’m not ready, to go nowhere… – Keith Sweat, “I’m Not Ready.”

How does something end without even beginning?

How do you tell “our story”? How will you say how you met me and where we met? How we only made love three times? Three times.

The first time, the first time alone…

How can you talk about that? How can you describe….that?

What will you say?  

That you were finishing my sentences after having met me only an hour before…

That your heart was pounding so loudly, I could feel it when my fingers softly touched your chest…

That when you touched me, my body actually tingled and you felt it in your fingertips… 

You called it. You said I was electric

Sensational.

How are you going to talk about loving me?

That I made you moan uncontrollably, even though I covered your mouth with mine..

That I had to hush baby to remind you to keep quiet because your sounds were so sexy…

That you couldn’t keep from staring into my eyes with every thrust, enjoying the look of pleasure, knowing you were giving me that pleasure…

That your body froze once you spilled into me and you called my name. My name

That you wanted to swallow me whole with every kiss…your tongue exploring and never tiring and wanting more and wishing time would stand still…

You said I was amazing. You called me a queen.

What about the second time?  How you spent your birthday in my bed? And how I was trying to wait until midnight to kiss you but I couldn’t wait any longer and your eyes softened like you were in love when I reached over and put my lips on yours? How we were trying so patiently to prolong our love time together so we talked, we talked about why you thought it made sense that I like giraffes? And how we laughed out loud at your choice of animal and we were giddy and youthful and fun? And how, when you undressed, it was an urgency to have your naked body on my bare skin?

How am I going to forget you? How?

Forget the temperature of your skin.

Forget the warmth of your hugs.

Forget the shape of your lips.

Forget the long stroke of your slender fingers.

Forget that scar above your eyebrow, the one I always ask about.

Forget the feel of your back on my fingertips.

Forget the strength of those legs that keep me pinned to this bed.

Forget the length of you that fills me completely.

How?

And the last time….

If I knew that would be our last time, you’d still be here.