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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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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. 

No Words…

No Words…

I don’t want to make my bed.

I don’t want to mess up the memories of my late night and my early morning with…

Him.  

I want the rumpled up bed to remain like this, the print of his head on my pillow, the duvet tossed carelessly aside to enable him to move…

On top of me.

When his lips captured mine, all the questions didn’t matter.  My why’s and when’s and how come’s were answered as soon as his tongue touched mine.

Nothing mattered.

His voice, his face, his eyes, his smile.

That smile.

And then he looked down at me as he entered me, his eyes watching mine, his mouth reaching and I could sense the struggle between kissing me and watching me and kissing won because kissing me was what he was meant to do.

His strokes were in tempo with my heart, his moans in sync with my breath, and I laid still, capturing the moment in my memory so I could think about it now, write about it now, remember the details now.

He spoke my words, my thoughts, my feelings..

Do you know how good you feel?

And…

I want to stay inside you like this forever.

And I smiled because I know.

I know. 

I knew then that I wanted him inside forever.

But then the waves started to threaten and I could feel him, and he moved, ever so rhythmically, pounding yet caressing, pushing yet touching, fucking yet…

Loving.

So loving and maddening and frustrating and…

You’re amazing.  

Perfectly in tune with what my body was telling him, listening to how my body moved, yet, still I laid, capturing, remembering, thinking…

Memorizing his body and his strokes and his touch and his skin, my God his skin, and his mouth that made me tremble and go weak and limp under his command and still, I laid, motionless…

No words.

And I lay here now, remembering, thinking, memories of his body on this bed, his body on mine, his fingers on my skin, his tongue probing, finding…

I remember your taste.

And I can’t wait to have him again.

Back 2 Sleep

We talk.

In my head, we have these conversations, these he-said-she said types of convo.  

“You love how I eat on that cookie…”

And it’s been months but I hear your voice.

“I can tell you been eating those pineapples.”

Where’ve you been?  I drive around hoping to run into you, catch that red light, look casually over to my left and see you there.

“Let me fuck you back to sleep…”

And in my head, that conversation has happened and even these fantasies are rushed through, just to get you in my bed.

“As soon as I touch you there…”

You’re always smiling, always happy to see me.  But your mystery kills me, this slow suicide that chokes me, suffocates me little by little.

“You want me to say your name…”

You’re mine in my fantasy.

“Lay there naked waiting for me…”

And it’s perfect, even when it’s not.  This vibe, this connection, months later I feel you, and I know you feel me too.  It’s scary really, when I pop in your head and you wonder where I came from, you want to reach out, you want to feel these curves, you want to taste this.

“Let me ride…”

And the answer is always yes.  In my head, it’s happened over and over and baby boy, over again and yet again.

“Just hold on tight to me, girl…”

And there’s no pain, no sadness, just mutual satisfaction and pleasure and you’re back right where you belong, right where my head’s had you all along, right where my insides want you deep.

“I wanna fuck you back to sleep.”

S.B.S. ❤️

You Don’t Know…

No slow motion.

It’s that revenge shit, where he tested this flexibility and made my walls remember him, because you didn’t.

It’s that hate passion, that raw fucking, where he didn’t even put his lips to mine but instead sucked on my neck to leave a reminder, to make you remember these lips are yours.

But you don’t know.  You don’t know.

It’s that mad fucking, that make-time-for-me-motherfucker fucking, that you’re-gonna-miss-your-boo-when-I-make-her-mine sex, the one you’ll wish you could get back fucking.

It’s that sad sex, the one that made me close my eyes tight and imagine you instead of him, the tears threatening a pool in my ears because you weren’t there, you weren’t here, you weren’t.

And my body knew it wasn’t you, even with my eyes forced shut, it wasn’t you because you didn’t feel right, it wasn’t your skin, your breath, your touch, your moans, your voice, it wasn’t your size inside, it wasn’t your love inside. 

But you don’t know.  You don’t know.

And I lay here spent, aching from his fucking, aching from his workout on me, hurting from this pain in my heart that’s torn.

All because you don’t know.