some mornings it pays to go back to bed.
some mornings you wake up way too early and you think “oh my god i have to stay up way too late tonight! why am i awake NOW?!?!??” and other mornings you sleep until noon. today was an early day which involved myself getting up, sending a few emails and then going back to bed for a morning nap.
went too soon to be sleepy enough, couldn’t sleep yet, distracted by thoughts of men and penises and fucking.
god i miss fucking. i miss cock hitting the back of my throat and even more i miss it slamming against my g-spot. i miss balls slapping my clit as hands move my hips in a tempo i could never match and i brace myself up just enough that i can breathe.
i miss a thumb up my asshole and a fist in my hair. i miss someone else’s teeth on my nipples and someone else’s fingers (mouth!) on my clit and i most definitely miss sweat slicked gliding skin and groans of pure effort and joy.
but most of all i miss fucking.
fucking for the sheer joy of it.
so of course i started to imagine fucking, to parade if you will a veritable cavalcade of penises heretofore known past my yearning and fantasy starved brain. my brain that was having none of it.
it didn’t want to think of him or him or most especially not him and ew that would be rude and no not him and dammit! all my penises are tainted somehow!
i get more random then, and picture any tongue and any penis and any fingers. they’re like stylised artist’s renderings of those condominiums that are springing up like rabbits all over down town toronto in their realism. they approximate penii and fingers and teeth but have no bearing on actual bits real or expected and they touch me and tickle me and flatter all my favourite parts.
they dance and flutter and explore and my fingers are their mechanism.
warm and sleepy beneath my overly warm duvet they languidly trace my pink bits which stir sluggishly. they’ve been neglected of late those pink bits of mine. spoiled by lots of wonderful attention they haven’t really felt like playing with just me and they’re bored with all my toys.
they’re almost resentful as i remind them that it feels good to play with yourself, that it is in fact one of the great pleasures of the universe. that sometimes no one can touch you like you.
i snag a little bottle of my favourite lube (wet platinum – silicone) and drip a drop or two on those self-same pink bits and feel them rumble and purr like a cat that isn’t actually mad at you for waking it up since you are touching it so deliciously in just the right spot.
my fingers delight in the slickness and i feel my own natural juices rush to meet my exploring fingers and i notice, almost absently, that my buttocks are clenching and i’m just this side of toppling off the precipice of pleasure and i start to dance and play and work myself just to the edge and i stay there and hover in the delightful haze of arousal and pheremones i’ve created for myself until…
until i fall off of course. but i waited just long enough and i fall and fall again and erupt and erupt again and prolong my pleasure for four or five or even six little mini-peaks before i collapse, more languid now back into my welcoming nest, my fingers playing idly and sending little after quivers coursing through my happy body.
and now that i’ve written this? i have a new toy that’s begging me to test it…
