#022714 In My Cups

Who's gonna take you home if it isn't me?

I was too drunk to still be out.  Too drunk to interact with strangers. He didn't feel like a stranger since we'd been talking so closely for so long. For him to hold my attention for as long as he had, he must have been able to hold his own in conversation. He certainly was pretty, but I wasn't sure if this was someone I wanted to wake up next to. There was too much 80 proof in my veins and too many nights of sleeping alone weighing on my mind... I really only wanted to feel someone's feet next to mine at the end of the bed.  Wanted to nuzzle into someone's who wanted to hold me's arms. I couldn't tell if the man I was sloppily flirting with was that person or not, but he would do. Right?

#020614: The Grey Area

I think this is inspired by Singles Awareness Day being next week. I'll decide if it's a good idea or not later. Too hungover right now to know now. 
 

It could all be so simple, but you'd rather make it hard.... 

I lack the energy to follow all the rules in this dating game. Double speak exhausts and bores me in a way you can't even begin to fathom.  I'm not talking about the chase.  I enjoy being pursued and more than that being caught. But the other antics strike me as sooooo juvenile and therefore beneath me at my ripe old age of too-old-for-that-shit. I know 'Pac said, I don't want it if it's that easy, but is the converse that it has to be THAT hard?

So when dudes keep talking about how they don't want a relationship, yet clamor for all the perks of a relationship, I can't help but roll my eyes, HARD.  Last I checked, we were grown and grown people are allowed to have relationships of different types. There's a whole spectrum of titles between friends and spouse that we, dating grown folks can explore, yet it seems that dudes only know three: friend, bedfellow, spouse. I don't know if these are new dating regulations that were released while I was being made an honest woman, but I did not get these notes in my remedial dating class and as a result often find myself in some relationship gray area that is neither only lover but not quite significant other.

I'm a Virgo, I compartmentalize EVERYTHING. I'm cool with having a lover, matter of fact I LOVE having lovers, as long as said lover remains in the lover lane and doesn't overstep by doing boyfriend-y stuff.  That's when I get confused and that's when the grey area starts. If you're going to do boyfriend-y stuff from the lover lane, then why not take the plunge and be the BF? What makes it even more of a conundrum for me is that WITHOUT FAIL, the moment that the relationship averse gentlemen of afore mention wake up and decide that they are possibly trying to wife me is usually when I am officially over it.  Not over it the way many of us say when we really aren't and are being emotionally dishonest, but for real over it.  How long can I be expected to exist in these gray areas?

When a dude tells me he doesn't want to or can't be in a relationship, I give it a little bit more of the old college try. "Why?" you ask, because for much of my life, I've been the Ferrari of love; racing from zero to head-over-heels in ten seconds flat. But once I've tried to be patient, and things remain in the same undergraduate style holding pattern, I'm going to start to peruse my other options, because there are ALWAYS other options. *shrugs*

Usually, it's around the time that I get ghost (aka "I've been REALLY busy.") or when I stop responding to your text messages in a timely or interested fashion THAT'S when they decide they want me.  Not when I'm whipping up red velvet waffles for morning-after-breakfast or coping thoughtful birthday presents, or doing my best impersonation of a porn star. Naw. All that lady in the streets/freak in the bed talent is wasted. It's when I'm aloof and distant that suddenly I'm desirable.

A former "prayer partner" (shout out to @theXDExperience for that phrase that pays) once said that I do too much and in doing so, set the bar too high for it to ever be reciprocal. Soooo, basically, I should be less thoughtful and it will be easier for dudes to want me? I have to act like I don't like you so that you will like me?

What type of illogic is that?
Why go through all the machinations?
Why go through all that trouble?
Why play these games of tug-of-war with each other's heart strings?
Why not just want me when I want you?

I mean, even when I'm not being the Ferrari of love and I'm waiting and pacing myself and giving things the chance to blossom and bloom organically, even that has a limited shel life after 30. By about 3 months, you should know whether you want me or not.  If you do and you can't/won't join me in my quest for our happily ever after, then kick rocks quietly and get out of the way so someone else can join me on my quest. I mean, 3 months....that's 3 period cycles.  It would be nice if men could decide if they want me or not before the second trimester of our relationship. Excuse me, our label-less relationship, small "r." I don't even really care about the label or proximity as much as I care about fidelity.  Then again, maybe that's just residuals of my last major Relationship, capital "R."

Lemme go try to sneak a disco nap under my desk real quick....
SMOOCHES!!!
Shine on!

#9611 Dawn

Filled w/post coitus bravado he'd curl up beside me as though he had another round in his joints.  Within seconds, he's so sleep I feel his random twitches & involuntary muscle spasms coupled with that deep chest breathing that lets me know that round 2 won't be going down any time soon. I smirked to myself, happy with the warm and now quiet body wrapped around me. With his massive form I was always serpentine curling myself around his limbs, those awesomely sculpted mounds of toned flesh,  like a boa trying desperately to draw the warmth from stone.

I wrap round him like ivy across the bricks of his stomach.
I am spanish moss dripping from his boughs.

Watching him get dressed so early in the morning makes me smile. The light is too dim for him to see that my eyes are open, but they are....They ALWAYS are.   In the sliver of silver dusk that crept over the tops and around my billowy curtains I can freely ogle his chest, arms, legs, stomach as he unknowingly stands in nature's perfect spotlight. The grey blue of the morning kissing every curve of his exquisitely chiseled form, echoing each place I'd allowed my tongue to dance just a few hours before.

It's a crime against humanity, un pecado mortal,  to see such an amazingly perfect musculature wrapped so shabbily & ironically in a cheap wife beater. Nothing about his physique is cheap. He looks like all the wealth people pray for. Delightful, sensual, insatiable.....I wasn't going to let him leave that easy, When he bends to pull up the black sweats that'd been left in a puddle on the floor I reach out to tug on the waistband of his boxer briefs and pull him back into the jersey sheets I'd picked because they remind me of him. They are the same color as that amazing torso of his.

The first time I'd turned the lights off with him, I'd had white hotel sheets on the bed. Even in the dark, he stands out like a remarkable candied spectre.  I wanted to melt against him on those overly soft sheets, and I did.
And he did.
And we did.
Again
And
Again
And
Again

Until it was the bright haze of afternoon streaming in through the same window and languidly we lay, spent and draped across each other bodies all akimbo, adhered to each other with a paste of passion in too many places to distinguish who or what was the origin. Eventually, he'd stand, and begin to wrap that divine body in fabric unworthy of his form. This time, I'd let him. Unsure, he'd glance in my direction as he dressed slooooooowly, inviting me, challenging me to stop him so our game could begin again. Eventually, the two of us would hobble to the door, 2 Olympians destroyed by our favorite sport, leaning on each other like 2 wounded veterans, and he would leave.

Long after he'd leave I'd find myself rubbing each place he'd kissed, touched, held, caressed or bit with the sheets that still smelled like him. Licking my lips as slowly as he had to taste the traces of his kiss he'd left behind. Even if only gone for but a few minutes a sense of overwhelming longing would wash over me.

It has been FAR too long....
Come see me baby...

#9311 JUST friends

We were 

JUST friends,

but that didn't dull the sting,
not even a little bit.

You left.

I was celebrating and hadn't even planned on seeing you.
I'd put all thoughts of you

and what I really wanted from you

out of my mind.

Somehow,
you manifested
and
you
just
being
there
tortured
me.

Being just close enough,
but somehow not close enough.

Right then,

I wanted you more than I wanted wealth.

Right then,

I wanted you more than I wanted fame.

Right then,

I wanted you more than I wanted to be free.

Why would I want freedom when I could be bound to you?
Why would I want freedom when I could be braiding my limbs to you?

You rested your hand
                  your hands
on my body....

Through my dress,

I wanted every single one of those digits to memorize every single piece of me.

Through my dress,

your fingertips burned into my skin the words you pretended not to want to say.

But you were leaving shortly.

You were leaving the event
                 leaving our unspoken conversation
                 leaving me

your friend

to go and see another.

You didn't say it.

I could read it in the pain of your expression

I could read it in the way you said

you had to go

as if waiting for me to give you a reason to stay.

I couldn't say what I was thinking.

After all,

We were JUST friends.

I couldn't say to you

She's not me

Isn't

Won't be

Can't be

All you need and want

She has you tonight when I want you

She has you tonight when I danced with you

for the second time

She has you tonight when 

I've put an hour's extra effort into how I look

                                                     how I smell

                                                     how I feel

All for you

All to let you know I hear what you're thinking.

Yet,

You left me to go and see her

Whoever she is doesn't matter.

She's not me.

Isn't

Won't be

Can't be

All you need and want

I shouldn't care.

We're JUST supposed to be

JUST friends

I'm on one tonight.

I'm killing it tonight.

I'm serving tonight.

                              serving lipslegsandlashes tonight

I caught you staring at my lipslegsandlashes

I want those fingers on my lipslegsandlashes

The fact that those fingers won't know me tonight,

intimately

won't touch me in the morning like J Cole said

won't make me grateful for waiting 

ALL THIS TIME

for you

won't make me gasp as if on the place I touch real late when all alone and call your name

because of course,

we're JUST friends

Neither of us wants this.

You know as well as I do

If your eyes hadn't told on you,

your hands certainly did

those hands that didn't fight my hem as my moves made it move dangerously north

those hands that rested far too low on my curves 

those hands that burned intentions through my dress as you pulled me too close

It was late

and so you left

                  left the event

                  left our unspoken conversation

                  left me

JUST your friend

to go and see another.

You didn't say it

I could read it in the pain of your expression

I could read it in the way you said

you had to go.

I tried dancing with others, but their hands felt clumsy

I tried dancing with others, but they told me to put my phone away.

I kept it close in case you changed your mind

I watched the door in case you changed your mind

                              in case you realized what I already know

You deserve better

You could do better

I promise

I'm better

-tygerlily

#42811 Losing One's Senses

He is a sound sculptor and music is her church. It seems only appropriate that he rendered her deaf.

What he did to her was senseless, but in doing it, he managed to wake up all of her other senses.
She had to lose one.
He who bends sound with such ease made it so she couldn't hear a thing.

She couldn't hear anything.

She could feel their heartbeats beating inside one chest as his pressed against hers pressing against his.
Their skin melted into each others creating one body making a flesh latte
light and sweet
drowning their hips in the rhythmic pulse they couldn't help but dance against
dance with
dance in
they'd heard and sung this song before.
this was their anthem.

She could taste the very rich extreme fullness of his kisses.
His lips are her favorite fruit.
One of her basic food groups; she devours them every chance she gets.
She could taste his breath on her collarbone,
on her stomach,
salivating over each nipple,
sliding against her thighs.
His mouth was everywhere and nowhere at once.

She knew he was talking. She could see his mouth moving. She could feel his lips moving as he pulled each one into her willing mouth. She kissed him so violently she thought she'd torn one those precious fruits she cherished so deeply.

She kissed him with lips,
with teeth,
with tongue,
with arms,
with breasts,
knees,
thighs and ankles.

Their teeth clashed against each other she was so eager to abuse her senses to feel more of him.
See more of him
Taste more of him

She could see him seeing her. His honey colored eyes coating her with his piercing gaze. He stared at her, into her. She could see him seeing her and was afraid of what he'd observe. She could see him looking at all the flaws on her scarred body, mind, and heart.  He could see the things she hid so well from everyone else but could never hide from him. He was still there, still devouring her, still drugging her and her senses.

She could smell his delicious sweat that dripped down his pulsing jugular and rested in a pool in his collarbone. His scent always reminded her of her greatest and worst decisions all in one. With him, she was always her most authentic self and he devoured her in spite of it. She slurped the puddle of nectar up greedily. She could smell the cocktail of his scent mixing with hers creating a nerve gas that lulled her to do whatever he wanted to
but still couldn't hear a thing.
Couldn't hear the sweet nothings she felt him whispering in her neck.
Couldn't hear the longing he mumbled into the sweet spot behind her ear.
Couldn't hear the murmurred melody of moans, the harmony they'd purr as her eyess rolled all the way up into her head.

She could feel her own wetness drowning them both and feel the delight he felt as he rode each wave of their pleasure deeper and deeper inside.
Feel the skin break under her nails as she digs in as he digs in.
Feels the teeth sink into her skin as if his last name was Cullen.

He stole her hearing so that she would only hear him.
And he did it so artfully.
Hear only the growl in his voie when he beckoned her to come closer.
Hear only the longing in his pauses when he spoke to her.
Hear only the possession that was implied in his touch.
Hear how he grabbed hold and pulled her closer than close just......then.

Her missing sense came flooding back to her.
She thought herself dead, killed by him without even trying because all she heard was angels singing. She thought herself dead and surely in paradise because she what she heard was so powerful and strong and unlike anything she'd ever heard before.
She thought herself dead until she felt something warm and wet in the just under her chin and realized she wasn't dead at all.
At least not literally. Le petit mort.

She could hear again, hear him whispering to her....
and she whispered back....

"Again?"

-tygerlily

#3911 Come Hither

 

She had on too much perfume.

She didn't mean to put on so much, but she knew he loved the way it smelled so she doused herself in it. It was a blend of oils she'd made up and called "Come Hither." She only wore it when she was definitively on the prowl. This combination could and had had detrimental affects when worn carelessly.  A lover once told her it smelled like the best sex he ever had.  Tonight, she applied it to all the places she wanted him to kiss.
Wrists
Nape of her neck
Valley between her busom
Backs of her knees
Small of her back
Her navel
The meeting of her thighs
It had been so long since she'd last....seen him and he was only in town for the night. She hadn't even planned on going out that night, but since she was out, she wanted to make sure he knew shewas there before he could even see me. She wanted to linger in the air.

Would he look the same?

She made her rounds 'round the table, greeting and air kissing until she got to him. He stood, opened his arms then slid them around my waist under her open jacket and pulled her to him so effortlessly. She had fully meant to keep her distance in the embrace, but instead, feeling those arms around that waist....she was back in the familiar place both of them fought so hard so often to forget. She nestled into that familiar faraway place, her head resting in the valley of his neck and just inhaled him, as she was sure he was inhaling her. He bowed his head and ran his finger from her collarbone to her cheek and back again. She craned her neck eagerly anticipating the bites he used to plant where his thumb now danced. He planted a soft kiss an inch or two lower than he should have for it to only be a kiss of greeting.

When she felt his lips on her neck, she forgot where she was, forgot who she was, or what she was supposed to be doing.

"I know that scent well." He whispered into her ear as he took a deep breath of her scent. His breath almost felt like a growl in his chest as he took a hit of her intoxicating smell. It emanated off of her. His face was still much too close and much too low to be as innocent as she was feigning this encounter to be.

Just as quickly, he pulled away and held her at arms length, a wry smile on his lips as he drank her in visually. She battled with her legs to invent a steadiness she certainly wasn't feeling. He'd made her weak. So much for them just being friends. No one at the table even batted an eye. The whole exchange had been less than half a minute, but a lifetime of their encounters washed over her in that instant.

They sat at the table in close enough proximity to tell a thousand secrets to one another with their eyes and careful smiles. Without speaking they made dirty promises about what they would do to one another if ever they were able to escape the rest of their party. The drinks flowed easily. Her clothes felt too heavy and she was disinterested in the meal. She looked at him an he bit his lower lip ever.so.slightly.... She got fidgety and impatient.

She excused myself from the table and felt his eyes consuming her as she walked. He felt her wetness around him from across the table, across the room and his eyes continued to devour her as she moved slowly away from him and the party they were with. Knowing he was thinking about the same thing she was caused her to inhale slowly and hold tight her muscles at the entry to her love. There was no certainty they would be able to make good on what they were both so close to they could taste it. She didn't want to get her hopes up. She strode as confidently as she could towards the ladies' room. The hallway was dark and long and narrow and led to a tiny water closet with a pull string light.

She looked at herself in the mirror.

The flush she was feeling had crept up her neck to her cheeks. She rinsed her hands under cool water, wet up a paper towel and pressed it to her neck to try and sober up from this longing that had made her dizzy. She'd hoped the wet paper would help to cool her hunger.

When she thought she'd collected herself, she opened the too small door and stepped out only to be met with him standing a few feet down the hall propped against the wall, head hung ever so slightly. His presence startled her and she stumbled back. There was a tiny ledge between the door and the hallway and seeing him there caused her to slip and almost fall. He darted forward to save her, one arm slid into the small of her back and the other into her hand.

Around him, she even fell gracefully.

He righted her and she found herself up against the wall trying to catch/steady her breath, her pulse doing a step routine in my ears. They were frozen as if caught in a moment on a faraway dance floor. His arm round her waist, his other hand holding hers slightly above their heads. He leaned her arm against the door jam and allowed his arm to sloooowly travel down her wrist, her elbow, up her shoulder, cross her collarbone until his finger traced the line of her jaw to her chin. The soft pallate of her throat fit perfectly between his thumb and forefinger and still holding her by the throat he commanded her her neck upwards to welcome his kiss. With just those two fingers, he had the strength to hold her exactly where he wanted her. He had her by her neck pressed against the doorjam, the mass of his body against her. She couldn't get away if she wanted to and there was not a drop of fear in her heart. She liked how he held her.

Something about the danger of it made her pulse quicken.
Something about the aggression of it let her know exactly where he was waking up the next morning.
Too much needed to happen for them to part ways at the end of the meal.

Her chest rose against him. He left no room between them for it to fall.

Over his shoulder, she saw a busboy darting towards them,
misunderstanding the encounter and trying to come to her rescue much too late.
She welcomed his kiss.
She welcomed his arms holding her to him.
She welcomed all of the possibilities that night had to offer.

-----------------------
The dim light creeping around the curtains let her know they hadn't slept at all. He laid head to foot on the bed drinking in her legs through his hands. He'd run his fingers from heel to thigh, then glide his open palm over the vast expanse of her legs as if trying to memorize them or cover them in his fingertips. He kissed them, licked them, bit them, embraced them, held them. Even with morning-after hair and makeup she'd never felt as beautiful as she did that morning in his eyes as he devoured her legs. She'd never felt so tall, so supple, so womanly as she did laying across that hotel bed that morning.

Laying with him

Her skin was so awake with passion... she could feel the difference in the callouses on his hands, the soft pads of his fingertips....They were drowsy with sleep and longing for each other but too afraid to let the minutes pass by sleeping through the morning....after all, he was only in town for the night, and the night was running away from them fast.

She turned her gaze away from him briefly into the pillow and was met with her own scent mingling with his. Her breath seized sharply when she felt him wanting more against her thigh.

One hand slid effortlessly up her calves, up her thighs, making small circles 'round her belly as if saluting the home of the baby they joked of making.... up higher and higher, dancing along one breast, then the other until he had her neck once again cradled between those fingers of his.  His mouth followed the same path his hand had taken. She arched under each slow, wet kiss...each one eliciting a soft gasp from her parted mouth.  He climbed her slowly with his mouth til she pulled him close to her, so very close to her. She panted against the same place her face had nestled into hours earlier when they were still clothed.

He looked at her. She looked back. Their eyes met. Their stare answered hundreds of questions. Usually one to look away as she writhed with want, she held his gaze, smiled at him. He smiled back. They both inhaled deeply and then,
he entered her just as he was and she let him in....
-tygerlily

#3811 Open wide & Say AHHHHHHH!!!!!

EDITOR'S NOTE: This post 1st appeared on THELAURENSHOW over a year ago. Some of you are faithful readers who've seen it before. Some of you are newbies waiting to be inducted. At any rate, this guest post was first done by one of the homies who asked that we address her as Myparentshateme.  I am nothing if not obedient... enjoy!

 

Ladies, what's the big deal about head?

tygerlily was telling me that a couple of weeks ago, she was chatting it up w/a friend abt another married friend of hers whose wife doesn't give head.

I blatantly made fun of the girl.

Not giving your boo a professional is to me as grave a sin as women who cant/dont cook. Broads should get marked w/a DENIED brand so fellas don't get caught out there w/one in the crib and a neglected peen.

I'm saying, how can u be grown & not rock the mic?
Crazy ish is, I believe shorty prolly expects dude to lick her love below.... How does that work? You don't wanna test your gag reflex, but feel as though he needs to slurp your vag yogurt? How do you rationalize that? No really, put me on 'cause you, dear sister, are living in DE-NIAL.
say aaaaahhhhhh....

Personally, ever since my first attempt @ "singing," I have to admit, I get turned the eff on knowing that I can do something to make a fella feel good, make him feel goooooood.

I like to see a mu'fcka's toes curl from the pleasure I am bestowing upon him.

I enjoy hearing those low guttural moans crawl up out his chest.

I appreciate all the "oh sh*ts" he spews at the top of my head like machine gun fire as he's about to cum.

That sh*t gets me really f*ckin....well, you get the picture....


I've made it a point to get my skills w/that on point. I read about it. I watch instructional videos. If you want to be happy in a relationship, I heartily advocate sucking a mean cock.
Don't know how?  4 out of 5 exes will tell you I know what I'm doing when I go down.

I know some chicks are reading this right now and thinking #hosh*t.

Y'all b*tches are prolly single and salty about it! Don't hate me, hate the fact that you're a prude.

I've heard from some of my girls that they don't do that because they don't want the dude to feel like he "got me."

Wtf?

You don't want him to think he "got you?"

Let me get this straight, you think letting him tickle your tonsils with his man meat means he "got you," but doing the hokey pokey with you bent over in the kitchen on a butcher block chopping board doesn't?

Riiiiiigghhhhht....

You boning him, aren't you? So why not give him the boning he'll never forget?

Not only that, but you feminists want power and equality, right? So why not take out all that frustration you feel about job and economic inequality by making a dude squirm and beg for mercy from the skills you can't put on a resume? Use what you've got to get what you want...E'rybody has a mouth...come check my tonsils......aahhhhhhh.....

Now that we're grown it is way more important to have QUALITY sex rather than QUANTITY. Afterall, who wants to be a lousy lay? Who wants to be the forgotten fck?

I was recently working on my "list" of all the boys I've boned before. There are A LOT of names that were left off the list. Why? 'Cause they are forgotten fcks. If I remembered them, then at best I know I got nekkid with them, but there was nothing memorable about them or about us unclothed for me to feel the need to record them for posterity. In..out...in...out..and next thing you know, some sweaty dude has collapse across my perfect busom.  If I'm not feeling it, I damn sure ain't faking it. If I'm not faking it, why would I bother remembering you for a later date and higher number.

In essence, they are misdemeanor lays.  They'll get erased after a few years and won't stay on your permanent record.

They were fast food dick. They tided me over when I was hungry, but they don't neccessarily qualify as a memorable meal.

Think of them as the snackwrap of penis. A guilty pleasure you indulged in and right afterwards wished you hadn't.

But, I remember everyone whose dick I sucked & I remember them WELL....ok, maybe not ALL of them, but I do remember most....

Funny thing is, I'm almost a hundred percent sure they remember me too. How do I know this? Cause the few times I've bumped into them somewhere & given the obligatory hug, something below has automatically bumped into me. It's like seeing my smile causes a Pavlov hardon for them.

If I allow the conversation to actually become a conversation, inevitably they'll fish for details about my marital/relationship status, or lack there of, and drop hints about their own in attempts to try and get this old thing back.

Please save me your armchair feminisms about how I should be more to a man than a wet mouth barrel o'fun.

You're absolutely right.

Women should be well rounded, intelligent mates versed in global news and pop culture, be patrons of the arts and have the innate ability to both prove themselves right without emasculating....
THAT'S NOT WHAT THIS POST IS ABOUT.

It's about how some broads really got selfish ass mentalities and don't understand why they can't keep a dude...

It's 'cause you're not gargling babies.

UmmKay? Sorry to break it to you. Don't believe me? Try it out and see. If I'm wrong get at me. If I'm right, make sure you hydrate, don't be scared to spit on it and I won't sit by my mail bow looking for the thank you note. Your hands'll prolly be to busy to type it anyway. 

-myparentshateme

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#12611 He Called Me Lucky

She remembers the first time he showed her his scars….
she’d gone to 2 for 1 margaritas and on a whim sent him a text to see if he was free that evening.
they’d been sexting back and forth for what felt like years but really had only been a few months.
It had only been since memorial day and it wasn’t even labor day yet.
He said he was coming through
She didn’t know what to do.
She was new
She was new again.
She hadn’t been new in a while, and she was very, very new.
He came over
Traversed all the boros he had to get through to get to her
And he was there
He was there and just as fine as all the pictures he’d sent her over the months had made him out to be.
She was afraid.
She was afraid of disappointment
She was afraid the anticipation would outlive the possibility
She was afraid that they hype would be greater than the hump.
He pulled up his pants leg and showed her his scars.
There were so many of them
So many places but somehow, they worked for him.
So deeply imbedded in the curvature of the muscles of his leg
They were
Perfect
scars
Almost more perfect than the ones he’d paid for on his arms.

She’d had 2 for 1 margaritas and had to follow up with something when she got home ‘cause she was not typically the kind of girl who did things like that….

Isn’t that always what all the girls who typically do stuff like this say say before they do something like this again?
He sat on the floor
She sat on the edge of the couch
Watching him
Rub one scar and then another
And
It was just something about being close to a man that
GODDAMNED FINE
In her house who wanted to be with her enough to travel as far as he did to get there.

She pounced.
She didn’t mean to pounce,
I promise you she didn’t
She didn’t even realize she was stratteling him and that one lobe of that delightful ear
his one delightful unpierced ear was in her mouth.
She sat facing him and his hands cupped her buttocks as if he were going to offer her up in to the heavens in thanks for what she was doing to

His neck
His ear
His neck
His ear
His collarbone

Up to his chin
Up to those lips
Those lips to this day still make her quiver

She saved a picture of him to her mental harddrive and every now and again she opens it to remember what those lips did to the many,many,many inches of her long frame again and again and again….

It was his fault
If he hadn’t shown her those scars and how they formed dimples on those amazing legs of his
She wouldn’t have done it
But she did

And now
His hands are now up her back
His hands are now in the nape of her neck
Holding it back
Two fists full of her hair
Craning her neck away from his mouth so that he could take her in the way that she had taken him in

His hands had none of the callouses that a man of his musculature should have had.
His hands felt like they should have spent his life embroidering
No scars on those

She couldn’t even remember how their shirts came off
But she did remember feeling as though in that split moment when his amazing torso pressed against her breast first time that she probably should’ve never done anyone or anything but him.

He wrapped his arms around her completely.
He could wrap his arm,
one arm
around her all the way.
She felt small and frail in his strong embrace and she liked it.
She liked the way it made her feel.
It made her bold

She pulled her own hair
She pulled herself back down to devour that mouth.

Without so much as a grunt a moan or a forced breath he stood holding her
She wrapped her serpentine self him
Her legs clinging to his waist as though that was where they had always intended to be.
His arms around her
And the next thing she knew they were somehow undressed
Neither of them remembers how it happened
She remembers one of those scars brush ever so slightly against her inner thigh
She felt the scar and then his nipple drag closer to her knee
as his face went lower
and lower
and lower
covering every molecule of her flesh with kisses.
She hadn’t planned on it going here
They were just going to make out,
She thought
But, make out they did like BANDITS
The way that he was making her feel she soaked his mouth, his chin, his mustache, his beard,
She didn’t know she could get as wet as she was.
She
Just
soaked
him.

And
He
Liked
It.

He moaned as he devoured her.
As he stuck his tongue deep inside her
In a place where no one had been in sooo long.
Nobody had been there in such a while.

She turned the light off and lost track of where she was
But somehow she could still see colors
She could still see the notes that the slow jams mixtape she’d put together were singing
And she couldn’t even read music.

He felt
SPECTAULAR
He felt like every moan she had wasted on any and every one who came before him

And when he finally tore the wrapper open
and
covered himself in a sheath and slid into her
When he finally got inside her

Sweet Lord and Baby Jesus
She
felt
like
she
was
new

She was new
He made her new
And she didn’t want to know anything but him
He knew how new she felt.
And instead of being cocky or arrogant or stuck up or disgusting
He moaned as if he was new as well.

Their new newness
Their joint newness
Made her even wetter
And she felt herself sliding against him,
She felt herself rocking with him,
Towards him
Against him
Under him

He slid one of those softly strong into the small of her back
Cupped her buttocks
And pulled her closer in
She couldn’t help it
She shrieked

He looked at her startled and didn’t know what to make outta the sound she just made
It sounded like someone just cut the throat out of a live rooster
She said
“I am so sorry….It’s just that you are sooo fcking…..”

and she couldn’t even finish the rest sentence
‘cause he was soooo fcking her sooo fcking well.

Then he started to say her name

She lost it

She lost control

He just kept panting her name into her neck
“Lucky….” She heard him moan

“Lucky!” She heard him moan

as he started to go harder

“LUCKY!!!.” She heard him moan….

And she couldn’t remember his name ‘cause she’d only invited him over for a few drinks so she just said

“Yes, baby! YES Baby! YES BABY!!!”

And he kept calling her Lucky and all she felt ‘cause she certainly was to be something that felt like that
And Lucky she became.

That night he held her ALL
Night
Long.
Long after they were winding against each other’s pelvises
Long after they’d made a sweaty puddle against her new Egyptian cotton sheets
He held her in that puddle.
She was perfectly willing to give him the spaces he thought he was going to need
So she rolled over.

He took one of those chiseled arms, slid it underneath her
Pulled her to him
Wrapped her in the other one
Nuzzled the back of her neck from her kitchen to her collarbone
Kissed her across as much of her breast as he could without folding her and breaking her bones in those oh-so-strong arms of his

And then

They went to sleep

She felt part of him still hard against her
She felt part of him still hard rubbing on the top of her thigh
And she almost forgot she didn’t really know him
And
Almost let him slide back in
But he was sleep
She felt the twitch of his slumber
She felt the sleep in the breaths he exhaled along her neck
Breathing softly on her neck
Breathing sweetly as a new baby

They were new
He knew how new they were and he let it be amazing.
-tygerlily