Sunday, March 19, 2017

Reflecting in Arms

"Your body, your body, your body," he says, hot breath moving over my neck, my chest.

"Your body, so amazing, so soft in all the right places. I love this body. How can anyone not want to be with your body. Your body," his lips move lower.

I am in an in-between place, hearing these soft whispered words (where are his hands moving) feeling the heat of his breath as he chases down my stomach (is he, yes, yes, there) as he strokes my flesh between his fingers and whispers nothing but worship to my body.

Worship is the only word that works here (his tongue, yes, it works there, yes). Worship.

It is such a strange thing (fingers, sweet long fingers) to be worshiped.

I have never really thought of myself as being deserving of worship in any way shape or form, and yet here (his hair in my finger, pushing, up, yes) in this moment, in this time, in this age, this is definitely worship.

(His lips are wet, I taste sweet to my own lips, so sweet). "So sweet, so sweet, so warm, so soft, this body, your body, yes."

I fold into him, around him (hard against my flesh, hands intertwined, intertwined) falling through a perfume air of lust and desire and being desired.

I have never really thought of myself as being deserving of desire.

Last year was full of endings. Dying, dying, dying, over and over again, my loves, my life, my goals, my dreams, my hopes, my needs...dust.

This year is full of new beginnings, new hands, new lips, new hopes, new dreams new desires (yes, yes, fingers on thighs and the air is warm and moist and I want you there now) and new goals that seem achievable finally.

Also, a new realization of myself. I can be worthy of desire if I want to be. I am worthy of desire.

"Your body, this body, so warm, so round, your breast, sweet breast, perfect size, perfect shape (hands on nipples teasing, yes, yes, there, yes) perfect so warm, so soft."

I have at last become a woman.

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