Pour me a Scotch from the high lands. Throw an ice on the lot, for a few. Swirl the glass in a circular motion. Sip from the rim, pause, let the burn take its time to find you.
I’m a woman at the rail of life. I’ve lived fewer life years than you. Not because I’m a young thang…but simply because I was restricted and new…new to the pace of revelation, old to the signs of abuse. I’ve traveled of lifetime of living, but I’ve believed in the goodness of few.
There’s no roads that lead to my satisfaction, few men have measured up to my desires and touch. I’m not particular on bodies or skin or attraction but I know what my touch can do.
I’m a woman who wants all your wishes, I’ll grant the many you can’t say out loud, I’ll hold your thighs apart, taste your taint, yes I will, the way that you think only men do.
I’ll ride on the path of my grinding, your chin will be pushed to the side. I’m over you, on you, above You, and your heart and your mind I will find. Give me you basest desires. Show me your dripping acceptance, the tip of your member, the wetness, the giving, the weakness, all You.
I’ll lick it- off your stomach, I’ll taste it – your dew. I’ll take the measure of manhood you give me, expand it, hardened and hewn- like a tree. Hardwood and soft touches, succumb, give yourself over to me. Let me taste of your desire and weakness, let me care for the boy inside you.
She’s a gentle acceptor of exploration. She seeks desires, fantasy fulfilled. Don’t judge her level of giving, accept what she gives to so few. Embrace her, loving and deep in the day, don’t give her any less than she’s due.
#For Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.