Be Careful What You Wish For

To him:

If you were under the misapprehension that I don’t think about you a lot, I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong.

To me:

Tell me what you want me to do.

To him:

Be careful what you wish for.

I’m going to indulge your perverted brain, and tell you exactly what I want you to do.

The first thing is the anticipation. When you first see me, you can’t stop yourself from gathering me close, even as you somehow manage to resist kissing me with all the passion and the animalism that you suppress within. And as you hold your body against mine, I can feel you prodding, digging, pushing into my thigh. While the top half of you holds me captive, keeping me at bay, watching me panting with desire, your lower half betrays that said desire is very much shared.

Now show me. I love how proud you are of your physique, how you take every opportunity to show off that cute butt, and wiggle your manhood in my direction. Not that you taunt, rather that you flaunt. You preen. You strut. Like a peacock on a mission from god — and we both know what the real purpose of that mission is.

What comes next happens in the order of your own choosing; over which you allow me no control, and which shimmies and shimmers between various activities.

Will you slide yourself into my mouth?

Will you lubricate me with my own juices and explore the hot and wet cave that quivers at the merest touch of you?

Will you use an external lubricant, and penetrate me in that most intimate of places, owning and possessing me at your will, reducing me to a moaning and shuddering mass of girl-flesh?

You know exactly what I want you to do.

And when.

And how.

And each time, I love it more.


Patience… or the lack thereof


Patience is a virtue of which I do not avail myself very often. I just don’t have the patience gene, or hormone, or whatever it is that provides it in such huge quantity to apparently every other person on the planet. For me, even instant gratification takes too fucking long. I want it now, as in yesterday.

I want him now as in yesterday.

The situation is thus: he works in the field for much of the time, and has limited time when he’s back. And if I hadn’t fallen for him from day one, under no circumstances would I have agreed to these terms, and likely this thing would not ever have happened.

But i fell for him. And he for me. Like when you’re teenagers, and you can’t think of anyone or anything else, and you can’t keep your hands off each other, not to mention all the other pink bits. The also-teenage-like early-on infatuation, and euphoria experienced after every phone call, Whatsapp, and of course the encounter.

This kind of situation, in the hands (and other pink bits) of a less-than-patient person could be a recipe for disaster.

And yet… it isn’t.

Being of an advanced age — let’s just add 30 years to teenage and move swiftly on — I have better control over my capabilities as a human being. Sometimes, at least.

In a rare moment of clarity, it occurred to me that if i continued as I had, I would be doing no favours for either of us. I needed to change the dynamic. And I did. Distraction is the name of the game. If you can succeed at distracting yourself enough, intermittent messages are pearls and diamonds in a day, rather than long-yearned-after events of the “Finally!” nature.

Just so y’all know — love, romance and hot sex continues well into the ages that many of you can’t even imagine right now. And it just gets better and better.