It’s been a while I know. Am I still a whore? Perhaps not. I miss sex, I crave sex. I did kiss two different men on Thursday night, but fuck, I did not. Though each I could feel the strenghth of their manhood pressing against the restraint of cloth. Desperate for the touch of my skin, my tongue, my mouth. Only one knew the power of my experience. He was bursting the most.
But my dear Mr.N played along well with my innocence. Proclaiming the virtue of greatness. Let’s do this properly. Slow, even though now as I type this, I have the pulsing between my legs, knowing he lives to feast down there. But do I pick up the phone and tell him that? no. I can’t. He messaged during the evening, I awoke from my slumber to his text, admiring me and apologising for not having been able to call. I want him to come here, take hold of me, push me to the bed, bit my neck, press into my crotch, grab a firmful hand of breasts, edge his fingers beneath my hemline, prodding at the flesh that swells, wetening its inner walls to make a clear path for such tips to caress the budding lotus that lies beneath.
Oh my god, I just messaged him. No longer playing the role of innocence. “I can’t do it anymore, I’m too horny”. What would a man write back to that? oh I just want his tongue on my bean!!!! licking!! fuck this, I’m going to bed to put on some porn and have a wank on my own.. It’s been too long since I’ve felt a real cock in me..
