I liked how you pulled my hair back on the first day, had me in a position I had not been in until that moment. I liked how you’d put a pillow beneath me just for me to feel the thrust deeper and better. I may not have been very vocal about it during the act but I liked how you’d adjust your thrust to how loud or low my moans were.
I liked how you’d slide your fingers into my mouth and shove them in as if my saliva was the last thing hydrating them. I enjoyed sucking on them while looking at you wondering the kind of face you’d make and what was going through your head at that moment. your chokehold on me supersedes my emotions, your hand wrapped around my neck while you thrust in deeper leaving me with no room to think or to process the act was a major highlight for me. Your upward hip thrust drove me insane.
Oh! How I wish you praised me, told me how good my insides felt or how my insides felt like an xs to your xl. More than anything I wanted you to tell me how much of a good girl I was being taking it all in, whispered your naughty thoughts in my ear, and I would have been wetter than all the five oceans of the world combined. What I’d give to hear your stifled moans once again.
The feminism movement so many women had fought for for years was almost rendered useless the moment I thought to myself “I will like to sit at his feet and kiss him all the way up to his lips”, the thoughts of me wanting you to basically mouth feed me the things you chew torpedoed my mind anytime I saw your mouth move. I was jealous of the gum you’d chew cause it’d spend so much time in the confines of your mouth, a lot less time my tongue spent in them.
For those eleven days every morning felt the same and yet so different, I woke to the same view of a face sleeping so peacefully that it would be unbelievably hard to tell that just a few hours ago it was down in my region, halfway my body, on my chest and all up in my face. The restraint it took for me to not kiss you when you looked like that could be compared to a commercial ship’s anchor. For the first time I experienced my desire blossom, an intense feeling that bared resemblance to love.
The confusion in my head attempting to recognize what I felt after I left made me feel desolate, I know it’s not Eros love. It can’t be, I have it all sorted out now with a calm mind. It was Himeros.
But we can’t have history repeat itself now, can we? An history I’d travel back in time to relive and perhaps enjoy it much better and be more vocal about my wants and needs. The memories of that period will stay with me perhaps not forever, but for the short time I will remember, I will continue to savour reliving those moments in my head.
– Rolake, 23
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