Hands, His

When you go through a breakup there are so many things that you go over in your mind that you may regret. Sometimes it’s the things we may say, sometimes it’s the things we may do and sometimes it’s the touches we miss. The touches that were not only sexual but also reassuring in the darkest of times. I’m not always able to say exactly how I feel but when he’d put his hands on my thigh or my waist, everything was always clear. I loved him, I loved him more than I thought I could love someone that wasn’t fully mine. Our relationship was never defined, nor was it in a box that could be picked off of a relationship shelf. When things got hard our excuse was that we are ‘us’ and that was the only explanation that was needed. I think as my love grew for him I began to see that ‘us’ wasn’t enough and I think I wanted to hear more things like we. We was moving forward, we wanted to plan a future, we wanted more kids, we wanted to have a plan for all the tomorrow’s. He blamed it on the fact that he grew up in the streets and was never able to learn how to just be with a woman, how to just be with me. So I went along with it, I went along with everything he said because he made it sound so good. He made us sound good even though it was far from. Even though I know that we shouldn’t be together I still sit here just missing him. Missing his touch. His hands would let me know how he feels and I miss the feelings, I miss knowing what was on his mind. Whether it was pinning me down while we would play fight or when he’d slip his hands up my skirt to find my sweet spot. The way he would wipe away my tears or the way he’d wrap his arms around me for reassurance. A break up can be a terrible thing but there is never an end for things that are meant to be. We needed to end, we needed to end because we wasn’t right but that doesn’t stop me from missing his touch, from missing his hands.

Remember 

My neighbours are so noisy when they have sex. I’m never one to moan but I mean what’s so good about sex? It’s noisy, makes you sweat, you have to shower more than usual because of the juices. I’d rather just play with myself. My bullet makes me reach places I never knew I could. My rabbit takes control over my whole body when I get to the point of orgasm. I mean ok the feeling of a dick is different, how deep and fulfilling it is knocks a dildo straight out the ranking. I do still think I’d rather just play with myself though.

I know myself and I know exactly what turns me on and how to make myself cum. At the same time I can’t suck my pussy myself. Damn do I miss that. As soon as a hot mouth closes over my clit I’m just in heaven. As soon as I feel a big ass tongue circling around my precious pearl, then flicking against it and if I’m getting fingered too, damn.

ANOTHER BOOK POSSIBILITY.. Let me know what you all think..