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.
The first time I had a real orgasm, I gave it to myself. I knew sex was good and I knew it felt nice but once I had a real orgasm… it pushed me straight over the edge. The uncertainty of whether I liked it or wanted it to stop only made me want to do it more. Whether I used toys, wet fingers or told my partners to stick out their tongue… I never wanted to not feel that kind of pleasure.
Before I experienced the real thing I had many partners who all told me the same shit. How they will fuck me better then the rest, how they will make me beg for more and how I won’t ever have a better experience then with them. Yet every time it was them that was left satisfied and me exhausted from faking it and pretending to moan.
So I opted for something a bit more personal, a bit more guaranteed and now the only thing I need to worry about is if I have enough spare batteries.
But let me not lie and act like no one has ever pleasured me on this earth. Sometimes I still pick up the phone to book a session in with my neighbor. He’s saved in my contacts as big tongue Tyrone.
Five months without sex and I thought I was doing well, but I can’t get rid of all my past experiences. Everything reminds me of something sexual and I yearn for that beautiful feeling of wetness in-between my thighs. My thighs that use to be kissed, bitten, licked and caressed by men who are now no longer in my life. Just thinking about this makes my nipples swell with excitement, but once again I don’t have an eager mouth to tend to them. To suck and nibble them and push me to want more of my body explored. I need exploring, I need a warm tongue parting my pussy lips and circling my clit. I want to feel the growth of a soft penis get hard just by my touch or even the thought of going into my body. Getting a back massage while the hard wood laid on my ass cheeks just hoping that it gets slipped in. I’d settle for a finger, a masculine finger being pushed into my mouth so I’d suck, and then pushed in my ass for me to bounce back on. I need to scream someones name because of the pleasure I’m receiving, I need to beg for more. What good are thoughts of the ones that did it before?
Am I wrong for wanting a piece of him, him, her and her.
Society says it’s wrong.
My friends say I’m greedy.
Is it wrong for me to have many lovers?
Is it wrong that each of them have a special part that equates to my perfect being?
Why must I just have one mate?
Why does it have to be a man?
My auntie says “Cuz we nuh inna di batty gyal biznes”
She doesn’t understand that our culture doesn’t have to affect who I am.
He fucks me so good I lose control of my body, it surrenders to him and never puts up a fight.
She provides me with her sensual flair, making me believe in my sexiness and know that it’s ok to want the best that’s out there.
He makes me laugh and never wants to see me cry. When I’m around him I never know whether it’s day or if it’s night.
She is my provider, she makes me feel safe and warm. She never lets me have to deal with rainy days or them horrible storms.
Together they make the perfect one. The person I see myself falling and falling and falling over and over and over again in love.
Why must that be wrong?
Why is it socially acceptable for a man to gift his dick to what ever woman may blink but if a woman does the same she isn’t worth shit.
She is called a HOE, SLUT, WHORE and could never be a wife. Just because she’s living unapologetically in this crazy thing we call life.
A sexual being, yes. Also, looking for the right attributes to make the best.
Is it wrong?
Is it really wrong?
When you think about it are you truly with the one?
Or are you just with someone that was better than the rest but still missing something hun?
Live your best life and be who you want to be.
I’m only my best when I’m being me.
Kissing you is the best thing I can do when I really want to know the truth. Lips never lie and through yours I can tell whether your happy, sad or horny as hell. When I feel your warm tongue invade my mouth and dance with mine I know, I feel the passion take over and realise it’s time for us to go. Go back to the place that takes us over and we have no control. No control of our feelings, emotions or how we start to see things. We become one and everything else becomes numb because all we see is… Us.
We are each others beautiful distraction, we are our cures, we fix each other when another’s soul feels sore. We are the future, let’s forget the past and lets just believe that we can last. I believe in you so try believing in me, our love is forever baby.. We are eternity.
She is here again, here to confuse me and make me question my sexuality. I told her I’m not a lesbian, I told her I’ve only ever liked men. At the same time seeing her makes me want to do things I’ve never done. She makes me want to explore the unknown. I find her so sexy, I think it’s the way she carries herself. She’s not girly at all, tom boy exterior. She always looks amazing from head to toe. I need to know what draws me to her, what makes her different? Why do I want to explore her body using just my tongue? There I go again, my mind is constantly in the gutter. I wonder if she’s ever noticed me stare at her. I wonder if she thinks I like her. I bet her pussy taste so sweet. How do they taste in general? I’m so confused! I’m not a lesbian! It’s just her, she makes me want her. Would it be weird to ask her for just one night? Just one night of seeing her naked body, touching her with my hands and mouth. Oh just thinking about what she can probably do to me is making me go crazy. Does she use toys? I’m not a lesbian. What am I then? Should I tell her I’m attracted? Do I tell her I want to make her cum? Do I tell her she can have her way with me? Do I tell her? I want to tell her. What if I’m not her type? Damn. This would be all for nothing. Mustn’t think negative, I could be her type. I really want to taste her, I really want her to taste me. Fuck me with her tongue until I cum. “Come over to me I want to taste some” I’d say. French kissing her and tasting my juices the combination would drive me insane. I’m really not a lesbian. So what am I? Maybe she could tell me. Maybe I should ask. I will tell her before we leave. Maybe I should call her after work and ask to come round. Maybe I will turn up naked and pray that she’ll entertain my fantasy. Oh, the fantasies of her and me. The nights I’ve spent fingering myself, rubbing my nipples, hoping one day she’d touch me. I’m telling her tonight. This is happening tonight.
I needed him to give my body what it craved and what it needed. It had been a while since we was able to fuck like rabbits. Excuse me for being crude but sexually frustrated is not even the word, my pussy was in need of some sexual abuse. Saying that, I’m the crazy ass female who thought let me go on strike over something very stupid.