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 skirt to 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.
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.
His face showed signs of anger but it still made me want to try and seduce him. He kept his tight gaze as I walked across the room slowly dropping the dressing gown off my shoulders. His stubbornness kept his eyes on mine but I knew he wanted to look at my body. I moved slowly towards him which seemed to make his hands fidget but his eyes still looked mad. I ignored his face and decided to watch his body language as I got closer and closer. He seemed to relax more and his hands dropped down to his sides. I got in between his legs and still hadn’t looked up at his face again. His body was giving me all that I needed in that moment. I went to undo his belt and he grabbed my wrist, but when I touched his hand with my other he let go. I undid his belt and zipped down his trousers and his most important muscle sprang to attention. I bent down and placed my petroleum covered lips onto him and I heard a gasp. That gave me all the permission I needed to take him deep into my throat, start working my hands at the base of him and start squeezing his scrotum; which I knew he loved. I caught myself in a rhythm and he put a hand behind my head and whispered “Don’t move let me fuck your mouth” in a breathy tone. I did as I was told and when I managed to look up I saw his face and I knew he had succumbed fully to my advances.