Since we didn’t, since we couldn’t, let me tell you what I would’ve done.
First, I’d want you on your knees in front of me. I’d want the back of your head in my hand. I can still taste the back of your neck from when you sat in my lap, leaned back into me; still feel your haircut, those short hairs around the edges of your ears, under my fingers.
I’d want to unzip unbuckle unbutton slow and watch you watch me. Like you did on the couch, I saw you. Strawberries in your mouth. Bourbon. The shrimp I didn’t try.
Honestly, I’d want to know what you want. I’m a gracious top that way: my favorite scenario would be the one where you tell me what you’d want done to you, and I’d do it. I’d put my own flare on it, you can bet – but you’d get what you asked for.
So what is your fancy? What do you want? Here this is the quiet piece in me, the one that sits back and watches you, the one that takes photos and sucks the cap of my pen, that is all aflutter to know.
But I don’t know. You know I don’t. We operate communicate with a guise of lust and girl-intuition that takes us along the narrative just fine, but we’ve never had that kink/sex conversation over coffee. Likes, dislikes. Secret fantasies. Perhaps we never will, it isn’t really that kind of thing between us. And though I can have at you through your writing (honestly, what comes – ahem – to mind is cocksucking, something I would oh so happily oblige, you know, if I must) I still don’t really know what you love.
So.
Given that I don’t know, I will do what any top would do: improvise, and take.
It becomes about me, quickly, in this scenario then. But that’s okay (it works for me, at least). And I have found, underneath most fetishes, the underlying desire is often the same: we all want to be wanted.
And you know I’m a top. You know how I seek to take. I said it last night (to you) but I’d (eagerly) say it again: I know how to take you. And you’d want that, wouldn’t you? You’d give me your (eager) permissions, that look in your eyes in your face open willing coy submissive and that’s all I ask for, that’s all I need to set my own desire in motion, that tiny moment of permission and submission.
And oh what would I do to you?
Oh what I would do to you.
Glad to see you haven't let your inspiration/desire sit the bench even though you've decided to spend some time dating yourself. This was smokin'.
You would've.You may yet.
see? it's the attention to both sultry detail and to plucking the strings that stun & stir. i truly enjoy when you write about fucking the girl (or just thinking about it). yum!
I smiled when I read this.
oh my. quite the way with w _ _ _ _ you have. fill in the blanks with ords or omen and either way it’s spot on…
that tiny moment of permission and submissionI love that line!XXX,Alison
Blog stranger here. I came here by way of Vic's (Dykes and Guitars)blog. I wished I would have taken my blood pressure meds first…Your writing is wonderful. I'll be back if you don't mind.nina
wow, thanks, all, for the comments & support. I'm working on more steamy posts for ya. ;)
me next?
flush and blush. What would you do then?