Hold me, kiss me…Gasoline me.

I usually know how to pick them, and I usually pick those who pour gasoline on my fire.
Nothing like gasoline to clear your head after a long complicated day. That’s why I like psycho wackos and uncomplicated libidos.

You….you measure everything because excess would be bad. You take my body like a commercial airline pilot would take flight ME35 to Paris, always in control. The ride is smooth and the landing soft. Middle East Airline passengers would cheer and clap in unison for you… then again, the Lebanese cheer for anyone who takes them for a ride. (Even politicians riding them straight to hell; but that’s another story).

Is it? Not really, both stories are about getting screwed. #JustSaying…

I noticed that you never ever break eye contact. It’s nice; you’re nice in bed and generous and highly precise with your hands, your mouth, your cock, which never stray away from reasonable erogenous zones. I can enjoy this ride with the sweet certainty that I’ll get my happy ending. It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon and these are my thoughts as I softly rock back and forth on top of you. Damn…you don’t even blink! And.Every.Movement.Is.Perfectly.Paced.

It’s a little annoying.

So intensely focused on me. I bet it’s all a show. I bet you think about Laeticia Casta when you push my legs to the side, or that Cromwell biography on your bedside table when you gently, methodically impale me.

Really, I want to know: What do you think about when we fuck?

Ooops. You don’t call it “fucking”, of course not. I’m sorry about that. But, Darling-Dearest, we don’t use the “L” word either, so what shall we call this? Coitus? Frankly it sounds appropriate enough.

Babe… why are we having Victorian sex?

When we met, I thought I had spotted a wolf in your eye. But you were drunk that night and today you’re not. Yet sex is not everything, it’s you I want, nobody else. I just wish you were a bit more…more.

My Blackberry’s red light is blinking, I wonder if I’ll make my Thursday deadline at work, if I can afford a trip to Rome next month and if I’ll be able to buy an apartment next year. I wonder if my parents will stop nagging me about how I live my life, if the universe will conspire in my favor or not.

Eye contact always. Dude… what are you hoping to see in there? You never look at my ass or between my legs. You’re such a gentleman you won’t even play with my tits counterclockwise.
I know I’m being vulgar. It wouldn’t hurt if you were a little vulgar too. Would you do rude things to me if I asked you? Would you know how?

My Blackberry blinks blinks blinks while you delicately take my breast like it’s a hand-grenade, your kisses are sweet and exactly how they should be.

Great Goddesses of feminism forgive me, but I wish this man would grab my hair.

My phone is still calling me. Exactly how wrong would it be of me to check it for a quarter of a second? I could do it while we switch positions…maybe you wouldn’t mind.
IknowIknowIknow it’s incredibly impossibly rude. It’s horrible and nobody should ever do that.

You carefully grab my hips to switch positions, as planned, as you always do, and it’s so sad that.you.always.do.it.egg.zact.ly…. exactly! Abso-fuckin-lutely!

Like you did yesterday.
Like we’ll do it tomorrow.
It’s fine; it’s perfect, it’s right.

And that’s when I look at my phone, only for a short second

That’s when your hands leave me, and I know I hurt you.

I know because you were hard a second ago and now you’re not. You’re walking away from me.
Just to get a glass of water, and now you’re back. And you’re just standing there.

I hate that I hurt your feelings, I really do. You would never hurt my feelings. I should apologize for being so rude. This time I really mean it, but that’s not going to fix anything is it? The thing is, you’re so sensitive it scare me sometimes. Your soul is so much more fragile than mine and it scares me a lot. I don’t know how to be around people with more bruises than me. I want to make you hard again but you just step away and you’re not smiling. You’re confused, and I feel horrible. Your eyes are two big question marks and there’s so much I wish I could tell you:

Rage is good. Rage will do us more good than Aspartame tenderness, since rage is all both of us have in us right now.
If you wanted, we could just screw the worries right out our heads.
Fuck me hard.
I won’t break, neither will you.
I am consumed too, it’s OK, we can burn together.
Be real, be honest, we can handle this. We don’t have to overthink and perform all the time.
It’ll feel good I promise. It’ll feel great.

Please let’s stop having absent-minded Victorian sex, I hate it!

I must have said at least one of these things out loud because at some point you come back to me; and I don’t need to open my eyes to feel every single one of your thoughts exploring every inch of me, including places I never knew existed.
I love that you’re finally not afraid, and I’m finally not afraid.
No, I’ll be honest… at some point I’m almost afraid you’ll go too far, but it’s worth it. Absolutely worth it. I’ve never been more…more.
You grab a chair and move it in front of the bedroom mirror. Oh challenge accepted! I love your smile; I love your smile so much it hurts. Your malicious twinkle is back. Your hungry wolf-ness is back. We’re both just taking what we want. Drinking pleasure from each other for what seems to be an eternity.

What shall I call that? I don’t know what to call that.
I’ll be nerdy and call you my Wolverine.

Hell yeah…Wolverine.

And when we finally explode together… wow.

Yucky detail alert: it’s funny how your semen was scalding hot! Never saw (or felt) anything like it before (or since.)

Anyway…Spectacular! You deserve a standing ovation. Except I’m exhausted and I can’t move because you just fell on top of me, and you look so happy, so rested.

And then…

Finally… both of us blissfully sated.

And we’re so tired.

In my brain and in your brain, everything, every cell is asleep… that is the whole point.

And then….
You: aaaa ohwooowwww *cuddle*
Me: mmmmmmm

I want to push you away and go find personal space like I usually do, but you look so happy, I’m happy too. My brain can’t formulate words just yet anyway.

1h later
You: Sandwich?
Me: Water please
*Eat, drink, sleep*

2h later
You: That was…intense. Consumed, we need to talk about what just happened. Hey, are you OK?
Me: *snores*

I’m not really sleeping… I’m thinking again…. Just a little. All I can think is…

we did it, we figured it out. I’m so glad we did it and I love to hear you laugh.


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