nina semen.

It's not you; it's me.

Thu, 10 Nov 2011 12:51:00 -0500

we haven’t spoken in a while. that’s normal for us, but different this time. the silence is so loud. it’s heavy. i’ve been keeping busy; being alone with my thoughts has been troublesome these past few days. i miss you. i miss you because you’re not there. you’re not waiting. i want to talk to you so badly, not to reconcile, or hash anything out, but to soothe your anger, your pain. i know i can’t, though. only time can do that. will time do that? i have to believe it will…

you wonderful, perfect man. each time i speak of you, it’s the descriptor i fall back on. perfect. you are everything everyone wants in anyone. my fluctuating level of contentment in our relationship causes me to question my sanity. i feel so inadequate by your side. you make me hate myself, i think. you make me doubt myself. you are so full of love, so compassionate and caring. you give your all. i am not; i cannot. i’m too afraid. i always will be.

how you have managed to be so brave i don’t know. you gave your heart to me. a fickle ambivert with scars on her ankles. you never took it back, even after all the times i spoke unconscionable words, did unconscionable things. at one point how much you love me gave me hope, and it made me believe that i could be a better person. then, i started to resent you. resent you because i couldn’t be a better person. resent you for loving me.

where does he get off, dealing with my bullshit? never telling me to go fuck myself? never walking away…

you ask me why i push you away and i don’t know. i don’t know. i don’t know. i don’t know. maybe i don’t trust you. no, that’s not it. i trust you. i know that you would never hurt me. i don’t trust myself. i can’t. you know that. well, you know that you can’t trust me. the reasons you can’t are the reasons i can’t. i took you for granted. i take you for granted.

each time i told you that i would try harder, that i would do better, that i loved you more than anything and i was sorry for being stupid, i meant it. i promise that it wasn’t a lie.

my intentions were pure, when i asked for a break. there’s no one else. there will be no one else, for the foreseeable future. i am just in pain right now, and i am unable to lean. i can only lash out. you don’t deserve that. you want to be there for me, but being there for me can only hurt you. i am not someone who understands how to be supported, emotionally. it makes me uncomfortable; it makes me mean. i don’t handle stress well, and being under a mountain of it right now…it’s not a good thing. i know i am flawed. i know i am more than complicated; i am impossible. i know that i have treated you badly.

you are the best man i have ever known. you deserve everything beautiful, no more pain. and because i cannot promise to not cause you anymore, and i cannot promise that i will ever figure out what makes me so awful, it was only right to end it, although i only meant temporarily. i understand that you could not give me what i asked for, and that you have given me everything. i am both happy about it, and sad. happy that you are putting yourself first, finally; sad that it’s over. i didn’t want it to be over.

it needed to be over. i decided that it was over, for our sake. i am sorry.

i think about you and the woman that you will inevitably meet in the future. i think about how she will appreciate you and love you and be so much better to and for you than i ever was. than i am capable of being. i think of her, this someone that isn’t me, making your ever changing eyes turn that electric shade of blue that they do when you’re happy and it makes my stomach churn and my nerve endings turn cold. i picture you on your wedding day, smiling and fulfilled and finally - after all this time and all of these women who tore you to pieces - whole and i…fold in upon myself and gasp for air, because i want so badly to be that someone. i want to be someone else.

i am too…not good enough. i am too not good enough. i never have been. i have never deserved you, and i never will. my metered emotions and cold touch aren’t enough. you are fire and sunlight, clouds and sex, film noir and krabby patties. i should be proud to have been able to call you mine, but i am not. i am ashamed. because you will be my one regret, i can tell.

i want to be someone else. i want to be what you need. i want to be who you deserve. i want to be good enough. i want to be someone who deserves you. i want to be someone with free emotions and an open heart. someone who cries when she’s sad, and sings when she’s happy.

but, i’m not.

so it’s better to let you go. it’s been so unfair of me to place you aside while i try to figure out how to be that someone else. i know you hate me right now, but i hope with every ounce of me that it’s only temporary. that maybe one day, maybe years from now you’ll call me and tell me that you forgive me. or at least that you’re not angry with me anymore. that you didn’t mean it when you said you wished you never met me.

i write this here, and hope that you will see it. part of me wants to email it to you. or pull out one of the Pacman moleskines you bought me, scribble a few pages. mail it. but i know you don’t want to hear from me right now, so i can’t. i was so selfish in our relationship, i can’t bring myself to continue to be after it’s over. i write this here, and hope that you will see it. i don’t even know if you remember this place exists. please, do.

Weed always made Giselle…friskier than she usually was. It lowered her inhibitions, and she...

Mon, 15 Aug 2011 15:36:00 -0400

Weed always made Giselle…friskier than she usually was. It lowered her inhibitions, and she loved it. After she returned from the kitchen with beers for the boys and handed Charlie his, instead of returning to her place on the floor between Nic’s feet, she settled down on his lap, her breasts in his face while she opened the beer behind his head. He kissed her cleavage, lightly, and looked up at her, smiling. He glanced over at Charlie on the other end of the couch, but she pressed his face back with her shoulder. She placed his beer on the end table and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. His hands searched her body, settling on the curve of her ass and squeezing.

She felt him start to stiffen beneath her, and when their mouths finally broke apart they were both breathless, her lips burning from his stubble. Giselle turned her head to the right to give Nic better access to the spot behind her ear that he loved the kiss, and her eyes met Charlie’s before he looked away sharply, ashamed to be caught watching.

A tingle went through Giselle. Charlie was sexy; as sexy as Nic, but in a different way. Where Nic was long and lithe and graceful, Swedish to the core, with pale skin between his tattoos, silvery blonde hair and wide eyes as deep blue as the Pacific, Charlie was shorter, by at least half a foot - though he was still a bit taller than most men - and he was thickly built, with broad shoulders and forearms you couldn’t close your hands around. He tanned easily, and his hair was dark brown; his eyes, evergreen, framed by blonde lashes thick and long enough to still be evident. His lips were his most noticeable feature - bright pink and plump, like bubblegum. Giselle wondered, for the first time since she’d known him, if they tasted as sweet as they looked.

She reached over and touched Charlie’s shoulder, letting her fingers trail down a protruding vein in his arm. He looked back at her, curiously, and she brought her hand up to his face, slipping a finger between those thick lips. He opened them and sucked her fingertip, reaching up to stroke her wrist, lightly. She let out a slight little moan and bit her lip, watching him. She pulled her fingers from between his teeth and moved them down to his chest, gripping one of his pecs tightly as she began to grind on Nic, who was rock hard by then and biting and sucking on the tendon in the side of her neck as if trying to draw blood.

She looked down at Charlie’s crotch, lifting an eyebrow when she saw his member struggling to rise under the tight denim along his thigh. She leaned over more to reach it. He gasped when she began to stroke. Nic released Giselle’s skin from his teeth and looked over to see what was wrong. It was obvious to Giselle what she wanted by this point, and she tilted herself backward, so that Nic could see what she was doing. His gaze followed her arm to her where her hand was and darted back to her, confused. When he saw the question in her eyes, this new, hesitant hunger he didn’t quite recognize, his face fell blank and she worried for a moment that she’d done something terrible, but then he pulled her face back down into a kiss and lifted them both up, scooting over until Giselle’s thigh was trapped tightly between his and Charlie’s.

Immediately, Charlie reached over and squeezed Giselle’s leg. It sent a tremor through her. When Nic’s kisses trailed from her face back to her neck, she took the opportunity to bring Charlie’s lips to hers. They weren’t sweet; he was tart from the beer, and a bit spicy, like cinnamon. He kissed her carefully, but deep and sure. It wasn’t long before his hand was tangled in her hair and his tongue was in her mouth. Then, Nic was lifting her shirt above her head, and her breasts were bouncing free for a moment before each man had a nipple in his mouth. Nic held one between his teeth, flicking his tongue over it, while Charlie sucked and pulled so hard on the other that it hurt. Giselle caressed the backs of their heads and moaned, arching her back, pressing herself into their faces.

Then there was a hand beneath the elastic of her shorts and then inside of her underwear, searching between her thighs. She knew it was Nic’s when he gasped, his fingers disappearing into how slick and wet she was, probably more than she’d ever been. The thrill of it all heightened every bit of pleasure she felt; this fantasy come to fruition. Not that she’d ever fantasized about Charlie in particular, or a threesome with Nic. Just…two men, at once. It’d always seemed delicious.

She reached down to free Nic from his jeans, lifting herself up a little. He sprang from his open zipper, long and thick, and she wrapped her hand around him tightly, pumping just the way he enjoyed it most. With her right hand, she started to unbutton Charlie’s jeans but couldn’t; he took the hint and did it himself. She craned her neck to look down and found his cock not quite as long as Nic’s, with a bit more girth, and uncircumcised. She smiled at how their dicks paralleled their other differences in appearance. She took it in her hand and stroked them both at the same speed and rhythm. Charlie seemed to like it just the way Nic did.

After a few minutes, she pulled herself away from their groping hands and mouths, and sank down onto the floor, onto her knees. She looked from one cock to another, deciding whose to taste fist. She decided on Nic’s - because she was his, after all - never moving her hand from Charlie’s. Nic moaned gratefully when she wrapped her mouth around him and gathered all of her hair into his fist. Just when she had built up a pace and his body started to tighten beneath her, she released him with a pop and moved over to Charlie. He throbbed with anticipation on her tongue, saltier and saltier each time, and she closed her eyes. She reached over to get Nic back into her hand but he stood and she tried to lift her head, see what he was doing, but Charlie held it firmly in place, and she didn’t struggle. She heard clothes rustling and then a few moments later she felt hands on her hips, pulling her bottoms off, and then her body was being pulled down. Her pussy dropped onto Nic’s tongue and she bucked up for a moment, startled, then settled herself onto his face. He lapped at her, sucked at her clit and as he moaned into her, she moaned into Charlie, their three bodies one as the sounds reverberated through them.

She came quickly; Nic drank her and continued on, more gently. She felt Charlie grow even harder and larger in her mouth and then he pulled away and lifted her gently beneath the arms. She climbed onto his lap and he held his cock upright. She cried out as she sank down onto it, her body spreading to accommodate him.

He fucked her deeply at first, not thrusting but only gyrating, and she felt him in the very base of her. It seemed he’d push past everything. Then, he was fucking her with the entire length of him and her face was being turned to the right. She found Nic’s cock there. She took it in her mouth, struggling to keep a steady flow on both of them. It proved difficult, bouncing and bobbing all at once. In porn it looked so easy; she had a new appreciation for those women.

It wasn’t long before Charlie was coming, warm and thick, deep inside of her. He gripped her tightly, nails digging into her back, his deep groans fading into a soft whimper before just a whisper of “goddamn” in her ear. She stood to give him a moment to compose himself and he leaned forward, cupping his mouth around her clit, and his nonchalance at tasting his own come excited her so much she trembled with orgasm as easily as before, her knees giving way. She didn’t fall; Nic held her upright and then he was picking her up by her waist, wrapping her legs around him and thrusting himself deep in. He kissed her. “Good?” he asked into her mouth as he pulled away. She tucked her chin into her chest and looked up at him, nodding shyly. Her head was swirling, from disbelief, from coming, from the weed, from excitement. He smiled and carried her to their bedroom; Charlie followed them, where it all continued.

because he writes me love letters: lustful and vivid love letters that are almost angry and violent...

Mon, 08 Aug 2011 20:52:00 -0400

because he writes me love letters: lustful and vivid love letters that are almost angry and violent in their intensity. because he leaves them everywhere: between the pages of whatever book i’m reading; inside my pillow case; in the cigar box that holds my jewelry; pinned to my bath towel; between the cushions of the couch.

because he speaks to me in obscure movie quotes and kisses me happily when i recognize what they’re from. because he makes me laugh by singing “I Wanna Be Your Man” and dancing like The Beatles in A Hard Day’s Night whenever i’m upset with him. because he picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder like i weigh nothing and carries me where he wants me if i refuse to go of my own volition. because he asks to wash my hair for me. because he watches me sleep and admits that it’s more creepy and embarrassing than romantic.

because his nose is pierced. because his fingers are long. because his voice is so deep and rough. because he has a great ass. because, so many things.

he has me hemmed up beside my car. i don’t have enough space to slide away from him without us...

Wed, 22 Jun 2011 10:45:02 -0400

he has me hemmed up beside my car. i don’t have enough space to slide away from him without us touching, that’s what he’s after. call me when you leave his place he whispers. i smirk; i tell him no.

it’s been so long. he’s inching even closer to me, breathing on me. that used to do something for me — to me. no longer. he doesn’t see how pathetic he is to me now, this man that i used to love.

his left hand is against the hood, beside my head. i tap him on his wedding band. i have tried over the years to get across just how over him i am, how over me he needs to be. he doesn’t get it.

i’m done, i say. i shove him away, harder than i meant to, and get into my car. i drive away with him standing there, that pitiful longing look on his face.

fuck off i mumble as i turn up the stereo, not to him, but to the old me that i no longer understand. the one that would have melted for that douche.

because when I don’t have work to do or classes to take I lie around naked watching silent...

Mon, 20 Jun 2011 15:13:52 -0400

because when I don’t have work to do or classes to take I lie around naked watching silent films on Netflix instant, eating Tostitos and drinking ginger ale. or dance around in pajamas to music made before i was born, sucking chocolate off of my fingertips. either way, i need a man that can find the beauty in it.

don’t try to prop me up in pumps and drag me out through cigarette clouds. i’m happy where i am, today.

take your clothes off; get comfortable with me.

because there is only so close i’ll allow myself to get before i panic before i’m too...

Thu, 09 Jun 2011 09:34:53 -0400

because there is only so close i’ll allow myself to get before i panic
before i’m too close for my own comfort
and i back away. turn and run.
is there anything more terrifying than intimacy?

relinquishing power over your heart is…
brave.
more brave than i am able to be.

for a while it was delicious to kiss him through his tears. his lips would tremble pitifully beneath...

Sun, 05 Jun 2011 19:24:05 -0400

for a while it was delicious to kiss him through his tears. his lips would tremble pitifully beneath mine; his fingers would grasp so tightly at me, searching for the invisible tether that could keep me from leaving. and i would smile.

it felt good, to be the emotionally sadistic one this time. it was how i healed: feeding off of his misery. a succubus, role switching in this new “relationship”. tearing him apart and sucking him dry in an effort to put myself back together, fill myself back up.

i did it until i felt healthy again, realizing deep down that i was even worse off than before. of course it felt much better to be on the dispensing end of the pain this time, but only until i began to hate myself for what i had become. and then —

i stand in my yard watching the weather turn. it’s only drizzling but the clouds are dark and...

Thu, 28 Apr 2011 20:43:00 -0400

i stand in my yard watching the weather turn. it’s only drizzling but the clouds are dark and thick and the sky between is a swirl of green and gray and purple, like a fading bruise. the wind blows so loud, deep and rumbling like an extended burst of thunder. leaves blow sideways, gravel stirs and smacks my legs. and i just stand there.

i’ve been this way since childhood. many times i can remember my grandparents coming to pull me up off the front porch during violent thunderstorms or while weaker hurricanes passed. i’d sit; listen to the trees whistle; soak in the humidity until my clothes stuck to my skin; breathe.

everything smells so different when it’s clinging to itself.

after a while i retreat inside, but only for a second, to grab a joint. i wait for the wind to quell a moment, light it behind my hands and settle on the top step of my front porch to watch the world blow away.

before the first date.

Tue, 12 Apr 2011 16:31:00 -0400

i open the door. the sight of him knocks the wind out of me. his blonde hair is not ruffled and wild like the day we met; it’s slicked into a side parted pompadour, razored close on the sides. the beard is gone; he must have shaved a day or so ago, there’s only stubble covering his hard, angled jaw.

he wears a sharp white button up - sleeves folded up to the elbows, a thin black tie, suspenders, dark straight leg jeans bunched atop espresso colored wing tipped bluchers. i notice the small details: the moscot miltzen glasses, the simple leather watch, the silver band around his right ring finger almost as thin as the hoop in his right nostril.

he is one of the most beautiful men i’ve ever seen, just as he was when we met and he wore a tattered t-shirt, cut off jean shorts and well worn converse, but now he’s styled like an extra from boardwalk empire…

i want to mount him in the hallway.

he smiles at me, white and wide, high cheekbones leading into deep dimples that cut down his face. you look amazing he says in greeting, leaning forward and taking me in a one armed hug. so do you. in these heels my cheek settles nicely against his shoulder, my eyes falling on the roses tattooed on his throat, peeking out over his collar. i linger where i am; inhale his scent. i can’t tell if it’s the pomade in his hair, a light splash of cologne or his deodorant or soap, but whatever it is i suddenly wonder why the rest of the world doesn’t have the decency to smell the same.

he has a gift for me: a book of Pablo Neruda poems. i contemplate asking him to marry me before i find out he’s not absolutely perfect, decide against it. instead i ask how he knew Neruda was my favorite. he didn’t, he says, he only knew that he was his own.

the marriage proposal dances in my mouth all night long.

goddamn,

Tue, 29 Mar 2011 08:00:00 -0400

when you touch me.

you know when you’re in the shower, and you’re standing directly under the stream, and you lean your head to the side just a little and the water runs down your ear, down your neck, down your back, over your chest? it sort of beats in that particular spot above your clavicle in just a way that’s as titillating as it is soothing, and the warmth of the water engulfs your body and you don’t want to move? that’s what it’s like when you hug me.

except a shower doesn’t make me weak in the knees or wet between my thighs. it doesn’t make my stomach churn with butterflies. your hugs do.

it was a night for breaking out. big hair, black eyeliner,...

Mon, 28 Mar 2011 20:41:58 -0400

it was a night for breaking out. big hair, black eyeliner, glassy lip gloss. sheer tank, black leggings, and platform pumps, glittering with rhinestones. wearing 5” heels to a house club probably wasn’t the smartest idea, but i didn’t care. they were cheap, i’d toss them off if i needed to later; i had flip flops in my car.

it was packed; you’d have thought it was the only place open that night. i stuffed my i.d. and cash into my bra and it disappeared - one of the great things about being top heavy. bass vibrated the floor. my friend screamed excitedly, grabbed my hand and dragged me through the crowd, to the bar. she yelled her order to the bartender. i didn’t want anything yet. turning around and leaning back against the counter i surveyed the dance floor.

men and women, bouncing collectively in the dark, lines of blue and green light streaking over them rapidly. the music seemed to get louder, filled my ears. i couldn’t remember what anything else sounded like. my friend downed her shot, and bumped her hip into mine, smiling and saying something to me that i pretended to hear. shaking her blonde hair around wildly she hopped up and down and i laughed. she was so alive.

i noticed behind her a man, standing against the bar holding a tall glass, looking at the ground, nodding slightly to the beat. he wore a hoodie pulled down over his face, dark jeans and white sneakers that glowed a faint purple under the black lights. he cut his eyes towards me, head still tilted down, an eyebrow raised. lines forming in his forehead, his jaw was clenched. he looked angry, but he wasn’t: his eyes were soft. he looked as if he were going to smile at me, but he didn’t, only looked away.

disappointed, i slapped my friend playfully on the arm and nodded towards the dance floor. she waggled her brows, locked her arm in mine and we went over, her pushing her way to the middle, where she liked to be. she lifted her hair up off of her neck, dress rising so high that you could just make out where here ass and thighs met. i danced with her, closing my eyes, smiling from the inside out. i loved this fucking song.

then there were hands on my hips, a warm body against my back. i opened my eyes, spun around. it was the guy from the bar. hood still up but not as far over his face, he looked as intense as before but one side of his full mouth was pulled up into a dimpled half smile. hands still in place, he moved with me, eyes boring into mine. i couldn’t tell what color they were in the darkness, blue maybe. i didn’t really care; they were beautiful.

the song slowed, so did we, me winding my lower body against him. i raised my arms, rested them on his shoulders and he pushed his hood back, lifting my hands up. i placed my palms on the back of head and he dug his fingers deeper into the small of my back. he looked down at my navel as we danced, leaning back with his hips pushed forward.

the song reached another crescendo and i spun around. moving his hands around to the front of my abdomen, he lowered his face into the bend of my shoulder; warm air making my skin tingle. we danced like that, my friend beside us dancing with some guy, until the song blended into a different one.

when it did, he turned me around. he was smiling completely, eyes crinkled into slits, the cleft of his stubbled chin more pronounced. one of his front teeth jutted down farther than the other. it was cute. he leaned down and kissed my cheek, i closed my eyes and he held his lips against my face for a few moments. after they’d left my skin i opened my eyes, just in time to see him turn and disappear into the mass of bodies.

he bruises me in the best of ways. too tight a hold on my wrist; too firm a bite on my thigh. i...

Thu, 10 Mar 2011 20:25:17 -0500

he bruises me in the best of ways. too tight a hold on my wrist; too firm a bite on my thigh. i grasp at his pecs, my fingers leaving trails of subtle white into violent pink on his skin, little paths in his chest hair.

i miss him, him touching me, him bruising me.

there is nothing i hate more than being ignored.

Tue, 22 Feb 2011 19:13:40 -0500

there came a point at which i was just done.

Thu, 17 Feb 2011 11:29:35 -0500

i was done.

for so long it’d always seemed worth it. even if i couldn’t explain what exactly was worth anything, i felt it. down in my soul, in the depths of my very being, i had to have him, be his. sure, after some fights i’d yell that i was finished with it; nod in agreement with everyone that told me i was better off.

then…i’d go back. i’d follow my heart. or perhaps it’s better to say that i’d return to my heart, because it never left him. no matter how he treated it: if he stamped on it or stabbed it or squeezed every drop from it, it was his.

eventually though, there was nothing left for me. my skin didn’t shiver against his fingertips. the thought of him in love or inside of someone else didn’t upset me.

what did it take? my friends ask. i don’t know. i don’t know what happened. it’s not that i realized that i deserved better: i was well aware of that, long prior. and i loved myself, i know i did - i don’t feel any differently about who or what i am now than i did back then. i just…i loved him.

i was in love with him.

and then one day i wasn’t. and it was the best day of my life.

You're brilliant. Your writing is exquisite and original. I'm glad you can claim the title of an author as one that everybody will know clearly that it is you and not just another, non-creative author. You're your own genre

Wed, 09 Feb 2011 17:36:01 -0500

well, wow. thank you so very much. i don’t think i’ve ever been so flattered.

i can feel someone standing behind me as i’m hovering over my phone, contemplating...

Tue, 08 Feb 2011 17:07:46 -0500

i can feel someone standing behind me as i’m hovering over my phone, contemplating physics.

“who loves batman enough to get a tattoo of him?” a man asks.

“me, obviously.” i reply without looking up, continue playing angry birds.

our life paralleled pretty woman in the beginning. hooker; businessman; money; unexpected loveright...

Fri, 14 Jan 2011 21:50:11 -0500

our life paralleled pretty woman in the beginning.
hooker; businessman; money; unexpected love
right down to his quiet adulation as i giggled on his floor watching television.
it didn’t last. i don’t know if i ever expected it to.
i was never naive enough to think love was all you needed.
wrong, Lennon & McCartney.

but i did love him, he loved me.
volatile and passionate and unkempt and engulfed.

i hated him in the end.

i’m indifferent to him now.

he slapped me across the face, so hard that i stumbled backwards into the wall. my cheek burned with...

Tue, 14 Dec 2010 13:08:24 -0500

he slapped me across the face, so hard that i stumbled backwards into the wall. my cheek burned with pain, my eyes with tears. his face fell with remorse but he steeled his jaw and said “fuck you.”

he left.

i sank to the floor, buried my face in my hands, sobbed. i sobbed until my back ached from heaving, my head pounded, my mouth was filled with saline and mucous.

he came back.

he sat on the floor beside me, pulled me into his lap like a small child. he kissed my forehead and apologized, again, again. no apology was needed. it was over.

he’s on the floor in front of the television, playing atari games like a little boy, while i...

Tue, 07 Dec 2010 13:48:00 -0500

he’s on the floor in front of the television, playing atari games like a little boy, while i watch Out of The Past on my laptop in the bed. retro, in our different ways. he’s my own personal anti hero, scowling and up to no good like the best of my favorite film noir leading men. i’m his jill valentine, he says.

we’ve both been so busy lately; this is the first day we’ve had to be lazy in weeks. i’m spending it at his place. surprisingly, we haven’t had sex. there’s something nice about the domestic familiarity that lets you just be together. it’s… comfortable. he’s comfortable.

i pull out an earphone when he screams fuck! and jumps up off the carpet, but he’s not talking to me. he’s mumbling something about qotiles and zorlon cannons and having almost had it as he starts to storm out of the room, empty beer bottle in hand. he casts a glance back at me, sees me watching him, his face breaks into a smile at his own fury.

he comes over, kisses me on the head, tells me to stop laughing at him, that it’s not funny. (but it is)

he was incomplete; no scars, no facial hair. his shoulders were held back even as he relaxed on the...

Sat, 27 Nov 2010 22:29:00 -0500

he was incomplete; no scars, no facial hair. his shoulders were held back even as he relaxed on the couch. he was incredibly attractive, high cheekbones, eyes the color of a bottle of vanilla extract: brown, dark brown, but with this subtle amber sheen in the right light.

he kissed me, soft full lips expertly twisting into shapes around mine that turned my knees to jelly, working down to my clavicle. he traced the tattoo there with his tongue, like the others before him, but better.

i slipped my hand in his boxers, he gasped and groaned. his dick was big. that was all i needed to know. i turned around, placed my hands on the wall, looked back over my shoulder. all he needed to do, slide my panties down, go to work. he didn’t.

dropped to his knees, pulled them to the side, pushed his face into my ass and fucked me with his face. i hyperventilated, it felt so good i couldn’t breathe. i couldn’t come because i couldn’t breathe. but it felt so good. an incredible torture. i reached back. his hair was too short to grab hold. he took my hand, slipped one finger into his mouth, then into my ass.

he finally stood and worked into me. i was so wet; it was loud, sloshing and slapping with every thrust. he turned me around, wrapped my legs around his hips, my arms around his neck. i was about to climax, he told me he wanted to get me pregnant.

i didn’t come; neither did he.