How does one describe desire? The needful, burning, helpless, envious, unending want for your touch. No substitute is possible, nothing and no one else will be the same.
Intellectually, it feels like logic betrayed. She has the same parts as you. So why would you feel so different? You firm up in places where she caves. You crumble where she is firm. You take where she gives and you give in still different ways. Each a mystery unto either self. Both are universes of sensations begging to be explored. Roads taken and not, some imagined, some very real.
Physically, it feels heavy, wet, and, of course, hard. Like a weight anchoring me to the earth, providing a ground, radiating pleasure, wafting want. It is annoying and pleasant all at once, a whole set of itches waiting to be scratched. I can’t reach any of them and no one can reach all of them. How many hands are needed to scratch the itch? How many new itches yet to appear?
Emotionally, it feels like any other want but with an oily, liquid, pervasive, all consuming edge. It is just beyond the reach of all senses except taste. I can taste the want. The salivating, delicious fantasy, nearly conjurable but remaining ethereal. It courses through my veins and echoes in my heart. It swells in my brain and empties through my cock. I want to possess you and I want to give myself into your possession. We are separate, lonely, fierce, prideful, and independent. We come together, surrender to one another, begging for trust and the giddy honor of being trusted.
We touch, I forget, I experience, I relish in the now and bathe in sweet sensations. I am desperate, grabbing them, plucking them from my skin, and savoring as they fall in a torrent around me. I penetrate you, we meld, we luxuriate. I give, you take, partaking of the ecstasy, and then you give back. Sweet release, a moment’s respite from the want. A nirvana of senseless sensation, my head empty, my heart full, my body convulsing, delivering, helpless before you. Glorious afterglow, and then… the itch, the want, the burning need. It was so good. How could I not want more? I want it that way again and a thousand other ways. So I burn. I yearn. I desire…
Originally posted on Ten Ways to Touch.
Cover photo by Pexels.
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