February 7, 2008

sex is a strange thing. it reminds you that you are, at bottom, an animal. as a woman, you press yourself into your man, rub your face between his legs and breathe in that slightly musty scent that makes you turn wet down there. you submit when he puts you on your back and pins your arms down with one hand, the other pulling your chin up so that you’re forced to look straight into his eyes as he drives deep inside you. you moan, loving it, loving the almost painful feeling of him grinding down so deep. loving the idea that you’re going to feel this tomorrow, this feeling of your body being put to use. it’s all nails and sweat and mewling his name, the only thought consuming your being the idea of him coming deep inside you. you want it, that mark, his man scent on you, in you. you want to be his territory. when he leaves, you don’t want to shower. you smell of him, the sheets smell of him, and you revel in it.

the problem is, he left.


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