The worse of my sex withdrawal has worn off, but hell if I wasn’t surprised that the itch came back last night.
I was writhing and twisting, pussy clenching and light sweating, and for the life of me I couldn’t remember Sweet Thing’s face.
The man that knows how and where and how deep to touch it, touch me…. has reverted to facelessness.
Isn’t that a good sign?
Pussy still wet tonight though, and lemme tell ya, Big Mami getting tired of being alone.
But, I won’t get bitter. I won’t get disillusioned. I won’t give into fear and insecurities. I am neither going to let Ms. Kitty push me into picking the next man that comes along. I think that was my lesson with Sweet Thing. I somehow convinced myself him and the good things he did to my pussy was a gift from God I had to hold on to.
I think the fact I can’t remember what he looks like is good, because for a long, long time I couldn’t get it out of my head.
Ms. Kitty is just going to have to get wet and itch and twist me, but she ain’t turning me from my path. I and I under heavy pussy control.
I live in a country where men propose marriage to every beautiful girl the meet. They tell you things in a charming, respectful way and those are the kinds of responses they get out of me. It is a commonplace thing, and now that the novelty has worn off, I am not putting too much stock in the things men tell me.
Like I told a young padawan learner yesterday: Don’t take them by what they say, take them by what they do. The simplest lessons, oui?
So g’night babies…. some writhing to attend to.
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