I miss it… I miss it… I miss it with… him.
I feel like such a dork, because you know, things are in such a weird place right now, I can’t believe I still feel longing and confusion.
I miss his dick.
There I said it. I miss him, of course I miss him! But truly as well, I miss his penis. I miss the way orgasms with him were this lengthy affair, the frequency of which almost became heart stopping. I miss the shape of his penis, and the way it seem to find everything inside that needed finding and bringing out into the light.
I never had that before him. I never knew that multiple orgasms could mean seven, eight, nine times in two hours. It’s not the dick, it’s him. I’ve been saying that for months, but it’s true. I’ve said it more than once, but previous lovers have always lacked in one way or another. With him, sexually, there was no lack… none at all.
There’s something about him that pulled that kind of reaction out of me. It’s something we did together, and right now I miss it.
I’m not really sleeping well. The beds I’ve been in since I’ve been in England have all been uncomfortable, but a lot of it has to do with a build up of sexual energy. My pussy does that heat thing, that burn thing, that “Feed me Seymor! Feed me!” thing, and there is nothing my mind can say or do to make it cool or calm.
Yeah, yeah, ‘Masturbate’ someone from the back cries out. Okay, that’s an option. However, in the wake of it, I always feel empty. I never have the insensate feeling that I got afterwards with him… like I was floating, and the only thing keeping me up was him. What’s more, the wanting and needing come right back…. okay, that’s true when we have sex anyway, so it’s not neccessarily the best example. However, the wanting and needing and the emptiness, the lack of fulfillment, this is what I am trying to illustrate here.
I could find another lover… hmmm.. that’s an option too, and not one I’ve dismissed totally out of hand. However, I know looking for a lover is the fastest way to find oneself in trouble, and more than that, my heart whispers that I lucked out with that one. It’s find to say I’ll find someone else who knows how to do it better, can give me more of what I want emotionally and physically, but my heart and my poonkie ignores what my head says. He, HE was the best I’ve had.
It’s interesting, because on the two separate occasions I told him that, he told me, “You’re just saying that,” as though I don’t know my body’s responses, and that I’m so sexually experienced and jaded that he was just another fuck, something I was doing to pass my last few months in Trini. I know that’s not true. No matter what he thinks, he was the best. Even if I meet someone else right now, it’ll take a Herculean effort on my part to put him in my past, and you know, I don’t know that I can do that. I don’t know if I want to.
Right now, I’m trying to maintain that distance emotionally, as much as the distance between us physically is irrefutable, but all that perspective I came to England to find is telling me: It’s not over. It’s not over. It’s not over, it hasn’t even started yet.
If it was nothing, after four months, I would have begun to move on. My sense of apathy would have grown, and I would have been able to push past it and go on like it was just that: A fuck, a time waster while waiting for the real deal.
It may have started out that way between us, but something else is going on now. As confused as I was about my feelings before I left Trinidad, is as sure they aren’t just some passing thing, something to put down, put away and forget. It’s turning into something else, and I just don’t know how to speak the words out loud in the face of all this distance.
I asked for it though. I wanted it, reached for it and got it. This distance I mean. I wanted space to put it all in perspective and that’s what I got. Except, perspective is showing me the most frightening thing. I need him. More than just in terms of being my lover, and it is terrifying me. I didn’t expect this. I wasn’t looking for this. Didn’t think I wanted it after all that fuckwittage from last year.
He was to be a safe exploration, but even before I left Trinidad, I knew I wasn’t safe and sound with him. I knew this was more than just a fling, a flirtation.
I miss his obsessive nipple twiddling, and the way he licked my pussy, shit, I miss the way he licked everything, including the back of my knees, and sucked my toes while I was cumming. I miss his tickling my ribs and my underarms, and I miss his lips, especially kissing them and all that creamy dark skin; I miss the tattoos, the chipped tooth, the humour, the eyelashes, the kinky mindedness…
It’s just not fair! How can I have met a lover who balances me sexually like he does, and have to let go; let go to hold on, and be so far away? I waited so long to meet someone who could do that, and now I just have to let go? It’s simply unfair in the extreme! It just seems like some kind of treacherous, unfairness that cannot be comprehended.
Ya’ll know this is my pussy writing this post right?
My mind has gone off somewhere, and my pussy felt this was an opportunity to express herself!
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