msjessica's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- a good idea after i wrote today.... funny, after i'd spoken elsewhere about my 'collection', my trinket bracelet of men "hot enough for you?" he says him a few hours off a plane to eurpoean autumn, "fall". yes, it is. it is hot and windy. he knows i like the heat. he calls me a lizard. fishes for an invitation i am unsurprisingly willing to give. beer, heat, wind, the great grand expanse of his trip looming - for him it's..... well it's different for how it is to me. but our lives are so parallel as in so never to intertwine properly it hardly even matters, except for the way it brings him here, to my balcony, with beer, with new chains around his neck, new glasses, different shoes, and fingers tracing road maps on my thighs that stop
'actually, that was quite nice', and guide his hand back to me . this was so unexpected. i did not invite him here, did not want for this moment, but here i am, in it. i don't know if i/ don't think i will go to work tomorrow. sometimes feelings are more important than whatever they pay you to care about. not that i will even feel about this, i don't know i, anyway, i'll keep telling the story - trying to talk while you traced a picture on my inner thigh was a feat. my voice become huskier, my breathing was.... i tried to hide it all for awhile. - it's hot outside. hot and windy. inside my room is cool and dark. your finger on my thigh became hungry mouth biting my shoulder, my hands remaining still, i was.......closed, quiet. we kissed. i can't tell this properly. you say you feel like touching me, i say 'shall we go inside?' - i'd be lying if i said i could fuck you without feeling. finally having you inside of me feels like feels like feels like i wish you (YOU, reader) could see the way my fingertips caress these keys, like they are my lover - half light. sweaty. you smell different - smell like me in summer, like coconut oil and sweat, salt. we to and fro. it's not until afterwards, when i look at the clock, having also looked at it just before your fingers started tracing on me that i realise truly how fucked up time is, how minutes can feel like hours, i guess i knew this about time before, how it is meaningless, unless you have somewhere to be, a flight to catch. you say no. you only want to touch me. only want to touch. i don't want to do anything you don't want to do. it feels like hours of dark, sweaty, slippery touching, kissing, sucking your tongue, sucking my tongue, flicking nipples, using our noses to push one anothers hair out of one anothers faces, praising God, and Jesus, so sacrilegious, i could stay here forever, for hours, i will spend hours back here to finally sit on top of you, to pull you inside of me takes the air out of both of us. i fall onto, into you. i have my eyes open, more with you than anyone else. 12:51 a.m. - 2015-10-26 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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