Tuesday, March 6, 2012

107_yroldvirgin Week 94: Fingertip Memories


Picture 1

Picture 2

107_yroldvirgin’'s Choice: Picture 2

Fingertip Memories

Every centimeter of your skin, every square inch of flesh, is burned into my memory.

Fingertips that have sought out creases and crevices behind knees and between bent elbow. The flat expanse of your stomach, the soft swell of your hips. Where your thigh meets the softest, sweetest parts of you that I know so well. I know it all so very well after many years of studying your every move, breath, arch of your back. So many years of playing around the edges and more, giving and watching you receive, mouth open and eyes closed, neck straining towards the headboard and your own fingers, preoccupied with taut sheets bunched in your white-knuckled fists.

Yes, I know every last part of you by taste, smell, touch. Tender embrace and glorious laughter. Spent, shaking, lethargic afterwards, but so on fire during the moment.

After all of these years, to say that I want you is not enough. Want is a young man’s mantra. I am older. Wiser. I no longer simply want. I need.

I need.