You are all I want, your existence consumes me.
Our love separates us physically most days, but ties us infinitely everyday.
Every night.
How can I forget your lips, hard dick, mouth, every part of you on every part of me?
Slipping in and out, hard, soft, your hands… Yes, your hands I think of the most.
Your grasp, your grip, the palms, like the cool sensation of a surgeon’s touch.
I never like the doctor’s office, but I like the skin-to-skin sensations. Anyway, you know what to do.
My breath always quick even when I can’t see you.
Especially when I can’t see you.
You love women.
You’ve loved them since the first moment you masturbated to thoughts of one, trying to recall every part of one.
You love them in the most perverse, most beautiful ways; most intimate and dark ways.
You don’t just notice the curves, you notice the lines in between, fantasizing yourself in between. I’m familiar with your ways.
It’s okay, my love, your secrets.
I like to hear the stories of your now chance encounters, though, you insist this arrangement is only to appease me until you see me.
True, I don’t want you to be lonely ever.
You’re young, too beautiful, too much… Too sweet taboo with your pet names.
“Ma…,” his heavy breath.
“My, love.
Tell me.”
I reply.
“She is not you…”
Of course she’s not me.
She doesn’t moan out loud nor flinch nor beg.
She doesn’t know what you like to be called or what you crave.
She will never call you that word anyway.
You know that, right?
She won’t understand the anticipation of your touch on plump, pink lips.
You love that power, the power that you can make lips so ready and swollen.
The control you have that twists between tenderness and hardness, kindness and cruelness.
Now that’s another story for another day.
“I hate you,” he scowls. “I fucked her so hard, as if I could will you beneath me. Why can’t we be? Be in my grip, to drip. Your nipples, mmm… Rosey pink, lick, wine to my lips, flick…”
“Tell me about her.”
I insist.
“Why won’t you be with me?” He insists more.
You always insist more. I imagine she did not know that, you and your ways.
I can hear you grabbing your cock, you’re making my heart race.
You picturing me biting my lower lip, lying under to serve you, only wishing to sip, forcing me to take your tip.
“We can’t. You know this.
Seldom time permits.
You’re busy, I’m busy, your life, mine. Isn’t it enough to know that I will come to you and only you? To promise you this?” I exhale, restless from this conversation.
Truth – It isn’t enough for you.
You do not take part in, you do not share, you are all-consuming.
“Tell me about her.
Describe her, everything, please. I beg you.”
You like that, begging.
Makes me think of Monterrey.
The glass pane pressed against my full, milky breasts, spread out.
Me begging you to cum, my thighs propped up and tired.
You wrapping your hand around my slender throat, fucking me as if it’s the last time, draining every part of me, mouthing on my cheek, “You’re mine, understand?”
You always demand acknowledgement, a young man’s vanity.
I feel nothing other than you are home, I’m like wife, ma and mami, I’m yours.
And you’re the shield who demands, needs, takes, marks and much more.
How did you know that?
To fuck me so I would remember and keep wanting. I’m torn. Hmm…
“Tell me about her.”
“You assume only one.”
Truth – You’re mad.
“Two…?”
Truth – Now I’m mad. You know I’d want to join.
“I’m wishing I was with you. Loving on you, slipping in between each of you. Feeling all the skin, licks, lips, soft thighs and hips. Undressing you. And only you. All the attention on you.”
Truth – You are in a mood, but now I know you are pleasuring yourself with my verbs; the palm of your hand slipping down your pants, on your shaft, tightly wrapping around.
“I don’t want to say, ma. It started with one, okay? It ended with two. I’m not the one who left two days early without warning, ma. You broke my heart, ma. I don’t ever think I’ll forgive you. Do you know what I had planned for you that morning, ma? I ended up breaking every glass in my house instead. It took me days to calm. I’m waiting until I see you next. I called you, and called you. Don’t you ever not fucking answer when I call you, please.”
Truth – You will forgive me, the next time while making my warm mouth ingest your cum, you looking down into my green eyes. Your hands all entangled in my silky hair, myself in between those stone thighs.
“I will do anything to correct that next time, my love. I never want to hurt you. Talk to me, please, my love.” I say, you truly being my love.
You have this habit of holding me to promises I make to you. Holding me down with your hands, ‘tied to things’ kind of truth, a beast. You remember everything, the parts that make me grab the sheets, as if they could ever save me.
Truth – You saved me.
Your confidence, your almost lack of concern if I agree with whatever you need from me. As if you know I will love it, you always saying, “Trust me… Do you really have any choice, baby?” Him, El Diablo, hovering over me like a stormy night, bursting.
He continues, “Queen, why do you want me to tell you these things? I adore you and your needs, but all I want is that fat pussy. Your breath, your touch, your heart. You never understand that. Why do you never understand that? I fuck these women for no reason. So do they. No love involved. I would make love to only you in front of them, making them watch. Making them lick that cum off you, only then telling them to crawl to you, Queen, and do it again. They’d only be allowed to lick and pet both our bodies, that’s how little they would mean to me.”
Oy vey, truth? – Your coldness sometimes, truly, it’s too much.
“You started this, desiring me to find these women, to tell you about them. I know you can’t want this. You’ve concocted this idea thinking it will keep you close to me because you can’t be with me, right now at least. That I need this as some kind of satiation. But know this, my heart’s yours. You are my soul. They all fuck just fine, but you own it, those words. One said it one time, but in a different way, a different word. It hit me, it hurt me. It cut me. I almost choked her. I was scared, ma, I almost fucking choked her… They’ll never be my Queen. My hand on your sweet, slender throat, that’s it.”
Mmm… Sweet, confused man. Not everyone will see your type of tenderness. I think you save it for me, you only have so much. You reserve it for me, I feel it. It’s your way, your loyalty really. You only letting me…
Truth – I’ve never smiled while my heart’s breaking, it’s a peculiar sensation. It’s only with the things you say, your now obsession being me. That hurricane in you. You can only operate in a world of ownership. It makes me long to be with you, to be on my knees just to please. It also scares me. This tsunami I now see, its presence, its closeness, choking me.
A sultry breath to grab your attention, refocusing you, “Baby? I’m touching myself right now, my love. Remembering me with you, on you. Sliding my pussy across your face to a beat, a control you seldom let me have. You caressing my thighs the entire time, the sheer stockings I wear especially for you and especially so, up high on my thigh. Your fingers in between that tight line, down my back, then spreading me a part. Your tongue, mmm… Your tongue. That’s a body part. It’s thick, full, warm and wet, just like your throbbing cock. It glides slow, fanning out the entire surface of my V. You then getting into the crease, all the folds, my clit, you are all over it. The pattern, the pressure, knowing how to be fast, steady, hard, slow, flick. You have this ability to press your tongue as if you’re enjoying the cherry on top of a homemade banana split. It does a different job, but it does the job, leaving me yearning more. I’m still sitting on your face, continuing back and forth, I pulsate, your tongue committing fully. You then grabbing my ass so hard, pulling me to your mouth, leaving those marks you make on my body. You make me feel like you’re almost angry that you can’t eat more. I feel it everyday. I climaxed ten times, eleven, twelve… I lost count.”
You’re amazing, beautiful, so beautiful, every inch of you, and more. Do you realize how beautiful you are, do you? I don’t think you sometimes know, you being so cold, hard. When you fuck how you do, do me how you wish, wishing me to do all those things for you. All those things you do to me, how I wish, too. I see the pleasure when you have the control on your beautiful face. It excites me, an imagery that keeps me close when so far away. And your voice. Your rough accent, your unintentional force on that last syllable – it’s lyrical, haunting, heavy, heady, it’s heaven. I think it comes from your background, your land, your hard life, keeping up success while often in turmoil.
Ignoring me (not really), continuing in a now grittier growl as if he never heard what I just said, “Do you want to hear about this, ma, or not? Didn’t mean for it to really happen.
You leave, I’m angry.
She has curves like you.
Very full, round breasts.
Soft, I can see through her blouse.
We dance a bit, I start to caress.
Her thighs, ma, mmm… We decide to leave.”
Truth – You say things in a way, in a timing to be cruel, to hurt. A redeye, middle of the night flight, that’s on me. You understand why I had to leave. It hurts me, trust me. I can’t bear my tears when I have to go. Besides my tears will only excite you. You told me one time they make you think you’re breaking me down to the rawest emotion during one of your nasty episodes, how it invites you; you actually lick them off my face while thrusting deeper in me, as if they nourish you, fuel you, drive you full force. Me? I love to cry with you, for you, happy, sad, pleasurable pain, doesn’t matter. I taste my own tears and only think of how sweet, you all up on me.
“We drive to her place. She lives with her friend here in Tel Aviv. We drink some wine. We talk. You’d like them, I know you would.” So confident he says.
Truth – You know many things, young man.
“I will plan on you trying it next time, understand? There will be a next time, right? Say it. Why aren’t you with me? Be with me.”
“Yes, my love.” I softly reply while rubbing my juicy, fat, pink clit, anticipating all his lines, questions, demands.
He continues, breathing heavier now, “They tell me they want to do this, never had. We kiss, I make them undress.”
Truth – I can tell you are recalling it, it’s arousing you. You always having to make a woman do things for you, to you. I know you are touching yourself right now while rubbing that smooth shaft, all these words on this call, you and me. I hear it in that gritty, heavy voice, your words beginning to break up, throat drying.
“They are sweet, but I tell them I can be rough. I don’t know, ma…” He softens a bit, just now. Hmm…
Truth – That means you decided not to be, right? Wasn’t feeling it, saving all that force for me? Right?
“I tell them to walk to me, to stand in front of me. I spread each of their legs, making them use their fingers, parting each of their slits, inviting me. Don’t worry, I’m kind. I know. You have told me how rough I can be. I know you’d want me to be nice, a little sweet.”
“Are you spreading your legs now, Queen? Tell me,” he moans to me.
“Yes.”
Mmm… How you say your words, all your words in the way you say them to me.
“Tell me, describe your pussy to me, ma. I miss it, I dream of it. It’s all I want now. To drink it. A rose, fat and plump and on my tongue. You better come to me, somewhere, somehow, to meet. Soon. I feel so alone, you have no idea. This tension, I won’t satisfy. These women, they bore me, they don’t get me. Besides, I need to punish you leaving me. You don’t leave me. YOU don’t ever leave ME.”
Punish… You love saying such childish words. You love the struggle and resistance even more. Also the shyness I have, the hidden sweetness, curiosity towards. You weakening me, me having no more strength to resist you. You, too, love how fit I am, my body, how its weaponry is designed, my mind. You once encouraging with a mischievous grin, “I think you, woman, can handle me physically just fine. Go ahead you can fight me, mama. I can fight, too.”
Hmm, truth? – So can I. Fight that is, too.
More truth – You really just miss those words, “Son, mami”. These names screamed out when exploding, holding me down tight.
You precious man, that’s your core, your vulnerability. Me, ma. The fact I fill that part fully and what it means – strength, power, stamina, together we just are… Sweetness, pureness, taboo, dirty, perverse with all our scars, us being our true home. Taking a bad past, owning it. All our bad, nobody knowing it. That I wait for you, my canal with a river that flows for you. Flowing towards the deepest part, the troubling part that is concealed in that biggest, baddest part in you. The only word that can make you truly tender, connected, so rock hard, so elated, to make you release and pour like a fountain inside my tight walls. That’s you, when you’re inside me. The past, my own pain, it’s why only you resinate.
Don’t worry, soon we will meet in Tel Aviv. But for now…
“I want you to cum for me… Right now, right there, in that chair you’re sitting on. Can you do that for me? My love, Son? Legs spread, envisioning me crawled in between, caressing you, my mouth locking on you. Your thick cock resuscitating me, bringing me to life. Can you do that for me? Let me love on you right now, even though I’m so far away?”
Truth – I must go. You know how sorry I am for this, my love. Forgive me, my love. Please? I’ll make it up to you like you always make me do.
Here we are, I am ma, mami, you are Son. How did this arrangement happen?
You are strong and young, reckless, controlled, so in control… So you think.
I don’t even like the arrogance of young men.
Please…
Truth – I do love the lips, the smile, the sweetness, the openness, the scent, the attitude, “I can do and take whatever I want from this world, that’s my business. You have something to say to this?
Bring it, I’ll correct it.” You never take kindly to opposition.
You are complex, when I first met you that is.
You are simple now, it feels like my skin now.
Truth – You’d hate if I defined you as simple.
I might have to try that out sometime.
I know now the words that will provoke just the right rhythm to stimulate our minds.
I think your anger, your darkness, that caught my attention. Your beautiful face.
Angelic almost, but that isn’t you.
Angelic, I mean.
You are El Diablo, I’m mami.
Even the Devil was once an angel.
He still is, I just met him. He’s a bad one, Him always wanting me.
The deepest physical parts of me only you can reach. You formulated this idea in my mental kitchen that I will nurture, take care of you, be the person that will be enveloped with the dirtiest parts of you.
Be sweet to you.
So sweet to you… You love that the most.
You never had a woman be so willing, so caring, that when you walk through the door, the energy I absorb.
I don’t even need to know where you are… You are behind me, arms folded, waiting, agitated, becoming even more, “Acknowledge me, now.”
You and your scorn.
All your badness I will gladly take it, so you can be in the world and seemingly sane.
So you can meet your chance encounters and not overwhelm them, you’d rather overwhelm me.
Just because I plea, I kneel (almost), I feel, I will just be, whatever you want so you can feel most free.
You would like to make this taboo of pet names more public.
I won’t allow it.
Truth – That’s another thing you can’t tolerate… What I will allow.
You like to work that out with me by showing me what you will be allowing.
Me?
Still fighting only because it’s quite inviting, me testing fate.
And, well, this dynamic satiates.
I don’t have trouble saying it now, “My Son, come to me, be with me, tell me…” This pet name you need, it heals a deep pain in you, fulfilling a sweet taboo. Dreaming you on my skin, my waist thin, me pinned, you telling me while knotting me, “Let’s begin.” My Devil, my Lover, my Son. Me sweetly moaning these while you’re on the brink of exploding.
It only reminds you of times when free, never blue, never unglued, always truth.
These names we call each other, it truly is pure.
Son, ma, mami… Yeah, you’ll come home to me always.
I won’t stray, I will wait always.
Just because of the names we say each day, when we lay. You make me want to pray.