Crown Royal

I worship a man when I am in-love with him.

I give.

Almost everything and I bury myself into almost everything that he is; Body, Mind and Soul.

I want to sit in with his thoughts and fears and carnal desires and repeat each one in the diary of my soul, as if trying to decipher the threads that wove him together, are they thick? solid? frayed at the edges like me? or are they intertwined with loss and joy and pain and laughter so well and he’s only just human and the way he kisses me is just an illusion in my senses that he could be a god?

And almost always, I find myself wondering whether I am being truly myself or the versions of me that he has called forth and that I am only playing out a role by becoming a manifestation of his wants and wishes and needs.

But I know Love is always different, isn’t it?

Our “heart muscles” learn to expand and contract with our experiences, we love hard and then soft and then fiercely and and then selflessly and in the lesser forms, we are selfish, we want to own and imprison and we end up asphyxiating instead of liberating.

Our Love evolves.

Our Love then learns that if we are to be true to it, we need to Liberate.

But I love by morphing. Falling head fast into it. And melting into it.

Letting my insides stain and mark and blotch; leaving out a map of my most fragile, delicate parts open to be destroyed or decorated, until I learn how not do it (again).

So here I am, risking again.

*****

You know it’s good when you leave your inhibitions and insecurities at the door the minute his lips meet yours and his big hands find ways to erase the negative imprints of your body image by touching and enveloping every curve with loving fingers, softly leaving imprints of his adoration on your skin.

You know it’s good when you constantly think about his thickness, in the middle of the night & your thighs begin to softly tremble at the memory of your hair being pulled back and your moans getting enveloped in his mouth…kisses that carry your arousal to the centre of your stomach where you feel his thrusts rest and pick up again, creating a symphony with your senses until your body is singing songs in his praise, worshiping his decadent, dark, rich chocolate essence.

You know it’s good when you can’t stop yourself… you’re addicted to the way he makes you feel even when he’s not there. You’re craving and aching and needing a taste, so your fingers try to retrace the journey his manhood took to take you to that place where all your thoughts ceased and all you could do is consciously remind yourself to breathe ….. slow…. and fast… and deep and shallow until you could hold back your floodgates no more. That moment when he unlocked the gates and you bathed him.. and he smiled and your sweetness tipped him over the edge. Skin on skin and you still wanted him closer.

You know it’s good when he is all you want… because he has a way with your womanly parts… gently opening  the folds of your delicates and sliding his fingers inside, merging with that wetness. His weight on top of you intoxicates you and you carry him; on your skin, on your mouth, on the tips of your finger nails, a taste of him lingering on your lips, teasing on your teeth. He’s everywhere and you have no control over your need to surrender every inch of yourself to his dominance.

You know it’s good when you get submissive, kneeling before him… feasting on his masculinity, working him to a high. Bending over. Legs wrapped around him. Stilettos scuffing the wall. Laying your scent underneath his covers. Obeying his demands that you cum for him.

You melt in his arms.

Jizz driiping down your chin.

Biting bottom lips.

Adoration. Thickness. Grunting. Strangulation. Throbbing.

Your pulse echoes his name.

Your hunger is written all over your face.

You could fuck him all the time.

Panties drop.

Yeah. Dickmatized.

Break his back in. Tap out.