I can always tell who is going to be a good kisser. And who will likely disappoint. It’s those that surprise me that I end up falling for.
I’ve held many a young ladies’ hand. Kissed a thousand necks and ears.
Run my fingers round countless soft and twitchy navels. Slid my palms gently between their thighs.
I’ve held their soles in my hands. And kissed them till they melted away into the sheets.
There have been more than there are days in the year. And I wonder how many years are there left.
There is nothing that goes to waste. Between the shoulder blades. At the back of the knee. Under the tongue. Or the corner of the eye. I have been there. I will be there again and again. Every time for me is as if the first time.
No one can take away from me the sweat. The agony. The submission to pleasure.
Blonde hair. Black skin. Blue eyes. Or Brown woven ring. It’s pink. Warm. And it moistens for me.
There are a few of those who I cannot remember their name. Some of those names still mean very little. Others I will never forget. And a few, name or no name, I have loved and will always forever, till forever is no more.