I’ve been with more men than women, but the older I get the more I crave a woman’s touch. It’s not that men are always rougher (they often are) or that women always know how to touch me better (they often do). There’s just something about soft, rounded flesh touching me that drives me over the edge.
Take my most recent lover, Kira. She would kneel between my legs while I lay back and undress me slowly. The pads of her delicate fingers sliding over my shoulders and up the slope of my breasts, while her tummy brushed my mound, made me wet and ready in what seemed like no time at all.
Before her kisses would drop down my neck to that silky hollow above my collar bone, my lips would already be open and my clit swollen as I thought about her nimble, broad tongue on me. Anywhere on me. She most liked to lick the often ignored skin under my breasts. She would hold my milky globes in both hands, running fingers the color of caramel over my pink nipples while she nibbled on the tender spots where the sun rarely touched.
Then that tongue, oh my god her tongue, would slither and slide down my sternum to my belly. She didn’t care that I had a bit of a tummy, in fact, she delighted in it. She would lavish attention on my belly button and manipulate the soft flesh with her hands in ways that mimicked how she treated my breasts.
Her tongue would follow my stretch marks and creases left by pants or underwear, treating them as a road map to the ultimate pleasure zone. Her nostrils would flare as my scent reached her nose, and she would moan, saying things like, “You smell so good,” and “I can’t wait to see how you taste today.”
Her hands still massaging my body, her tongue would act as a third appendage, teasing me open and taking her sweet time to spread my juices around and coax them out of me. She wanted me good and wet before letting her first finger slip into me.
I loved how her hair felt, dragging across my skin and tickling my thighs. My ultimate favorite was when I would feel her move around on the bed so that we could sixty-nine before really settling her head between my thighs. I would look up to see her broad, round ass and thick thighs framing dark lips and a dripping deep rose slit. Her pubic hair was often wet and wild and she encouraged me to grow mine too.
She liked the way a hairy pussy smelled and tasted. Our tongues would seek out the musky nectar our bodies gave off. Moans and screams were muffled by engorged flesh filled mouths.
Often by this point, our lovemaking would become more intense. She loved having her ass really smacked. I would bite her nether lips and worry them with my teeth while beating out a rhythm on her.
She would scratch my thighs — leaving bright pink trails — and bite and suck my taint and mound until I squealed.
We would sweat and convulse and quiver as we both came violently again and again. In the aftermath of the storm, we’d lay heads pointed in opposite directions, inhaling our mingled scents. Pillowing on softness, one of us might drift off to sleep, only to awake in our lover’s arms.
