Sometimes my passion wanes, and it is not you and it is not me, it just is.
Sometimes you feel so close to me, like you are inside me, like you are part of me and it makes me feel kind of sick, a tightness in my chest and a fullness in my throat, and I love that.
Sometimes I am happy just to hear you tell me about your day and we exchange dull stories and roll our eyes at the mundanity of it all.
Sometimes I just want to pet you, a full body stroke, with all five fingers popping over your hard, sore, roughened nipple (one…two…three…four…five…), each touch eliciting a tremor before my hand slides down your chest, your ribs, your stomach and finally your cock (my cock), which starts off soft and barely within reach and rises to demand attention on the down-stroke, pushing into my hand before I travel up your body again, and you try to stay still and silent in case I feel interrupted in the slow rythm, in case I would stop.
Sometimes I want to stroke you until I fall asleep.
Sometimes I feel like I don’t get turned on at all, there is no build up, I am just ordinary, and then I come, like a startled surprise, an ‘oh!’ and I never got the pleasure, really. I wonder if women who don’t get excited about sex feel like that all the time.
Sometimes I want to cry for no reason, and I want to hear you whisper ‘Ssshhh… it’s ok sweetheart, it’s ok’ over and again in my ear.
Sometimes I want to just touch my lips to yours and stay there, breathing into your mouth, maybe licking at you a little, just to stay there and be attached to you, mouth to mouth.
Sometimes I want to hurt you in public, slide my hand under your clothes and silently hurt you and watch your eyes try to stay focussed on the world when you really want to slide to the ground and offer yourself up to me with your cock hard and your skin on fire, hot and needy.
Sometimes I feel like you are far away, a stranger, and I am made sad by that and I wonder where you have gone, or maybe it is me who has gone, I am never sure.
Sometimes I don’t know who you are.
Sometimes I know who you are even when you don’t, when you doubt, when you aren’t sure. I know who you are and I think you are beautiful.
Sometimes you hurt me. It shocks me when you do that, how can you do that?
Sometimes you are so sweet that I think that my heart will burst, it makes my head spin, when I taste you, it’s that sweetness that I taste, watermelon-sweet.
Sometimes your voice in my ear is enough to make me want to come.
Sometimes I ask you, ‘When are you coming home?’ and you say, ‘Soon, Ma’am, soon’.
When are you coming home?