the life and musings of a kinky slut


Do my pops of color fit into the grey scale of your life?

Do you want me? Not just my body; you’ve had that many wonderous ways. Do you want me? My brain and my body and my being. Do you see me fitting together in some shape or manner with the puzzle pieces that are you and your life? I Google Mapped the travel time between your house and my new apartment, your house and my new job.

I feel like I’m playing a game where I don’t know the rules and the refs revel in my confusion.

I was so impossibly wet from the moment I sat down on that patio chair at that random bar to when I left your home three hours later.

I knew as soon as you texted me that lunch on Wednesday was off. I really did want you to see me in that dress. I wanted to get fucked after wearing that dress. Wanted you to peel it off me. I didn’t get to experience that in March, or now after our would-have-been lunch.

I kept going to the bathroom because my panties were soaked and I kept wanting to clean up my slickness.

My Brazilian was fresh, smooth. My slick lips were even more sensitive, wanting, hungry. I think you knew that.

You didn’t tell me. If you had told me, I would have…not fucked them. I was greedy. I am greedy because no one is mine. I want a mine.

You are right. If you wanted to make me yours, you could. But do you want that? Will you ever want that with me?

It felt like punishment, fidgeting on your couch, seeing your house, you five feet away and yet never touching me until you hugged me goodbye for the evening. Your mischievous smile made it worse. You were having so much fun at my frustration. “We’re friends, right?” Fuck. Me.

Tears dripped down the sides of my face as the vibrator elicited orgasm, a pale comparison to the remembrance of you inside me, rumbled over my body.

I want you to ask me, no tell me, to not fuck anyone else. Say what I want to be true: that my pussy belongs to you. Take ownership of it. Fist my hair, clamp your hand over my cunt, and rasp into my ear, “This. Is. Mine.”

Will that only ever be in my fantasies?

I had deja vu in your house. I had dreamt of walking into a bedroom like yours, looking out the windows onto the back like yours, and walking into a bathroom like yours. (Though I confess that the bathroom in my dream was much dirtier. Had you cleaned that day?) I dreamt about the view outside your front window too while sitting on the couch though when I had the dream I didn’t know I was sitting on your couch in your house. It was just a random view. My brain does this sometimes, random snippets that mean nothing until they do. I can’t even tell you when I had that dream. They just come sometimes and I forget them almost immediately until I’m in the moment I dreamt and then I remember.

My brain is odd.

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