Ode to Pocket Secrets

Hola Readers! How are you all? Having a fine week I hope. I followed a link on Sheen's blog to a posting on the Pocket Secrets blog recently and was moved by what I read there. The postings are like erotic poetry, I feel the words because I know the feelings from where they sprang. I was so inspired that I thought I'd try my hand at such a post.

Sex. Listen to it. See it. Taste it. Smell it. Feel it. It's everywhere. It runs my life. It ruins my life. It is everything to everybody. The essence of who we are. I smell it in the leather seats of a car. I see it in the soft pastel color of a far away flower. The sun in her hair, showing shades of color you would not have known were there. The way her skirt glides over her smooth skin and silky panties. The way the wind blows against her clothes and makes them cling to her skin. When cold air surrounds you and skin tightens in heightened sensitivity. My hands gently caressing your skin through your clothing. My lips and tongue on your skin, making you gasp and want more. My breath on the back of your neck, warm, tickling the tiny whisps of hair. Sweet tender kisses. Her mouth engulfing me to the base, pausing there before rising. Her unique scent. The way she moans when I stroke her through her panties. Pulling her bra down and attacking her nipples, or feeling the lines on her skin left behind by the bra that cupped her breasts, then gently cupping those same breasts in my hands. Feeling the warm weight of them in my palms. Holding her from behind, smelling her hair, feeling our bodies meld, synchronous. Tasting her moist love. Not having the ability to think of any other thought but of her. Wanting to be there in that place forever, hoping time never passes.