You try to place me inside a cereal box with the serving size and portion allotment neatly printed on a cold and impersonal label. You make assumptions about my stress level or my lack of being able to amuse myself by doing something productive wanting to offer your services to fill in my obvious void.
Speak to me again about societal norms and conventions. Guide me towards the expectations you have that my personal, my sexual, cravings do not fit inside the boundaries you think I am imposing upon myself. There is no tedium to my routine or existence, even if it progresses predictably, at the scheduled intervals I devised for myself.
“The center of attention” implies placement; that there are ends, placing me there securely within the safety of the outside parameters. Is it my confidence that allows me to stay there by choice? Does it excite you, knowing I am choosing to be in the middle? You can not place me, where I do not want to be, for I will not stay unless it’s to my benefit.
Give me a brief outline of your sexual resume. Do you know how to elicit a response by the soft touch of a single finger tip, tracing the length of a spine? Can you choose a few carefully crafted words to whisper against my ear that can inspire instant arousal? Can you instinctively change from stroking my hair to grasping it firmly because your timing is attuned to my own.
Magic, electricity, two hard, pulsating cocks. Normal, handsome, professional downtown types.
Completely above average and beyond expectations; just two very good friends who love to share a woman, fulfilling needs, desires, fuelling the reality of future fantasies from memories made during the prolonged encounters. Make me admit the fantasies, I dare not share with others; keeping me closeted in my projected innocence. Share me and spare me nothing in regards to your skill, lust and passionate natures.