My body betrays me and it complicates the simple subject of sexual congress. Physical needs scream at me, making a mockery of the notion that I am in control of myself. I’m not. Sinfully, I want. Sinfully, I remember. Sinfully, I imagine. How long has it been since he touched me? How long will I feel the ghost of his fingers, tracing me, claiming me, remembering my response, when a gentle breeze washes over my sensitive skin?
In every daily exertion or nocturnal reclined position, there is the potential of response, with the mere idea of his presence. The gasp wrought from my lips, when entering the ocean to swim, reminds me of the changing temperature when he covered my body; when he submerses inside of my mind, when he purposefully took my body. I want, I want, I want. It forever impacts my life.
I want to inhale him, bury my face into his neck as he holds me. I can feel the hardness of his chest and shoulders. I can feel the tautness of his stomach as he flexes and adjusts his hold on me, as he moves to reposition me. I can feel his body, his hands, as he cups my jaw to lift my face for his kiss. The weight of his lips, knocks the breath from me like a well landed punch, during a lightweight boxing match.
Carnal attraction; desperate physical longing, subservient to sexual desire, demanding immediate conquest. How I crave his entry into my soul, using my body as the medium. I want my being to be the canvas, to his craven cock proud art. I want him to play with me until exhaustion and have him push me, push me, push me until all limits have vanished into the sweet spent, wet offerings that are left between us.
Lust. It’s a word rarely used, often neglected and highly sought after. It imprints onto your mind until every sinful desire becomes a shallow representation, a shadowed image of the reality it encapsulates. He is the only reason that ever existed; the cause of my mind wandering and my body aching with unreleased sensual tension. There is no solace in another’s arms, when my mind and soul are elsewhere.