Let's Not Forget the Other Sex

Hello Loves,


Vice here.


I rhapsodize and yearn verbally for women--all the time.  But today I give a nod to men. Men, men, men, in all of their complexity, simplicity and delicious man-ness.

Some of my favorites....and they are clothed, darlings, because nothing is sexier than a man who can undress me with his eyes, his smile, his voice.

 There is something magical about a man's hands. I think I look at them and wonder how they would feel on my skin, touching my face. I want to know how his fingers would feel sliding up and down my slit, delving into my pussy, my cunt, come hither-ing on my g-spot 'till I come.

I love scratchy faces between my thighs. I love tasting my cunt juice on unshaven chins. I love the sound of a man coming--make noise, men. It's the manly thing to do.

I love graying men. I love salt and pepper men. I love all-gray men. These are like my Bent--the wizened apes who know how to mount and dismount with aplomb--the wizened ape, the animal all young bucks ought to pay attention to. If they do they will have their fill of women. Because we women don't necessarily go for the prettiest man. No. We want men to see us, know us. We want them to crawl inside of our skins and move around in us. We want to be understood.

I am turned on immeasurably by men who read my words.

My Bent reads every word I write. He turns me on.

Is it ego? No. Not entirely, anyway. No, it's like a woman who goes to see a man on the playing field. She sees his animal nature and honors it; she sees his warrior and wants to tame it. Briefly.

A man reads my words and he is inside me, in the inner-most part of my brain. He is inside my hole, my whole, my holy being...he squirms inside and thrusts deeply and I gasp at the pleasure he gives me when he reads my words.

Some men--men I see in passing, men whose pictures I peruse, like the one above--maybe--maybe not, but especially my Bent when I first exchanged emails with him--some men I want in my mouth immediately. There is this delicious, gratifying, honey that comes from their cocks that tastes like ambrosia.  I call it 'pre-cum', but it's really called pre-ejaculate. Whatever. It's honey. I love to stretch it out between his cock and my tongue; I love to roll it around in my mouth and I suck greedily at the first signs of it.

I love the smell of man.

I love the way his balls, between his sack and his thighs, smell. Musky, sensual, dark, rich...like good tobacco. I love nuzzling that part of him. I love tasting that part of him.

When I take a cock in my mouth, I use my hands. I rub all of him. I love the powerful feeling I get from him trusting me with his manhood in my mouth, between my lips, down my throat.

I love feeling him press his cock between my belly and his.

When Bent slides inside of my cunt, my eyes invariably spring open and alive. I can feel every inch of him in every inch of me. He settles into me, his face next to mine, his ass between my legs so I can touch it, grasp it, say "harder, faster" with my arms and touch. He slaps, sails, sighs, slides in and out, just right, the rhythm moving me, coaxing me wetter, hotter, pulsing heat starting in my spine, spiraling down, down....

my lower stomach has warmth that spreads through it....

then it turns fiery and almost intolerable....

I explode over him and my cum shoots from me, wetting his balls as they slap on me harder and faster. His balls are cold with the moisture dripping from them. My cum is like his pre-cum, only less slippery, and I feel it dripping as he moves, pleasuring himself in my cunt. 

I am mother Earth and he is father sky and there are places where I end and he begins but that no one can see, they can only watch as the two intertwine. We are that place. He is my Bent. He is my Love.

And I'm his.

Love,

Vice