Waiting On Words

They say that drowning is the worst day to die, but I like it. I’ve drowned countless times diving into those bright blue eyes. Every smile, every lip bite, every time our eyes meet is a petite mort and I love every second of it. I let the colour of her eyes break into my lungs ant take me to beyond.

I press her body against mine while she faces me with that 1940’s look that she can do so well. The groove of our bodies looks like it came from some sensual latin dance. It’s far from being just sex.

I take it slow, I cherish every second, I don’t want it to ever end. I want her around my cock, her neck on my teeth, my back on her nails. I want it all nonstop.

This is not lime me. I usually speed up, I want to be alone as soon as possible, I want to cum and be left alone again. With her is not like that, I don’t even worry about cumming, I only worry about merging our bodies and become one with this girl. What’s going on with me?

The fact that I’m completely stoned doesn’t help in my reverie and I feel my cock losing the stiffness that up until 15 seconds ago was its most remarkable characteristc. Fucking weed. I try harder, but my head spins and my thoughts start to take me to places that are way too dark. She looks into my eyes, petite mort, I stop everything and lay my head between her breasts.

I come back to reality there, with my face against her skin, her hands in my hair and her legs still around my ribs. She kisses my forehead and gets up to get some water. I look at her arse, swinging as she walks, she shoots me that look again. Petite mort. Everything’s gonna be just fine.

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