The Rebuilding of Men
An ode to men and the love of cock sucking
I love men.
And I don’t think they get enough due.
They’re interesting, beautifully beasty beings. Watch one work away at what he loves and tell me different.
I have a heart and a pussy that I may take care of on my own, but both which flourish when sprinkled with the time, attention, and touch of a man.
The muscles that ripple underneath a thin layer of cotton. The sweat that beads and falls as a testament to their efforts and a treat to the eyes that behold them.
Smile at one from your heart, and watch what happens to his face.
Wink at one from your bike as you whizz by and you’ll likely make his day.
Find you one that knows some shit. And then ask him about it. Better yet, get him to show you.
The music he loves. The games he plays.
Watch him where he spends his time.
How he moves, and breathes. How he holds still.
Watch where his eyes go. When the corners of his mouth lift. Or droop. Or, if things go really right, point in different directions.
Take a look at the tips of his fingers, where he holds his weight. It may tell you a little something about what he holds in his heart.
Stop and smell the musky cloud they leave in their wake.
Sure, some reek of machismo and false pretenses, but others hold the power of their lineage in their stance, taking up real estate as if they own the title to the land.
And oh, may you experience the grace of a man who knows how to love a woman. How he dips into her soul with a soft glance across a busy room. The artful lift of an eyebrow that elicits a hearty yes, regardless of what it’s implying.
The softly cupped hand on the small of your back divulging his deepest desires. Trust me, it says. Release yourself to me.
The roundness of his shoulders, the heedfulness of his steps, the tilt of his head as he dances with a woman who has meant something.
While we tear them down, although most often rightfully so, may we remember to build them back up again. Let’s show them the love they seem to have forgotten they’re in need of.
It’s, in part anyway, why I love sucking cock. I love making love to their dick with my mouth. I like teasing the rim with the tip of my tongue, then letting it trace every inch of their length as I inhale their manliness as deep as it will go. I love giving that little twist with my hand, switching up my pace and intensity as I move up and down his beautiful shaft. And yes, I’m even learning to love lubing them up with my spit, it’s the extra umph that always elicits an animalistic rumble, a tightening of the hand wrapped up in my hair, their constraint threatening to spill over. A threat I beg them to make good on with every intentional gag, forcing expletives to spill from their lips.
This is how I pay homage to the men I’ve spent my life admiring — let me fondle your precious jewels while I relish every sweet drip of your cum.
Let me make you see God.
XO,
VLF
