Today I’m an Octopus Lover
He didn’t seem to mind
He cut through my words
“So, what do you want?”
I fumbled around…
“Nothing. I do not know. I have so much already…”
He waited, unwavering from his question. Not retreating, not advancing, simply standing there, holding the pole for my next desire to come out as a request.
“Well”, I said. “I want to press my face into yours at the cheek.”
“I want to rub my chin firm and slow across your jaw and feel the scratchy stubble there while I take in your musky smell.
I want our legs to be all twisted together like pretzels.
I want one of your hands on my butt and the other in my hair.
I want to hear you say that you love me, and I am doing a great job.
I want to kiss you, rapid-fire on the lips while you struggle to keep up.
I want our skin touching skin, every inch.
I want to be soft with you, tender and held.”
…and then I took a long breath.
“OK,” he said.
Sometimes he calls me an octopus.
The way I like to envelop him with all my limbs and ooze us into one blob of skin. He finds the whole thing overwhelming but maybe it is just one more way I create shame in my lovemaking.
Maybe I am an ooey-gooey octopus. A strange, boneless, sticky creature. A slimy, sensual alien.
Maybe I am a regular woman, who likes it how I like it, and sometimes I like it soft and warm and slow and I want to feel
Every.
Little.
Thing.
Today he did not seem to mind.
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