Eroticism Can’t Be Taught
Smelling and tasting your lover.
This morning, my husband tried to turn me on. He kissed my ear, my neck, my shoulders, and my breasts. So far, so good. He knew exactly what spots made me writhe.
“Oh, yes,” I said.
“Do you like this?”
“Mmm.”
Until he reached down to play with my pussy.
As he tried to finger me, his nails were a bit sharp and not having the desired effect.
“Where is your slime?” he asked.
“What? You didn’t just say that.”
Am I married to a 14-year-old?
“That’s not very erotic,” I added.
“I know, but that’s what it is,” he said.
He washed his fingers afterwards like it was toxic sludge. Body fluids were part of sex. And good lovers liked getting messy.
“I want your juices all over me,” is what my current lover says in bed. “I love the way you taste.”
He licked his fingers after touching me.
That was erotic.
Someone so accepting of your sexuality that they wanted every part of you.
