Being naked around you was hard. You weren’t like a lot of other men I had dallied around with in that I could never read your expression. I could never read your thoughts.
The others? I knew what they thought and I knew what they wanted. I was to be traversed. I was to be scaled. Conquered. Ascended. Mounted.
They couldn’t hide their desire, it dripped from the corners of their mouth when their teeth were bared. From that dripping I knew what they thought; I was dinner and they were going to feast.
But you just stared at me. Not through me or past me, but at me. You studied me, as if you were taking measurements of the terrain so your hand placement and footing would be exact.
You plotted your next move. There was no instinct or wild fury that you unleashed. Everything you did was for a reason. When you cupped between my legs it was to loosen my back and knees to make me more pliable. Your thumb against my lips was to coax me to suckle and bite at it, and when I did you would redirect my face to the side so you could sink your teeth into my neck. And even this act, something seemingly driven by hunger was meant to have me make one of two moves; bring you in tight with my legs wrapping around your waist or to drop listless into your arms and become an amenable doll for your every whim.
Even if we shared these moments of carnal depravity I still questioned your mind. You wanted me, or did you? I’d had become so accustomed to being ravaged that a methodical approach to orgasmic bliss never became comfortable. Although that is the story of our relationship, I was never fully comfortable with you and you sure as hell weren’t with me. But when you wanted me you were of single mind and focus. I never knew what hit me.
But being naked around you was hard, which was strange because I had never felt self conscious about my body. Men usually grunted in approval when I disrobed. I grew to enjoy that sound because it felt natural. It was pure. You can’t fake that.
That stare of yours was piercing and I felt you could read my thoughts. You could pick out every insecurity that I had. My breasts were too small. My shoulders too broad. My fingers too thin and long. I wasn’t skinny enough, slightly pudgy and not at all firm like the workout models you were so often known for cavorting with. You didn’t tell me any of these things but society has made every beautiful woman question herself.
To feel less naked I bought a necklace. It was a small, golden necklace that locked at the back of my neck and had another strand that ran a few inches down my chest. It hung there along my cleavage before I removed my bra and I think it distracted you, which was funny to think. The smartest man I’d ever slept with distracted by something shiny. I always smiled when I unhooked my bra for you and that look wavered.
I’d walk over to you and your plotting wasn’t set. Your moves not worked out. The advantage was mine and I plowed myself into you before you could focus. My lips would crash against yours while my hands unbuttoned your shirt all the way down to your pants. A race against time as your disoriented state would only last a short amount of time before adrenaline kicked in. I wanted you in me before that happened.
Often I’d beckon to your masculine nature and kiss whimpers into your ear of wanting and need. I would hypnotize you into controlling your hands to remove your pants and plunge your desire inside of me. Then I had won. You were mine and we would fuck and my hands would be in your hair begging you to finish, all the while you were begging me not to stop.
You were one of my last steps to confidence and it was one of the more difficult lessons to learn. A man can make you feel beautiful, but he can also make you question it if you let him. However, a man will always find you beautiful, and he can’t win if you know that.
You rarely won after that first time. You couldn’t hold your stare on me and I’d win our battle more and more often. We’d both win, in the end, but you were a child and couldn’t stand being on equal footing as if someone knew you than you’d like them to. It’s why we didn’t last.
I’m comfortable in any stage of undress now, thanks to you. I’d say thank you but I think I’d rather just make you wish you could hear those sweet murmuring kisses against your ear begging you to take me. I bet you wish you could still beg me too.
Just Like Lana 