New erotica! Black Love by the Afghan Whigs I decide I wa..

New erotica! Black Love by the Afghan Whigs I decide I want to write to an album. I pull up Spotify and my saved albums. Black Love by the Afghan Whigs is first on the list. I immediately think about you. You have amazing taste in music. Or, at least, since taste is subjective, you have an amazingly deep and wide knowledge of music. You care about precise language. I miss you pressing me to justify my moral intuitions and beliefs. You know a dizzying array of artists and songs. I remember our mutual friend telling me in his own amazement how your favorite songs playlist had over 1,000 songs. And you can play music well. I remember spending an afternoon in your loft. It felt like a treehouse, but with more records. Walls plastered with band posters. You’re a hipster without an ounce of pretense. If there’s anything you should be famous for, and there is a lot you’re already famous for, you are a public intellectual after all, it’s your publicly declaring that you do not love anything ironically. You love it with your whole heart, earnestly, and that’s the only way to live. You put on records. I think it might have included Pete Yorn’s musicforthemorningafter. We laid in your bed. At one point I took a fire selfie. Sometimes I wish we’d fucked. I can’t say that about many people. But you were scary. There was enough there that it could have ruined something precious to me. I didn’t want to date you. But I needed access to you. Your brain is one of the most incredible things I’ve ever encountered. Your memory is impressive enough. But your argumentation is exquisite. And you don’t argue to win. You argue to learn. You’re one of the most curious people I’ve ever met. You find weak spots in ideas I miss, and I’m not bad at poking holes in ideas. You order your objections brilliantly. You discern what’s important accurately and quickly. But if I hadn’t been worried about ruining things between us, it would have been interesting to let you undress me. I can’t imagine you as anything but a patient, eager, enthusiastic, hardworking lover. I feel like you would have worshipped my body. You waited so long. I know you would have taken your time fucking me. Kissing me softly, then deeply, then softly again. Brushing your lips against mine, slightly wet. Sucking my bottom lip in gently. The pressure sending zaps of pleasure to my pussy. You would have taken it between your teeth so gently. You’d scrape your teeth across my bottom lip just slightly enough to scare me a little. You’d take my dress off, and take me in wearing the padded, lift-up bra I used to wear and the cotton leggings I still wear under dresses. “You are so beautiful,” you would say, very earnestly. And I would blush. Because of course. You’d unhook my bra. You’d just barely touch the pads of your fingers to my little pink nipples. “You’re perfect,” you’d say. I’d kiss you, and you’d take each of my nipples into your mouth as gently as you’d touched them. I’d start to touch myself over my leggings, and get close to cumming immediately from you licking my nipples. You’d notice from my moans and stop. “I don’t want you to cum yet. Is that okay?” Knowing how much harder I will come if I can delay it, I agree enthusiastically. You lick my nipples, stopping when I get too close, edging me for a lifetime and no time at all. I’m totally disconnected from time. I’m super turned on. “I need to see you,” you say. “All of you.” And you kneel in front of me, still standing. You kiss my stomach, “God you are gorgeous,” you say, taking my waist between your hands and giving it a squeeze. You kiss near the edge of my waistband, then peel it down and kiss underneath. You peel them off my ample ass, making noises of appreciation of my plump caboose. Then you tell me I’m in amazing shape as you kiss my newly bare thighs. And you push me backwards onto your bed. In my startle you crawl in between my open legs. You kiss my thighs up and down. Every time you get close to my pussy I get nervous. “You smell amazing,” you say. Your pussy is beautiful. I can’t wait to taste you but I’m going to tease myself a bit first.” I nearly come then and there. I involuntarily push my pussy toward your face. But I like the rocking feeling, so I keep doing it while you tease me with your lips and fingertips, lightly brushing my inner and outer thighs. “Flip over,” you say. I obey, and you head toward the backs of my knees. You breathe on the back of my left knee and I feel both a strong desire to bend my leg and a zapping in my pussy again. I feel a strong desire to touch my pussy when you lightly brush your lips against my extremely sensitive skin. I resist touching myself, but I’m so ready for you to make out with my pulsing, dripping, engorged pussy. Finally, you flip me over onto my back again. You take your shirt off, finally. You look at my pussy like it’s your favorite food and you cannot wait to dig in. “Fuck, I love smelling you,” you say. But instead of diving in, you kiss the skin where my leg touches my mound, sucking it slightly into your mouth and licking it before letting it go and finishing the kiss. I’m dying. I’m pushing my clit toward your face. But you’re not having it. You put one hand on either thigh and push me into the mattress. Then you suck on my lip, ignoring my clit entirely. I’m immobilized. I’m not coming but I can’t speak or move. I’m not sure I’m capable of complete thoughts. When you lick the crease next to my clit in a slow and steady rhythm I start to plateau and know if you don’t stop I’m going to come. You don’t stop, and I tumble into an intense orgasm. Copious quantities of energy from my pent-up desire explode through my brain and body.