Those Lips That Love’s Own Hand Did Make

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I moaned as I softly harassed her breasts.

 

She wiped my lips for I was drooling. She stroked my chest to comfort me, to momentarily retard my thirst. Intensely anxious to engage in whatever we were doing, she instinctively disrobed. She lifted her shirt. The only covering she had left was her bra, so she unhooked it.

 

She was now nude from hips up, chest exposed.

 

At that instant, I knew what to do. She gently groaned as I sucked her nipples. They were warm—as always. It was intuition, as if I was born to do it. It felt like I was draining milk from her bosom with too much gusto.

 

But she enjoyed it.

 

After a while, I released the breasts from my grip. I fell asleep. At last my craving was satisfied.

 

She was aware that I was fulfilled. And that for her is the ultimate orgasm.

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You probably pictured the text above as a display of lust. But in fact if you read it again, you’d realize that you might be mistaken. This could be interpreted as an infant being breastfed. The story is a deconstruction, parts are left to the reader’s imagination.

The idea is not original, though. I borrowed it from Kelly’s “D.E.N.S.E.C.I.T.Y.” blog. [Thanks Kelly!] Since I liked (in fact ‘loved’) her post, I wrote my version. It’s much more personal since it’s written in a first person form.

Wala lang. Hakhak.

XXXxx