Some people drift in and out of your life, bringing joy or sorrow but seemingly without purpose. Others seem to arrive with a mission. Reflecting on your time with them makes you want to believe in fate… in a higher power… because their arrival seems more than serendipitous. One such visitor in my life was T. He arrived when I needed him the most and when I asked him to leave, he did so without anger… there was no recrimination. He was a beautiful person and I loved him dearly. The year we had was precious and I thank him for treating me with dignity, loving me unconditionally, and accepting that I could not be what he wanted me to be.
I chose him purposely because I did not find him particularly attractive. Choosing based on appearances had netted disastrous results previously. I knew that I needed to be worshiped… needed someone to bolster my self esteem. I chose him for his spirit and thought the sex would be second-rate and easy to leave behind. I did not count on falling in love. And the sex? The sex was fantastic. I knew I was in trouble when we spent our first afternoon in a hotel… when he picked me up and sat me on his cock… but not before saying in the softest voice, “You sure this is what you want?“
Ah, T, I think of him from time-to-time when I see a question mark because one vein on his cock looked just like a question mark. I would lay between his legs and trace it with my finger or tongue and marvel as his cock would engorge… and the question mark would morph into an exclamation point. Never have I had more fun with punctuation. Mostly, I think of him when I eat a mango, even though we always disagreed on that flavor.
I wrote this for T years ago… and recalling our time together still brings a smile to my face.
The first time he tasted her they were in his van
He slipped his hand between her legs
under her skirt
finding no panties
he slid one finger in her pussy and brought it to his mouth
he said she tasted like mango
And forever after… he would bring her the fruit when he could find it, ripe and plump
slicing off chunks with his pocketknife
holding the fruit to her mouth
smiling as she sucked it off his blade
juice on her chin
laughing, he would lick it off
When I know who has created a work of literature, art, graphic, etc, I give credit where credit is due. Extend me the same courtesy… don’t steal my work, m’kay? (legal shit)