I understand we are all different. Sometimes a note is just the right medicine for you. Or maybe words of affirmation.
For me? I’m a cuddler. A perfect Saturday with you looks like us butt naked on the leather sectional, Game of Thrones on binge mode, my flaccid dick popping to life every so often and pressed up against your naked butt with your body in my arms, one hand on your tit, the other cupping your pussy.
I love to spoon. I love to hold you. It’s just how I feel at peace. I’ve been a cuddler since as long back as I could remember.
To be honest, I typically don’t want to cuddle right after sex. But trust me, you won’t want to either. You will be busy recovering and hoping I let you regain some sensibility.
Water. That will sound better than a hug.
I think women in general who like cuddling after sex sometimes do so because they are still horny, left unfulfilled by their man. Pussy on fire as they ask themselves “is that it?”, so they want to be held, because they can’t feel released. In actuality, they just want to be fucked, well.
But if you are taking a handful of orgasms at the helm of my passion, you will want me to leave you the fuck alone while you pull yourself off the bed.
But still, once we recover, bring your naked ass over to Papa so I can wrap my arms around you. Turn on HBO. Resume Season 3. Until Mr Pokey visits your backside again. Then press pause.
I can feel you. Hearts can cross the greatest distance even when our feet cannot. To be able to feel your warm touch daily would be a piece of absolute paradise, but recognizing the whisper of your soul talking to me in our secret morse code…is heaven in itself.
We spend entirely too much time missing one another, yet we talk multiple times a day. In spoken and non-spoken words. I can tell you anything in our trust. You challenge my thoughts, inspire every beat of my heart, love my broken messiness, and make me want to be my best version of myself.
My bare heart can at times be frightening, I know this. It scares the hell out of me. It is strong as the echo of thunder and as fragile as delicate blown glass, yet you carry it safely and protect it with all that you are. We are one another’s peace and happiness, even in the midst of storms. Our love is a miracle and even that needs a little rain to help it grow and thrive.
Submission must be earned. Not expected. Certainly not commanded. But if you win it and keep it… the world will be your oyster. Your dreams will seem insignificant compared to your reality.
Mischief's Muse 