Unashamedly Heterosexual

This is my reality. I love men. The deep timbre of their voices, their angles, and broad shoulders, beards, and mustaches, and that tuft of hair in the center of their chests. I love men's muscled arms and chests and their strength. (Especially when I'm trying to open a pickle jar.)

I've tried driving in other lanes and it just disappointed me. If you like the oncoming lane, you should revel in it and be loved there. Let me stay in my lane and enjoy myself. Don't put me down for being true to myself.

To me, there is nothing better than hearing a low growl whispering into my ears, with a man's day-old beard tugging at the delicate skin in the back of my neck. It sends shockwaves down to my core, making me writhe.

I love feeling a man's rough hands tracing their way down the soft skin of my back, raising goose-bumps all over my body. Whisker burns on the back of my knees will probably get rewarded with something very nice. I love rewarding men with things they like. I'm not ashamed of it. It's a love language and I am adept at speaking it. My husband claims I'm the best. That may be an exaggeration, because he only tells me that while I'm in the middle of it. He's never mentioned it at church or at a family dinner.

The taste of a man's salty sweat on my tongue and the smell of hard work and soap makes me crazy. Only men possess these tastes and smells. I've never met a woman who didn't have an overpowering scent of perfume to her and it just wasn't my cup of tea.

It's the differences I love. My curves and his angles. My softness and his strength. His firm touch and my tender caresses. A man's directness making me feel like I'm surrendering, even if it was my idea. Somehow, I like that in the bedroom. Just don't tell me how to balance my damned check book.

Standing on my toes for a kiss makes me melt. I'm only 4'10", so it doesn't take much. But, I want my lover to be bigger than I am. It makes me feel safe, protected, sheltered. Men do that best for me. Sorry, if it feels old fashioned. I want to feel like my lover is protecting me.

Men's kisses are better too. Their lips are harder and more insistent, as opposed to my soft, tentative lips. Their facial hair tickles my cheeks and adds to the turn on. Also, I've never met a man who didn't know how to instinctively add just the right amount of tongue diving to a kiss, which turns my insides into jelly.

Kisses with whisker burns down my throat and beyond make me squeal. I've only met men who can do that. Believe it or not, I love religious men. The ones who make an art out of missionary. Oh, my. A man's strong arms (preferably hairy) balanced on either side of me, with sinews straining? Forget the rest. That's all I need. There's something primal about watching a man's arms while they are poised above you, ready to become a part of you.

I haven't even gotten to the man equipment. By the time a man gets to that point it won't take much to push me over the edge. But, yes, I prefer man equipment to woman parts any day. Man parts any size or shape will do. They are a magnificent miracle which I never truly understood until I saw an adult one close up for the first time. I never get tired of watching that miracle.

So, yes, let me stay in my lane. There is nothing better for me than being loved by a man.

No apologies.