He Wants His Tongue Inside Me

He Wants His Tongue Inside Me

That's what he says. And he really means it.

Truly, I am not sold on the idea.

Because I have no interest in recreational sex

with him or anyone else.

At 30, I can get myself off just fine

without a slobbery man around, and even

handsome self-controlled men have issues.

I do like boys. I think about joys with boys

while I use my expert yellow dildo,

while I get the purple vibrator in the precise

place at the precise speed for maximum, sacred

spiritual, oh God, oh God, experiences.

So his tongue inside me has crosses my mind.

The idea scurries off. I chase it away, knowing

I have better things to do, money to earn, places to go,

I do not want a come and go, hung, hung fuck buddy.

I do not want sexual involvement, or romantic involvement

with mandatory responsibilities and complications

those things I do not wish to shoulder or put up with.

Well, oh fuck. Oh, just fuck me. After this swirling,

accurate and rational parade of sensible ideas,

he remains so sweet, smart, gentle and generous.

After all this...

I open my thighs and he smiles.