v u l v a l i c i o u s
Waiting, thinking, wanting--this is what I'm doing
I'm watching dyke porn and thinking of the total lack of hair pulling in my life.
I'm sitting at the coffeehouse, actually drinking coffee for the first time in a long time while I write about her, the reason I'm drinking coffee.
I'm flirting with the grrl across the table, thinking I shouldn't screw this up. We're laughing, and I swear she would let me put my hand on her knee if she were next to me.
I'm screwing things up, because when it comes to grrls, that's what I do.
I'm on the verge of tears from saying goodbye, and she has this far away-close look in her eyes that makes me wonder how she feels about me.
I'm wondering who I'll kiss next, and if it will feel good.
I'm wondering how far away Memphis is, and if it's worth the drive to see the grrl again, even though I know I haven't got the time or the money or the place to stay to make it worthwhile.
I'm wondering how it would feel to fuck every grrl that I've really wanted to fuck in the past few months. It is at least five, probably more.
I'm thinking about fucking them all at once, and the impossibilities of so many different energies actually coming together in one space. Some would just need more personal attention.
I'm thinking about tits and teeth and sweat. The smell of grrls. A hand catch catch catch gliding over skin.
I'm wondering where my next good lay is hiding. I waiting for it to find me under the hot covers of a southern summer.
I'm thinking that I should find it, and that waiting is the worst idea I've ever had. Motion: forward. Fucking: hard.
I'm asking you to kiss me while I run my hand up your back, to the back of your head, pull your hair slightly (then harder, harder). I'm thinking that one good kiss could get me through the summer.