by
M. Zora
She knows what I want, things I can’t open my mouth to say. It’s as if my desires are something she can see, read. And she doesn’t judge them. She just gives me what I want, looking into my eyes and if I am shy or ashamed, looking away to give me time to adjust to being known in yet another way.

The first time it became clear that she intended to add a thumb to the four fingers inside of me, something in my mind snapped. Gates clanged open and I saw the desire which I’d denied, judged, never articulated. I looked at it from all sides, sniffed it, licked it and acknowledged it as my own. This need to be more than entered, more than filled; to be stretched, pushed beyond my limits challenged mentally &physically and forced to trust. And I saw that she had seen this need within me & far from being despised, I was being embraced. My limbs turned cold.

With her free hand, she stroked my thighs, stroked me through. She murmured to me, moving slowly and waited for me to invite her in. And when I did, I felt so loved, so exposed & in that nakedness both powerful and weak. Her wristbone entered me, and I began to weep and cum, turning, her arm still within me as I released years of shame, of loneliness and embraced the beauty of being known.

The End

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