Courtesy of your wandering hands I am now dressed in nothing but the black cotton bandana pulled tight around my wrist -
Which I have recently discovered that wearing it on my right wrist is a sign in the queer community that you are a sub...
well its not totally wrong.
Its also a sign of comfort to me. I wrapped it as a comfort blanket to protect me from prying eyes and now i'm in this moment entangled with you - entwined with each other.
I am wearing nothing but my bandanna and I realise I don't even need that.
Right now I don't need a comfort blanket, I don't need a crutch to hide behind or a blind fold over the rest of the world. Because I have this moment.
Your lips trailing across my body in soft touches and gentle bites.
You are cold hands pressed against warm skin.
They are draped around my neck in purples, blues and browns.
Your voice, your moans, your breath now embedded into my skin... into my collar bones.
And yes i am as high as a kite and a little tipsy but the second we collide under duvets on heated blankets - I am Sober.
All i am dunk on is you. The way you smile - or in other moments... the way you don't, The way your body arches into my hips as my hands edge you to climax. The way your eyes say everything...
Keep going. I want you. I admire you. I love you.
I am high on the way you make my breath flutter and my skin rise into mountainous valley of goosebumps that has me in an attempt not to scream, biting my lips or my hand or your shoulder.
I'm high on the feeling of ecstasy your body induces me into.
I crumble under the undeniable bliss. And when its all over i lay in nothing but my bandanna, draped in your body-
Legs tangled, hands tracing bones, tracing curves following familiar patterns: Jawlines, Hairlines, Hips, Thighs, Collars, Cheeks.
In nothing but a bandanna and you and a moon drenched moment. We both catch eyes telling all we think in one look and sigh...
"What?... What is it?" "You know."