On cravings

I am craving many things at the moment.

I am craving a hotel afternoon in a spacious and luxuriously-appointed bed, with a sturdy and comfortable couch, large shower and hours with the door shut to fuck and cleanse and recover and eat and drink wine and fuck all over again.

I am craving Mr OMG’s bare chest against mine. This is not a healthy craving but I wonder if acknowledging a weakness makes it more or less weak. I keep thinking about him sitting with his legs bent and lowering myself on him and feeling glorious warm pain that I never want to end.

I think I am craving to be fisted by a woman with refined fingers and a slender wrist.

If not, I’ll crave being fisted again by a man.

I am craving lying sideways, being embraced by two naked men, feeling the erection of the one at the front grinding into my pelvis, and the hand of the one at the rear reaching around and massaging my middle places into alarming warmth and wetness. His hand will brush the other’s cock because I want them to also crave each other.

This leads to my craving for double penetration.

I am craving the man I met at a party. I don’t mix my social life with the pursuit of sexual partners, but he bowled me over with attraction and the more we talked, the more I wanted his expressive hands caressing my backside. This craving needs to subside in its own time because he was visiting from interstate and staying with a dear friend who doesn’t know of my nocturnal hobbies; the potential complications were too many. I only went that far in my thinking because he liked me, too.

I am craving someone regular. I am adapting to having casual suitors flitting around but they are still ancillary to my desire for someone who wants more than rushed basics. Pleasure Freak, Young Lion and Young Tradesman are on notice that I’m not seeing them unless it’s to indulge in my craving for a hotel afternoon.

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