My list of chores stretches to the horizon and there I leave them, choosing instead to daydream and noodle among the clouds. I imagine I’m placing my lips at the waistband of your boxers, starting with feather-light kisses and then gently nipping at your skin before tugging them down a bit with my teeth. They slide down your hips easily, revealing the line of muscle that makes a perfect V, an arrow guiding me where I want to go. My mouth and tongue trace that line with painstaking deliberateness.
And then you’re in my mouth for the first time. My brain fights to stay in the moment while desperately trying to memorize your scent, taste and texture. Remember this. Remember how his skin warmed you to your bones. Remember the words he whispered in your ear. Remember the way he caressed your face. These things you mustn’t forget.
I pretend that you stroke my hair while I settle my head on your chest and let my fingers draw delicate patterns on your abdomen. I listen to your voice and quiet laughter rumble through your body while we rest in the aftermath of desire consummated, content to