The Progression

Wet again. Stiff pant. You know the drill by now.

Same three. Her, the two men, me. Same everything. I did what I did last time, knees on the floor, both of them, took my time, got them ready. They went to her. I watched that part. She was as devastating as always, every time my brain reconstructs her she comes out more gorgeous, which seems physiologically impossible but apparently my subconscious has very high standards.

And then, after. When they finished.

I went to her and I cleaned her. With my mouth. Knelt between her thighs and cleaned the creampie out of her slowly, thoroughly, all of it, while she lay there looking down at me with her hand resting loosely in my hair.

I am not going to explain what this means. I am not qualified to explain what this means. Some part of me is clearly working through something at night that I refuse to engage with during daylight hours, and I have decided that is a completely sustainable arrangement.

The dreams are getting more specific. More detailed. Each one adds a layer.

I’m just going to keep writing them down and not thinking about them. That’s working great so far.