Self-discovery

I feel like such a filthy person
as I’m only now embarking on
a journey of self-discoveries,
lagging years behind my peers.
But I’ve never heard the nature call
in this respect before, like at all.
I don’t know if it’s due to age or
because of the pills I’m taking for
my hormonal imbalance or just
for the sheer sex-appeal of the last
guy I’ve fallen in love with. Maybe
it’s because of how this he-baby
one May night in dance snuggled to me;
how close to the bottom he touched me
—the lowest a guy ever dared to—
I started getting these urges too.
He awoke my carnal side and now
I’m too weak to resist them somehow.
It’s when I think of him that I get
these compulsions which need to be met
and satisfied through self-maintaining.
So in such moments I imagine
it’s him working me up with the utmost zeal.
Oh, darling, how I wish it was real!
His fingers entangled in my hair
during an ardent eye-to-eye stare.
Moving on with his lips on my neck,
each their touch ending up with a smack,
his one hand caressing and squeezing
my boobs while the other one’s crawling
even further down between the tights,
accompanied by my luscious sights
when it finds the point of ecstasy,
fulfilling my secret fantasy.
In exchange I give my love-buddy
a sensual kissing whole-body
massage followed by wide opening
my eager lap, inviting him in.
Our hot bodies, fused into one,
keep rolling over, just having fun.
We could stay the whole weekend in bed,
getting up only to get us fed
and for the toilet at most, spending
the time curiously exploring
each other’s body. It’s marvellous
what it can do when the proper nerves
are triggered by touch and excited;
how much pleasure can come out of it.
I find especially amazing
and wondrous how such a tiny thing,
but a little nub of skin and nerves,
can recall such an intense response.
Gee, I could have—would have been
potentially quite a sex machine,
if any of the guys I’ve fallen
in love with so far had just given
me a chance their girlfriend to become
—particularly the last of them.
After all, I’m an artist and thus
my imagination is endless,
practically, and so it would be
even in this kind of things, likely.
Perhaps if I now returned to my
original dark hair and did try
to straighten it to make it real sleek,
and wore glasses with a frame black, thick,
he’d find me finally alluring
to try this whole relationship thing
instead of keeping running away.
Or I could at least always role-play
such a femme with wigs, if he so willed.
Indeed, I’d be quite eager and thrilled
to spice things up occasionally
with costumes to keep the spark lively.