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Smelling and Tasting Your Lover vs. Your Husband
Eroticism Can’t be Taught
My husband this morning tried to turn me on. He kissed my ear, my neck, my shoulders and breasts. So far, so good. He knew exactly what spots made me writhe.
“Oh, yes,” I said.
“Do you like this?”
“Mmm.”
Until he reached down to play with my pussy.
As he tried to finger me, his nails were a bit sharp and not having the desired effect.
“Where is your slime?” he asked.
“What? You didn’t just say that.”
Am I married to a 14-year-old?
“That’s not very erotic,” I added.
“I know but that’s what it is,” he said.
He washed his fingers afterwards like it was toxic sludge. Body fluids were part of sex. And good lovers liked getting messy.
“I want your juices all over me,” is what my current lover says in bed. “I love the way you taste.”
He licked his fingers after touching me.
That was erotic.
Someone so accepting of your sexuality that they wanted every part of you.
