Not coded, yet modest in its own way, an exposure of sorts…
I thrust my tongue into your ear. I slather spit in the whorls. Rimming hair and wax. Baby ass soft. Behind its curling I let my exploration enjoy the rasp of your short hair. Half asleep you grumble. I grab your piss hard-on. Your turn is blocked by my squeeze. My nipples want to leave dents in your shoulder blades. I’m not budging.
Intriguing to read this almost twenty years on from its time of composition. The attention to texture endures.
And so for day 452