I am no fucking pussy. I claim what is mine.
When I set my sights on you, I knew right away that I had to have you.
The first time I heard your voice, something happened and it was apparent to me that this was not like anything else. The first words rang in my ears and even now I still hear that beautiful honest voice, crisp as the cold Iowan air that is surrounding me at this very moment. That fucking voice, capping me at the knees, even in its absence, I still hear it every single night when I close my eyes, remembering the way it feels to swim in your fountain.
The long days and nights on the phone that always felt like a clipped moment, never getting enough of your precious mind. We dove into each other’s lives and it never once got tiresome, as I’d find more and more subplots in the book of your life, which I just could not stop turning pages of.
I never could get enough of you. Ever.
I never will, though I know that choice is not always mine to make. The more I learned, the more I felt you, the more I gave, the more you received the very best parts of me, yet I was and never will be satiated.
Never wanting another woman more than you in all of my years, just the idea of mentioning that invokes a comparison, all so I may emphasize your worth, yet the idea of a comparison always feels dishonorable. Nevertheless, I reach for a word that doesn’t exist all so that you can really, truly, ‘Goddamn it give me a word so that she can understand’ what the fuck you mean to me.
How you make me fucking feel.
I guess Love is the word, but I can’t take saying it back to all the undeserving idiots before the moment you ever entered my atmosphere, or I would take it all back, so you’d have that one thing that nobody else got. But I guess, you already do have that one thing; I am, and forever will be, your Daddy.
Nevertheless, I love you, in that best way.
Maybe it is the addiction to the sounds you make that I can still hear, reverberating in my ears for what feels like forever, recalling you orgasm while I am inside you, flooding you with my cum that should have been our union years ago yet suffices as I push my seed deep inside your fertile ground.
So as my heart pounds like a motherfucking marching band is sitting atop it beating it for you, I remember the way I felt as you crossed through the doorway of the craftsman house. As I kissed you for that first time.
As I tossed you onto the couch and dove my face right between your legs to find a waxed pussy that could not have possibly been more wonderful to devour. I remember looking up into your eyes as you came so many times I lost count and remembering that it felt similar to stealing your virginity, because I knew, in that very moment that I was giving you something that you’d never had and never will again.
Not the orgasms. Not even the volume or magnitude of them.
It was the passion.
The honesty in my eyes as I ate you down to the core.
I remember the three days you curled up aside me, giving me a side of you that no man will ever come close to receiving.
No man, will even ever suspect that this side even exists. Crawling across that floor with a collar and a leash, dropping so far into subspace. I will always recall petting your broken down body with warm water to provide the most perfect woman alive with aftercare in the best way I knew how.
This side of you. All sides of you.
All the best sides of you – are mine.
They will always be mine.
I claimed you. I fucking meant it.
My deepest side of me – yours.