“Memories light the corners of my mind. Misty water-colored memories of the way we were. Scattered pictures…”
Didn’t think you’d see me paying homage to Barbra Streisand on this dicks and pussies page, now did ya?
What? Streisand not cool enough for you? Then she shall be forever known as B Strizzle.
Let me break out the iPhone, little lady. Let’s make us some memories.
I am sorry, but I cannot help but hum that tune from B when I think of the 12 Megapixels that will be capturing your pretty little lips caressing my manhood. My shaft feeding in and out of your mouth, capturing your ambition in full color.
What? Weren’t expecting that one so sudden?
Well dear, I like to take pictures when people aren’t expecting it. Really gives it that “realistic” feel, you know what I mean?
But don’t worry, Kitten. These memories are just our memories. Nobody else’s. This is and always will be just for us.
Ya see, Papa rocks a big brain when it come to encrypting data so just rest easy and know that when it comes to data, the big balla is in the hizzy. Fuck! Now I can’t get that B Strizzle shit out of my head; I sound like a fuckin’ idiot.
What was I saying?
I want this bad, so front and center. I want our sin in JPG format. I want this power. I just fucking want it.
You know when I am lying in bed with you not next to me, I’ll be looking so long at these pictures of you but this time, I’ll know that they’re real. Finally! A tolerable song. Be gone, B Strizzle.
God this is a catastrophe of a post, isn’t it? Let’s see if I can get this shit back on track.
On my memories, the honest to God truth is that why I want these pictures is far less sinister than you’d think, and far more romantic than you’ll ever know. The closest you will get to understanding why I want to take pictures of our intimacy is right here and now.
Your memories are so fun to live in.
I could bask in the thought of you all fucking day long.
Your smell, that I spray onto paper and close my eyes for what probably looks like an eternity, just so that I can feel a little closer to you.
The pictures I have remind me of the feel of your soft skin, the taste of your lips, the feel of your body against mine.
Your voice, when I hear the excitement in it, and I know it is reciprocated in what I simultaneously feel as you hear mine. The word “Hello” and stomachs drop in two lovebirds, faces lighting up and it is undeniable what is happening in our giggly voices.
Your feel, when I hold you. When you lay on the couch beside me and curl up into me. When I pet your head. When I caress you.
When I squeeze your ass. When I yank your hair. When I drive my fingers inside you. When I push my cock deep into you and the memories of your reaction as I do it.
I could spend 364 days a year in your presence yet I’d ache for you in your absence.
Your memory weakens me and gives me strength.
Your presence give me home.
So yeah, sue me.
I want a memory of our most intimate times. I understand the risk. I respect it. I value it. But I really care about the risk because I want to see your vulnerability for me.
So, yeah. That’s why I need your pictures.
To hold onto you even longer.
I sure hope I clarified things.
I sure hope I fixed this post up.
Actually, I know I did.