Without going into incredible detail, I've had a weird life. I've, also, spent the last few years in physical pain and suffering. These things have combined in such a way that the normal map of intimacy and love and vulgar and disgusting isn't quite what it should be.
So, long story short, whereas some folks picture loving eye contact with passionate kisses as the height of intimacy and psychological comfort, I find myself picturing a darkened room with my hands on the hips of a woman squatting over me as her asshole, slowly, tenderly, yet unstoppably, pulses open and closed an inch above my face.
And, so, that's what I'm looking for here: not that bright, airy scene of gentle touches; instead, for that slow and heavy inevitability in the near dark. I'd like you to be the one to squat over me, the one I build up to that intense crescendo with. If that sounds appealing, if it resonates on some level, if you'd like to revel in a different kind of beauty, then let's talk.
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