He inhaled her smell as he kissed her there. I distinctly recall him telling her that he was going to put his tongue on her clit. He told her that often, especially recently. He told her he wanted to explore her this way. In the three days prior to today, the word “clit” appeared in their chat 19 times. And now, he kept his word with great enthusiasm. His tongue darted and danced at the entrance to her, kissing, licking, sucking in configurations that made her squirm excitedly, moans moving through her throat, leaving her mouth, and making their way to his ears. It was as if he was reading the messages he sent to her, ticking off each and every thing he’d sent to her DMs, making sure he did not disappoint, or fall short, or forget anything he’d told her he was going to do. Now he was fucking her slowly with his tongue, flicking it as he went deeper into her, curling around her clit and saluting it as he did. Drawing slow circles into her skin with his tongue. And she grew wetter with every flick. And he felt her happy pussy’s weeping fall into his mouth, making him crazy and making him want to stay there forever, his face in paradise.
Social media is an interesting phenomenon. Not too long after they started putting hearts and memes and witty commentary on each other’s posts in that cute and weird way Facebook friends who are more than friends do, her best friend came into her DMs to inquire about the activity. “So that’s your crush? The one who hearts all your stuff the minute you post it?” She denied it, saying that he was just friendly and he went all around social media hearting, posting thumbs up and care emojis and supportive, empathetic, and even flirtatious words to all his Facebook friends. She even showed her best friend examples of him openly flirting with other women on Facebook. It did not dissuade her friend. “He might do alladat, and he may have crushes on those other women, but he has a big crush on you. YOU,” her friend responded. She said that it didn’t really matter if he did, and was that such a bad thing if he did have a crush on her? “Not at all. I’m starting to think everyone has a crush on you secretly. But don’t think people haven’t noticed y’all. They have. You know you got eyes on you. And yes I’ve been asked about him. I told people everybody is talking to people more because of COVID. And its not like y’all are complete strangers. Y’all met that one time, at that one function, right? You told me you talked to some guy almost the whole time you were there. That’s him, right? Everybody who was there saw y’all.”
She did realize her minor bit of celebrity among their large circle of friends and acquaintances was problematic at times. She felt like the man kissing her pussy so ferverently, as if the answers to all his problems were right there in the core of her, didn’t quite understand how many eyes were on her. She knew he cared about them being discovered, as did she, though they had totally different reasons. He was a more private person than she, if that were possible. And he wouldn’t want the other crushes to know how much crushing he was doing, she reasoned.
But back to the DMs. She reminded her friend that she was not seeing anyone at all, in any capacity, and had been without any significant companionship for nearly 3 years, hadn’t had decent sex in even longer than that. She reminded him that she was lucky that she managed to escape the last disaster with her ex that left her heart absolutely broken and tattered. Feeling ugly and unwanted and undesireable. Not that she was at all interested in this alleged crush, but if she was, if he was, didn’t she deserve some attention, some flirtatious fun? Someone who at least wanted to play around with her in her DMs, even if it amounted to nothing? Even from a random Facebook friend serial crusher who liked her and everybody else, if that’s what it turned out to be? “I know what happened to you,” her friend said. “I was right there making sure you didn’t kill yourself.”
This was true. He was always there, saving her from someone. He kept typing to his best friend. “I don’t want to have to save you again. You know I always will, but that’s not what you deserve.” There was a long pause as she didn’t respond at first. His next message said, “you deserve all the good things. And I want you to have them. For once I want to see you not hurting, not damaged, not left and alone and feeling like shit. Someone being honest, not taking you for a ride with a bunch of other chicks.” She continued not responding to his DMs as they continued rolling in. She couldn’t respond. She didn’t know what to say. But he kept going. “Plus all your entanglements seem to end crazy. Niggas be mad, not speaking to you for years afterwards, crying and cussing and carrying on. Violence and restraining orders and shit. Always gets crazy. No matter what y’alls situationship is. This is one reason why we will always just be best friends. I ain’t eva fucking you. I’ve seen what happens afterwards.” Now that was funny, and she actually laughed out loud, sending three laughing gifs in rapid succession to him. He sent two back to her, and a third that was a picture with Babyface from the “Whip Appeal” music video, him clad in the iconic pristine white suit, with the words “Keep on whipping on me” below his face in white block letters. She laughed at his joke out loud as she sat at her desk. Then then typed to her, “You deserve so much. More than some random Facebook dude with a random Facebook crush on you along with all his other random Facebook crushes, collecting pussies like Pokemo
Coincidentally, the man with her, literally devouring her pussy from the clit to the ridges on the walls as she clutched at his head, speechless with delight, often said the same thing. The phrase “you deserve so much” appeared in their chat 52 times. He said so many things to her, as if he knew those seductive words and phrases would lead him to exactly where he was right now – face embedded in her juicy wet pussy, happily learning all the things he had always wondered about her pussy and what it liked. The phrase “you are beautiful” appeared 100 times in their chats. The word “love” appeared 117 times. “Please you” showed up 108 times. Adjectives and adverbs littered their conversations, especially from him, as he seemed to enjoy telling her exactly what he thought about her, how he felt about her. And when she asked him directly, because she loved to hear his compliments (and even believed them at times), he would type line after line about her eyes and her lips and her smile and her skin and her hair and her thighs. It was if he knew someone’s words had destroyed her confidence, so he brought his words to her in the hope that she would use them to build herself back up somehow. She often said that she appreciated that he “reminded her of who she was”, and it made him happy to hear that. Another thing that made him happy was how she smelled. It wasn’t perfume. It was just her. And he wanted her scent to cling to him in a way.
“Stay in the moment,” a voice inside her said.
So she did. She grabbed his face and rubbed her pussy into it, soaking his facial hair even more thoroughly and completely. He encouraged her, nodding his head as he continued to eat her pussy as completely as is humanly possible. I played four songs, long ones at that, as he lay between her legs. Even I was impressed, and to show my approval I made sure I played “Dive” by Usher. That seemed to really inspire and motivate him, because when it played she became more intensely vocal, saying his name and making noises that expressed her pleasure even more clearly. Her hands would rapidly pat the sheets when she became excited, nervous energy moving through her hands, rhythmically patting the sheets faster and then faster. The action somehow kept her from screaming. When the song ended he raised his head, and she immediately moved away from him, grabbing the covers and curling up in a fetal position on one side of the bed. It was as if she were afraid of him for a second. He immediately positioned himself behind her, putting his arms around her, cuddling her and putting his still moist lips on the back of her neck. She smelled herself on him, and smiled. She stretched her body out to allow his to enfold her. Their legs intertwined and he held her tighter. Now she felt safe now, and he was glad.
As they lay there recouperating, I played Sade’s “Kiss Of Life.”
Petula Caesar 