A Man Far Away

I love a man who is far from me.

Of him, I have the most intense sexual fantasies to which I masturbate furiously, and with much consistency.

I want him to know that I am most amorous when stoned.

I want him to know that it might take a moment for me to get there.

I want him to know how gently I love to have my nipples stroked.

I want him to know that cunnalingus works best.

I want him to know that holding my breath at intervals helps to increase my arousal, and that I hold my breath for as long as I can when I orgasm.

I want him to know that I might wail, I might punch a wall if one is near.

I want him to know that I don’t want him to stop until I laugh hysterically, and push his face away.

I have these thoughts as I masturbate, bringing myself to a bell ringing crescendo.

I squeeze my legs together when touching my self becomes too intense, and I continue to giggle, and laugh, enjoying the glow of the ganja, and self-sexual gratification, and I wonder how entertained and aroused he would be if he were there with me, in that moment.

I wonder if he’s ever known a woman who laughs when she orgasms, and sometimes, for several moments after.

Would he be wearing a baffled smile on his face?

Would he feel proud?

Would my reaction swell his ego?

Would he wait for me to finish completely before tearing me apart?

Would he be amazed by how small my pussy is, because of cancer, and surgery?

Would he think that those scars are beautiful?

Would he kiss them?


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