In Which Things Get Literotic

Ladies and Gentlemen (and everyone in between), my paen to my literary loves.

To My First Roommate:

You told me
in high school,
“You’re such a book slut,
giving your mental
passions to every suave
motif, every deft
allusion – and
the more multilayered,
the better.
Length is of some
consequence – but
girth of meaning
really gets you off –
admit it.”

“With pleasure,”
I replied.
And I continued my epic tryst
into the narrow top bunk
of the dorm room we shared.

You took to your bed
every paperback pagan priest
with a pretty cover and a big
dragon, and devoured him
in one night – you were
a plot-only kind of gal,
no frills, no eloquence,
just the beginning,
middle and
end.
Dry, and without
organic structure –
like a ninth grader’s
5-paragraph essay –
your one-night novels.
Each predictable, disposable,
each a temporary
bedtime companion
to drown the day’s bitterness
with adventure like
a dinner-and-movie date
and love like
a half-hearted kiss.

You observed the etiquette of
library-rented lovers:
no rough handling, no doggy-
eared pages or pen-stain
hickeys to commemorate
your brief affair.
Even those bought and kept
retained their virginal shine,
never showing evidence
of fervent handling.

But 3 feet above you
I took works of character –
though not always noble or pure.
In these knightly poems
and libertine fictions,
I found literotic loves,
compelling me to return even
after the last page was spent.

I was not gentle, nor polite,
ravishing regularly those whose
words tangled in my hair
and left their letters in my clothes
until their spines broke
and their pages grew worn,
bruised by my pen’s exclamations.
They wore their duct-tape braces
with pride, and compared marks
to see who was loved more.

They remain my harem –
my fine bookshelf of
roguish novels, tender
gothic tales, voracious verses,
and the occasional,
thrilling philosopher –
but chief above them all
are the well-worn works
whose inky whispers leave my
pages ruffled, my binding weak,
and my bookmark right
at the best part.

You see, this is really how it goes. I had serious literary crushes before I had a crush on an actual boy. The short list goes something like this:
Peter Pevensie and Prince Caspian (Chronicles of Narnia) - Childhood. These boys were probably my first literary loves. Boys in shining armor, in a land of magic and chivalry and Greek gods and creatures? Oh yeah. I still think Prince Caspian is truly sexy, and am really looking forward to lusting after him on the big screen this May.
Mr. Rochester (Jane Eyre) - 6th grade. Ok. This was my first sexual crush. I wanted...oooh, I wanted Mr. Rochester to do terrible things to me. And the things just kept getting more terrible the older I got. Some would say that this should've been my first clue that I'm submissiveish.
Petruchio (Taming of the Shrew) - 10th grade. I know, it's reeeely dorky to have a crush on a Shakespearean character. But the guy who played Petruchio in the school production was so compellingly hot...I fell in love with the character. Another dominant man. Hm.
Micheal Valentine Smith (Stranger In A Strange Land) - Sophomore year of college. Mm. A man who knows *exactly* what I want. Mmm. I hadn't had sex yet, but I knew that was a good good thing. And, he's just darling.
Wizard Howl (Howl's Moving Castle) - Jr. year of college. It's probably kinda wrong to find a literary crush in a children's lit class...but Howl is most certainly of age. And he's got the Rochesterian infuriating/dominant attitude. *melts*
The Vampire Lestat (Vampire Chronicles) - Jr. year. *bites lip* I feel a little guilty about this one. I mean...it's pop lit. But he's so damn sexy and compelling. He can bite me any day of the week.

Those are the major ones, the ones I like to spend a long afternoon with. There are other books that are on this level, but these are my literary men.

My gender...

Ariel has recently been posting about gender, and what hers looks like. I got fascinated, and started thinking about how gender applies to me. Ariel mentions that "I have a lot of gender but very little direction," meaning that she likes to present a wide variety of gender-y appearances.
I think, perhaps, that I have a lot of sex (as in, identification with my biological sex, being female), and just enough gender to come down on the side of "feminine". I read about Sinclair finding her butch identity, and performing gender - and I wonder at the amount of work it seems like, to have to be so deliberately oneself. But, on the other hand, the intentionality appeals to me - gender must matter if folks are willing to take such pains with it.
But I'm gender-lazy. As I said in my comment on Ariel's blog, I am high nothing. Not high femme, not high butch, not high tomboy, not even high-scholarly, for crying out loud. I am female, and generally somewhat feminine, but that's about it.
I love my RHPS corset, fishnets, and heels, with heavy makeup and space-age hair.
I love dressing hippie-boho-girly and sharply elegant with makeup to suit.
That's about 5% of the time, though. The rest of the time, I wear sweaters and t-shirts and comfy pants and Birkenstocks and the occasional skirt. I just got a pair of nice brown flats and a pair of tall black boots (with no heels) for Christmas, and that was a huge step for me. I don't want to put so much effort into how people see me, how I appear, most of the time.
I was a dancer for many years. From sixth grade until my senior year in high school, I was in at least one full-length ballet per year. I learned, through those experiences, to love the high-maintenance required by performing - but it was a special thing. Only a few nights out of the year does one put on the makeup, slick the hair, and wear the costume - take on the part. It's ritual, this dressing-up, which requires adequate scenery and lights and music to go with it. I couldn't do it every day. Dressing up, performing, is for me a way to explore and relish the sides of me that are not the everyday me.
For instance, I absolutely LOVE going to Rocky Horror, once in awhile. I love yelling the callbacks, love putting on my eyeliner and darker eyeshadow to go with my crimson corset, black panties, and fishnets. I love putting my hair up in those two, Leia-esque buns. This is my Shadow, my overtly sexual and crude self, my self who seduces. My self who revels in the sounds of the woman being flogged in the back of the theater, and the looks the ticket-taker gives me as I walk past.
But this is not someone I want to be any more frequently than once or twice a month (in public, at least). I need and crave that outlet, that stage...but only on occasion.
I understand that, to one degree or another, I am performing my gender everyday whether I think I am or not. But it does not feel like it...I'm really not even sure what my gender is. Comfortably feminine? Low-maintenance? I associate gender so much with appearance and fashion that I can't separate the two. I know gender is more than appearance....but I think it's reflected in appearance, at least when in "high" forms. I don't know, though. Hm.
This is what I know: I am feminine. I am female. I am submissiveish. I like boys and girls and girls who used to be boys (and probably the other way round, if I ever meet one). I am attracted to androgyny, femininity (not girly-ness), and masculinity. I am attracted to dominance and confidence, in men and women. I love being bitten and having my hair pulled. I'm fascinated by kink and power exchange. I'm deeply spiritual, and conceive of God'dess as Lover. I wear my hair down as much as possible. I am poly.
Some of this is biological sex, some is sexual orientation, some is preference...does all this together make gender? Maybe?

So, a few weeks ago, I informed Apollo that this year, for my birthday, I want him to round up all the highly unattainable men with whom I'm in lust and schedule a week of debauchery for me. He said that he'd get right on that, as long as he could have his way with Kaylee.
I think that's perfectly reasonable, as Kaylee is Really Hot.

Anyway, we began discussing the lineup for my Week Of Sex With Highly Unattainable Men, and this is what we came up with, in no particular order:

Nathan Fillian. Mal is Sex Incarnate. I realize that this makes me a Firefly Fangirl, but I don't quite care.

Damien Rice. Melancholy Irish singer-songwriter with a penchant for allusions to the darker sides of sex and relationships: "Amie, come sit on my wall and read me the Story of O", "Don't hold yourself like that, you'll hurt your knees." And, well, he just gets downright sexy at times. Mmmm.

Ryan Adams. Not Bryan Adams...Ryan Adams. Exceptionally eclectic singer-songwriter with an attitude and a feeling for good rock-n-roll (except when it's not. Namely, Rock and Roll and Easy Tiger). He has a little bit of the junkie look about him...but on him, it's hot.

Colin Firth. Sexy accent, good actor, and damn, not many folks are as good at the on-screen kisses as he is.

Neil Gaiman. Ok. Yes. I'm a Gaiman Girl too. Not so much because he's hot....though his is...but because his books move me. You know - laughing aloud one minute, throwing the book across the room the next, weeping the next moment...then laughing again....books like that make me want to have the author's babies. And I don't want children.

Johnny Depp. Yes, yes. I know. How typical. But, well...I can't say no to this. Or this.

So that's only six. I imagine I'd need a day of rest after that week. This list was my Still-Alive-and-Good-Looking list, as it's the most realistic (as these fantasies go). My Would've Fucked 30 Years Ago, Hot Dead Guys, and Fictional Fantasies lists are all much less...shall we say, tangible? Though someday, I may share them for the helluvit.

So, folks. 7 days, your choice of any 7 living people - who'd be on your list?

The Lady speaks...

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

When the Moon is in the seventh house...

...and Jupiter aligns with Mars...
Ok, no "Age of Aquarius" here. No more, in all probability, of Jupiter aligning with Mars (Jupiter is my ruling planet, btw). In the wake of my amazing week in College Town, I think I'm getting closer to defining What Is Enough For Sex. It has to do with the DragonCat/Mars difference. That feeling of comfort, of safety. As much as I may like Mars, and objectively trust him, and even want him (though, I'm a little ashamed to say, now that the novelty's gone, I don't even want him so much), I don't get that easy feeling of comfort and safety. Of being absolutely OK as I am, cherished for who I am. I get that from all my Murfreesboro/Nashville lovers. I get that from Apollo. The thing that makes it significant that I feel that from/for DragonCat is that I don't know him that well. I can't tell you his favorite movies or what music he likes (ok, he does like Ween. I know that much), or if he has any food allergies. So, I'm wondering if what makes it "enough" is that feeling of ease and comfort and safety, rather than any specifics of number of dates or time knowing the person or deep, dark secrets shared. I mean, I don't think I'd fuck a stranger simply because he exuded this feeling...but I think this may need to become a primary criterion. Which may well mean ending things (sexual things, at least) with Mars soon. Hmm.

And now I'm thinking about that 17th century poem (by Donne?) that talks about "sublunary love" and all the perils thereof. For, "everything under the sun is in tune, but the sun is eclipsed by the Moon" to quote a twentieth-century poet.

And love is difficult to navigate. And sex is a thorny issue (screw them roses, though!). But I think that there is too much good, comfortable (within myself - not painless, not without the broadening of conceived limits and horizons, but comfortable in myself), thoroughly pleasing sex in my life to deal with or have sex that makes me unsure of myself or feel in the least unsatisfied or uncertain. This doesn't (necessarily) contradict the Ecclesiastical Theory of Sex:
(A time for spiritual sex
and a time for carnal sex.
A time for girl sex,
and a time for boy sex.
A time for fun and pleasure,
and a time for connection.
A time for power exchange,
and a time for equality.
A time for bondage
and a time for embracing.
A time for masturbation,
and a time for threesomes.
...etc.)
This just means that I should be thoroughly comfortable with my partner and with being wholly myself around my partner for all these types of sex. Even if it's just (just! Ha!) fun and pleasure, there's no reason I should be less than fully confident in who I am or that I should feel uncertain about being accepted for me, limits, requests, kinks, neuroses and all.
So. I still need to write my story about Mars, but it will probably be post-relationship. That's ok, though. There are beautiful boys (and girls!) with whom I connect and am safe. And that's more than good enough for me.

In Which Joy Muses on Bisexuality

I've mentioned previously that I think I have a harder time thinking of myself as "bisexual" than it is for Apollo to think of me as such. Granted, the events of this week have made a lot of what I was going to say in this post much less relevant and made me feel much more "qualified" to use that label, but still. It's been an interesting adjustment.
When I came to the conclusion that I wanted physical relationships with women, it was something of a cool realization, rather than a burning epiphany. I was thinking over my longings for a poly-relationship, on the intimacy-with-friends line, and suddenly it just didn't seem right that I couldn't share that level of physical intimacy with my women friends. I mean, I experience love and affection most profoundly through touch - that's the root of my desire to broaden my sexual partners to include those I treasure, not just the one I live with. It seemed, to me, to devalue my relationships with women if I said, "I am willing to be loved and love in this way, to this depth, with my men friends, but not with my women friends." Likewise, I had been struggling with my conception of the Sacred Feminine, of God'dess, God as Woman. She didn't seem as tangible, as real and accessible as my God. I addressed her as Mother, as Friend, as Sister...but none of these were as visceral an image as my favorite image of my God - my Holy Lover. Suddenly, bisexuality became a bit of a spiritual necessity. When She became my Lover as well - well, damn. It just made sense. So there was no secretly harbored crush, no deep-seated attractions to women - just a realization that it makes sense for me. Granted, I have always liked androgyny, in men and women, but I was attracted to the androgynous women because they looked like pretty boys (of course, I realize this could be self-delusion here...that may have been the only psychologically safe way for me to rationalize my attraction at all). Even now, I don't experience the same random lust for a lovely, attractive woman that I can experience for an equally attractive man. The women I want, really Want are those with whom I already have a touch-relationship - we already are comfortable and loving enough to hug, to rub backs, to play with hair. But, oh, I do want them pretty badly. And my God'dess? Well, I've known for awhile that I'm the sub in a holy D/s relationship (forthcoming post on my crackpot ideas about D/s and spirituality/courtly love)...but now I have Two Owners (though, of course, really I only have One, but still). And she's gorgeous.

Happy New Year!

...The Sexy, College-Town Remix.

So, my holiday plans involved taking one week of my Winter Break (I love being a grad student!) and going home, seeing family and friends there, and then departing to spend New Years Week in my Undergraduate Town, and the metropolitan area 30 miles to the north of it. That first week, of necessity, has no truly sexy stories associated with it. This week, however, has been full of Exploratory Sexual Goodness.

**I realize that there are lots of names with no descriptions or context in this post. I will make a Lovers of Joy page detailing my Usual Suspects very soon. Promise.

Sunday, December 30th:
Arrived in College Town and went to Imladris, home of the Hobbit Ladies (who do not have hairy feet - but they resemble hobbits in their love for good food, good alcohol, and questionable smokeables). There has been a long-standing attraction tween me and them, so when I found myself naked between them, slightly fuzzy-headed from the pipeweed, it wasn't a huge surprise. What was surprising was how...clumsy and inept I feel when dealing with women's bodies. In the moment, I could not for the life of me think of any particular techniques used on me in the past. Fortunately, their lovely breasts seemed to respond nicely to my amateur efforts. I was also reminded of the fact that women are (in my experience to this point) infinitely better than men when it comes to fingering (though, from all accounts, Jefferson has a special way with that Special Spot.).
Quick sidenote: I get off on penetration. Like, a lot. Oh, I love my clitoris, don't get me wrong...but the orgasms are so different, acute and defined and short. I love the long rolling, peaking and plateauing of G-spot orgasms. I love my incoherence afterwards.
Anyway. Lovely, long night with the HLs. Still did not get my fingers or tongue into their nethers - I'm painfully shy and nervous about giving pleasure to women - but they helped each other, and much fun was had by all.

Monday, December 31st:
Went to the House of the Spider Woman for a La Vie Boheme NYE party. No particularly explicit stories this night, but I met a girl who had had surface piercings in her back, had done suspensions, was into shibari, and had an amazing set of nails. I also cuddled with the Cuddle Owl, who was newly single and thus much more willing to share his amazing hugs and backrubs. My Qabbalist Water Brother (QWB) cried over my present to her - a collage Tree of Life - and nuzzled and nibbled and generally made me a happy Joy. The Spider Woman was resplendent in her Mimi-inspired outfit, and in high teasing form. Shakti informed me that her partner, DragonCat, was "curious" and wanted to join us for my planned sleepover at Shakti's place the following night. As DragonCat is one of the most adorable men on the planet (and Apollo and I had already discussed this possibility a few nights ago when we found ourselves in a "Who do you want to fuck from College Town?" discussion) I assured her that I would be more than happy to have him there.

Tuesday, January 1st:
Awoke at the House of the Spider Woman. Headed to the QWB's place for afternoon hanging out. I had mentioned my unexplored submissive tendencies to her, as well as my fascination with kink, knowing her to identify as a Domme. She, beautiful creature that she is, was very willing to help me explore, in a non-sexual context, as she is deliberately celibate. Sadly, though, she lost a childhood friend at the beginning of the month, and thus felt mentally and emotionally unable to offer me a formal "session". However, (and this was probably even better) she generously showed me her tools and demonstrated their uses on me in an informal context. This means that I experienced: a whip, used several different ways, through my clothes; hot wax on my stomach; different sorts of non-cutting knife strokes on my belly and forearm; and perhaps most profoundly, the weight of a collar and cuffs. These were decorated with large and numerous spikes - which would not be my choice - but the feeling of that weight on me was something I knew I wanted to experience again. After they were removed, and the demonstration was over, I stood up from her couch and thought "I feel a little drunk. But I have not had a drink. Hee!" We also talked, seriously and happily, about my sexual journey, our lives, and things spiritual and intellectual. But this is the sexblog *grins*.
From there, I headed to Shakti's place. When I got there, she and DragonCat were eating homemade pizza. We sat, catching up on the events of each other's lives, while they finished dinner. My stomach was home to a whole nest of butterflies - I really didn't *know* DragonCat all that well, but he's one of those people who simply radiate comfort and trust and safety. There was not a question in my mind that I would be safe, treasured, and respected by these two people. But...still. I was minutes away from kissing a HOT man and from (I had decided) finally getting acquainted with another woman's cunt. I was nervous. Fortunately, Shakti is incredibly good at easing into these situations without pretense or awkwardness. We migrated to the bedroom, where tickle wars ensued and DragonCat giggled and wriggled when he realized that I slip into CatTalk (TM) when I'm feeling playful (he and Shakti have whole conversations in mrows and mews). Soon after this, Shakti decides that she needs to go take a shower, and orders us to "cuddle amongst yourselves" in her absence. Now, DragonCat is a 5-star Cuddleslut. At any party, he will be draped over/have draped over him at least two women, if not more. This is never sexual - he's just got an infinite capacity for cuddles. Knowing this, I curl right up to him, and we sink into a comfortable, silent touching.
His hands. Oh my. His hands. We were not overtly sexual yet, but every touch of his was pure affection, pure joy in the skin of my belly, the curve of my hip. I felt holy. I felt that he was both worshiper and god to my goddess and devotee. I eventually found my voice to remark about how much I'd wanted to cuddle with him at the NYE party, but that I couldn't bear to interrupt his cuddling with the blissed-out girl who stayed attached to him the whole night - she looked as though she needed it. This launched some small talk, which concluded with him remarking that as much as he loves cuddling, it's "always hard for me to not play with the boobies. They...they're just there and so appealing." "Well, you don't have to worry about that with me," I said. Gentle, so gentle and so hot. And his kisses were meltingly sweet, soft, and intense. Shakti returned from her shower to see us making out, bare to the waist. Since she was already naked, DragonCat and I followed suit. What followed was a delicious exercise in Taking Turns. They began, like the generous souls and good hosts they are, by thoroughly exploring my body and Shakti fingering me into my first set of orgasms for the evening. Soon after, I found myself rolling through my second set as Shakti and I clung to each other in shared bliss while DragonCat fingered both of us and broke my Girls Finger Better Than Boys rule. After recovering from that for a few moments, Shakti diplomatically asked DragonCat what he'd like to do. He wiggled with excitement (like a cat about to spring, thus earning him the second part of his name), and flicked his tongue suggestively. "Would you like to do that to Joy?" Shakti asked. More wiggling accompanied by nodding. "Well, pull up a chair, then!" I took this as a figurative invitation to lay back and settle in for some prolonged, amazing cunnilingus. DragonCat took this more literally, and actually pulled a chair up to the edge of the bed.
Now, I've heard of men who Genuinely Love going down on girls. I've always been fortunate to find men who at least like it, like making women squirm and moan, and are pretty damn good at it. But, at our last encounter, Shakti definitely instituted a Girls Give Oral Better Than Boys standard. DragonCat breaks this, too. It sounds cliche, but he treated my cunt like an oasis in a desert. I felt like I was the "flower in the desert, water in the dry lands" for him, a source of endless wonder of which he could never be bored. It wasn't a preface to anything "more important", not an appetizer or a bit of foreplay - this was Sex. After he finally came up for air, and allowed me to do the same, Shakti asked me, "Have you had the chance to play with a woman yet?" "No..." "Do you want to?" "Yes..." After playing with her breasts, trying to pay attention to her reactions, to figure out what worked best (no, I don't over-intellectualize things!), and admiring the beauty of her more prominent nipples, one hand drifted towards her mons. But I hesitated. I didn't want to go in blindly, so to speak. I was so scared of doing something wrong - I needed to see what I was doing. "Do you want to look at me?"she asked (she says I think loudly. I can't refute this.).
I moved myself to kneeling between her legs, and looked at her. Browner than me, she was, though still pinkish. I then noticed DragonCat at my side, with his beautiful, open grin. "He wants to watch," Shakti said. I almost had an attack of "Sex is not a performance! I refuse to put on a show!" (which...I realize that for some people that's part of it, and that's wonderful and cool...but I get anxious when I feel like I'm performing. See my upcoming post on oral sex.) but DragonCat was so nonjudgmental and supportive that I didn't feel like he was watching porn, but rather lending moral support. Truth to tell, I was eventually pretty glad of his presence beside me. I parted her lips and gazed, probing experimentally until I found everything I was looking for - surveying the terrain, so to speak. Her vagina looked so dark, so deep. It looked like it did have the potential for holding worlds, for being the primal place of Beginnings and Birth. I decided to start with her clit - it seemed at little less...intimidating. I learned that direct stimulation is too much, but that above, below and beside are effective and wonderful. I learned that I, too, can give women orgasms, and that holding down a woman's thigh and belly while you stroke her to ecstasy is a profound and beautiful pleasure. After a time, I moved down, and cautiously inserted a fingertip. She was So. Wet. So warm. So soft. I inserted my index finger, and beckoned. Ahh..response...and a little to the right evoked an even stronger response. This was *much* easier than figuring out the breasts, or even the clit. I pressed up in fast, small pulses - and Shakti screamed. Wow. I added another finger, noting the snugness of her, and tried for a second scream. Instead I got a "Honey, be careful of your nails." Ooops...lesson learned. So I backed off for a moment, contemplating, screwing my courage to the sticking point, before leaning in and touching my tongue to her clit. Shakti is a natural goddess, so I soon found that it is difficult to breathe when one's nose is pressed into luscious pubic hair. Even more difficult when said goddess starts writhing (not that I minded this, you understand). DragonCat helped steady both the Shakti and me, holding us both in place. I got that second scream.
The rest of the night was spent playing with DragonCat's cock, and playing out one of Shakti's fantasies - DragonCat fucked her doggy-style while she buried her face in me. After, she announced that "Shakti is broken! and needs to sleep!", so we all piled onto the queen-sized bed, with DragonCat in the middle. Shakti dropped right off, which led DragonCat to cuddle up to me and (we were all sleeping naked), begin to make it very difficult for me not to disturb Shakti with either sounds or fierce movements. I was tired. Fuck, was I tired. I hadn't had much sleep the night before, and had just been thoroughly worn out. But I cannot resist that man's hands and mouth: "I can't believe your hands and mouth did all of that to me. And they are so daily naked for all the world to see." ("Rexroth's Daughter"). Eventually, however, he let up and we did go to sleep. When Shakti left early in the morning for work, though, it all began again. Now that we didn't have to keep quiet or still, he looked at me and said, "You want to 69?" "Err...I tend not to do it because it requires multitasking...and I never have the presence of mind. But...I'm willing to try it! Or we could just take turns..." He decided that we'd try it...and it seemed to work out fairly well. At least, well, he didn't complain. And I can't either. I still don't know how people give an effective blowjob with someone's mouth on their cunt, but I did my best. When my jaw was to tired to continue (my stamina is pitiful. Sad.), he brought me to another series of orgasms with his incredible fingers. After which we promptly fell back asleep. When we awoke, we made out slowly, sweetly until he said, sadly, "You know, I kind of wish we could do everything." I nodded, "It's alright. Wait..you do mean that Shakti isn't ok with us having intercourse, right?" Because if you think I'm not ok with it, buddy, you've got another think coming! "Yes," he said. "Ok. That's fine. But I'm still allowed to give you an orgasm, right?" "Oh yes. Oral's fine, just no 'actual sex'". So I went down on him. I am no blow-job queen - Wendy and Avah would shame my ass back to the South if I ever tried to compete with them. But I gave it my best effort. After a goodly time, I crept back up into his arms, feeling slightly disappointed with myself. "Yeah...I don't often come from oral. Or from anything apart from masturbation or 'actual sex'...I guess I should've said that beforehand...but it was still amazing." Ok. I'm ok with that. I want my lovers to be fulfilled, and if orgasm isn't necessarily a part of that, I am perfectly alright with that. We went back to cuddling and kissing, until I realized that I was overdue for my afternoon hanging out with another friend. It is incredibly difficult to get back into clothes when a beautiful, lanky man is perpetually ready to love your naked body and distract you with kisses. But I managed.

Part two to perhaps follow, if anything notable happens in the next few days!