Fuckable

Fuckable

She is so fuckable..at least that's what my c**t says every time she comes near me.

She is so fuckable..with that sultry way she has of saying my name..before and after.

She is so fuckable…when she laughs right before I give her what she wants..needs..craves…

She is so fuckable…she is mine

She keeps calling me with these imaginary problems that only I can solve. I listen and I hear all while reading between the lines. When she says only you understand what I'm going through what she's really saying is only you can f**k me like I want to be fucked. When she says I value your opinion, I hear you know exactly where to touch me, when to touch me, how deep to go.

 

I hear her and everything she says and doesn't say.

 

So I humor her. I listen to her problems. I even give her halfway decent advice. I let my voice and words fade out. I listen to her rush to fill the void, the silence. She doesn't want to stop talking to me, doesn't want me to stop talking to her, doesn't want to bore me or piss me off. She hasn't yet worked up the nerve to tell me what she really wants. But I know, she wants me to f**k her.

 

So I do, mentally at first. Lets be honest that's where the wetness starts. I stay on the phone with her breathing deeply, deep enough that she asks what are you doing. "Nothing" I answer with almost no emotion in my voice. Her voice catches. A moment of silence follows. I got her hooked. She knows something is up...literally and figuratively. "No, really what are you doing", she asks again. "It must be something good because you are ignoring me." "Naw baby" I answer, "I'm not ignoring you at all. I'm letting your voice touch parts of me that your hands can't reach. Keep talking cause I'm loving how you are touching me right now." Her voice drops an octave, maybe two. "Where is my voice touching you right now" she asks.

 

"All the right places" I answer. "My left n****e was responding crazily a minute ago when you were debating on taking English Comp or Mathematics 101 . My right n****e was being teased when you couldn't decide what to eat tonight. And right now, right now baby my c**t is pulsating to you asking me where is my voice touching you. So please baby keep talking because my p***y wants to be touched by your voice for a minute or two. "

 

So she continues to ramble while listening. Is that possible? Can she take in all that I am giving? But I can tell she is listening to every breath, every rustle, every sound I make. I let her. I let the echoes of my fingers touching the places her voice ventured first slid over the phone tickling her. My left n****e is being pinched and squeezed, craving more while she tells me what her boss said at work today. My right n****e flexes and jumps to attention when she goes on about her co-worker and his irritating habits.

 

My c**t vibrates when gently touched by my right index finger and her voice telling me it's going to be cold tomorrow. Yeah, but its hot tonight I think.

 

All the while she listens to my breath as it catches, my body as it shifts and turns with each new sensation. She never asks what I'm doing again. She knows. I know. She wants me to f**k her.

She wants those same fingers to do to her what I'm doing to my own n*****s and c**t and p***y. So I wait for her to ask. I wait for her to say I'm lonely. I wait for her to say I'm missing you. I wait, while flicking my c**t with my middle finger, for her to ask me to f**k her. She knows I will. This is just a little game we play.