A Trillion Years

You smell sweetest here, just above your temple. I love kissing your closed eye because it's the softest kiss in the world. I need to lick your lips for my own daily sanity. Still, I must be careful not to devour you entirely. There won't be anything left for later!

I know we've just started sexing. But I must learn to touch your body better. I must know more places where you like the touch so soft it nearly tickles, but doesn't quite. Where you like the circles, where you enjoy the strumming, and where you like the flowering fingertips. You see, this was ordained my job from the beginning of time. God Almighty was assigning chores and said, "Ed, I want you to touch Bree in a trillion years." And I was like, "Right on, dude. I'll start asking the stars what's the best way to touch the most perfect tiny body. Word!"

And now you are my divine instrument to play, at long last. I've learned all I could since I was assigned my dream job way back when, and we're still getting in tune. The fact is, truly masterful performances are the result of patience and practice. So let's keep practicing.

Last night while the LAPD ghetto birds buzzed the rooftops you popped up in bed and demanded to know how is it I know exactly where to touch your body.

The answer is training. But you ain't felt nothing yet.

Come here, Sunshine Girl. Lay on your stomach. I want to show you one of a few thousand tricks I've learned over the years. This one Neptune taught me, but I think it might need a little refinement. Seriously, Bree, what are you doing for the next trillion years?