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Instead, the kiss moves back towards my sex. This time, it stops, and spends
time right next to my lips. I can feel it against the outer lips, moving up and
down. I can feel the hot, wet tongue. I know he must be getting intoxicated by
the smell. Good. Closer he moves.

He must touch me. I try and move my hips closer to me. I moves back. He seems
lost in his own world, the kiss the focus of it. The kiss stops. His mouth,
with his tongue sticking out, is directly in front of my sex lips. I have my
head bent over, watching ever move. I will that tongue closer, into me. But it
doesn’t work. I can feel the moisture collecting on the edge of my lips. I’m so
hot.

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As if reading my mind (as any good man should!) he bends lower, scraping his
chin across the top of my leg. I can feel the hot breath coming from that
mouth. On my inner thighs. I open my legs as wide as I can. Sitting on the
window sill, I think this is a crazy position, but it only bothers me for a
second.

He has his mouth on my thigh! Just behind the knee. A gentle, wet, sucking
kiss. The kind I like to place on necks. The sloppy kiss is moving up. I can
smell my sex, I can feel its heat. It isn’t really a part of me, but something
on its own. It has its own mind, its own body, and its own needs. And it
needs… My hips rotate up to give him a better angle. But he passes my sex by
and that wet kiss moves down my other leg. A hands suddenly brushes by my sex,
nudging the flap of skin touching my clitoris. A soft moan, and my hips shake
in pleasure. But no, it doesn’t come back.