Warning: adult content ahead!
I like the way you bite at the meat inside my right thigh.
Your teeth pull playfully at my skin. Like digging into the flesh of a ripe mango.
Sweet and sticky. Juice dribbles down your chin.
And I like when you surface for a breath of air. Gulping it in before eagerly diving back under the sheets.
But not before planting one of those mango-sweet wet kisses on my mouth.
Me, tasting me.
So I’ve found I like my flavor; sex and happiness and freedom.
I like the way it clings to your lips and for a moment I’m making love to myself.
Me, fucking me.
Because that’s what I believe sex should be for women. After generations of shame and denial.
I want you to revel in how you taste, too.
Your flavor on another’s lips, on your lips.
I want you to feel like everything holy that has ever graced this earth when he murmurs into your right thigh,
“You taste so damn good.”
I want you to release against the tongue that laps at the temple between your legs like the fresh fruit of my mango tree I pick every June.
Peel her skin back with my teeth.
Sink in to her meat.
I like to see him sticky with my fruit the same way I get, every summer.
Copy Editor: Travis May