As he penetrates me I close my eyes and clench on his cock. First at the base and then until I feel him whole. And then I think, rather than say: can you feel me?
It is irrelevant, cause I start to breath and let it synch with the clinch and relax the grip, picturing waves licking the white sand at night, until it is impossible to control and I loose my grasp of time, of sound, of reality, a tinitus piercing my brain, echoing my own heart. He is nothing but his cock, a world in a phallus, fitting so perfectly the insides of me.
Oh, the wonder of that part of the masculine anatomy! I could not enjoy it more, if I wasn´t a woman. Different shapes and sizes, and the same man may manifest different sizes according to his level of excitement, or age, or health. A short man may have a mighty thick and long cock, while a tall and strong man may have a thin and short thingy. Some men like a hard grip, others prefer a lighter touch. There are men whose cum is watery, not too plenty, and easy to swallow, of soft taste and smell, and it is always a pleasure to eat their cum, or have it dripping lazily between my legs, instead of washing myself soon after we´re spent. Needless to talk about those who aren´t so literally delicious.
The risk and the guilt, the pretense of love, the recklessness of passion. In the end it´s all about a few moments of pleasure or oblivion.
Still I cling as much as clench on his cock, and time and time again I think to myself: can you feel me?