identity

Who am I?

I've been boyfriend, husband, lover, playboy, slut.

I'm not sure who I am this week. I'm just this guy who's waiting for a girl who may or may not be his. What does that make me? What is my sexual identity right now?

Oddly enough, at the moment it makes me satisfied.

I wake up in the mornings, hard, think about her. Imagine her spread eagled on her back, staring at me, waiting for my tongue or my cock or my fingers. I imagine her impaled on top of me, her hands on my stomach and her arms pressing her perfect tits together as she moves on me. I come, making a mess all over my muscular stomach, sometimes all the way up my chest to my neck.

I know she's been ending her nights the same way, full of her vibrator, imagining it's my cock massaging her insides, imagining my tongue on her clit instead of those rabbit ears, my cock in her mouth instead of a wet finger. I know she imagines me coming all over her tits, her face, breaking the rules and filling her pussy with my cum, again and again until she overflows.

I know these things.

So I guess I don't need an identity, for now.

We can figure one out for me when she gets back.