Writing My Wrongs

I am staring into windows as I sit at my desk…one good thing about working so high up in these skyscrapers…I can become a peeping Tom by no volition of my own. I have a huge window to the left of my desk and if it didn’t take up the whole wall…I could avoid looking into people’s private lives…freely and without guilt.

Today I wasn’t actually peeping though. Today I was staring off into space. Thinking of your lips. I don’t think that I could have lived my life honestly…without having felt your lips on mine. For that matter, your lips anywhere on my body. It’s only now that I don’t have access to them, that I sometimes stare off into space and dream of them in places that no longer feel the same without your lips to plant soft small kisses on. Granted, up until you and I drifted apart, I used those babies up and made sure you planted them anywhere and everywhere I could coax you to.

If you could have left those on my night stand before you left instead of the money you owed me…I would have been happy with the trade off. I wouldn’t be sitting here…thinking of them. I could reach into my purse and pull them out and use them but never abuse them. Making sure to keep Chapstick on them so that they always remain soft and supple and fresh and pliant and soft…oh, I said soft already. Either way, I would cherish your lips like I did when they were here. Yea, too bad you didn’t leave those behind rather than the worn, tattered and holey underwear left in my bottom drawer in the right hand corner.

You weren’t around nearly as much as I wanted you to be, back in those days. I never got all the intimacy I needed to feel like I was…needed. But…I have to admit, I get warm from the inside out as I think about all the times that I did have them around. With that knowledge, I suppose that there had to be something about me that made you want to press those luscious lips on parts of my body. Doing things that made me blush and made me cum. Ah, those lips on me.

Is it possible to get an obligatory break-up lip-lock for old times sake. I mean, you can keep your words to yourself…and no need for your hands… just come over and put those soup sippers on me…
...on me something gooooood...and bad, all at the same time.