I have this thing about women. 

It’s a feeling that starts deep in my intestines then slowly rises and fills my chest, begging to be released; I’ve felt it long before I had the words for it. 

I take pride in my self control, even though it’s more of a necessity than anything.

If I didn’t possess it, I would be a terror– succumbing to my starvation in deeply horrifying ways. 

What I love so much about sex is that it is essentially my socially acceptable, time contained feeding hour. I am free to bite and suck and drag my teeth along deep veins then look up and smile because she thinks it’s sexy. 

I am not shy about my desire to consume. The beauty of this colloquial kink is that I can hide behind it. We joke about it after. When I say, I want to eat you, she laughs and I remind myself to do the same. 

I feel closer to God when I eat pussy than I ever did in church– both on bended knees but one just a bit closer to the creator in the flesh. Devour and devotion sit temptingly close on my tongue.

Giving yourself to God, giving yourself to desire, is all the same giving up control. I have always perceived this as an extremely scary phenomenon. What if I accept the fact that I love the way her hair falls when she’s on top of me, so much so that I couldn’t live without it? Like, no wonder Jesus had twelve dudes following him everywhere. 

I used to think, maybe if I eat her all up she can’t control me anymore. But now I realize with each bite, the craving is not so much that of power and control, but rather an insatiable need to diminish it all together

…slowly, taste by taste. 

I don’t know how I am supposed to deeply appreciate without falling completely in awe, but perhaps that is the whole point. 

I don’t know. 

I think you do know. 

I just wanted to hear you say it.