Then cancer came,
my throat, sliced to cut cancer out,
suckles frightened me.
I could not suck him for a long time.
Last night, the urge visited me.
I felt his taste on my tongue,
the texture of his skin, frenulum,
a sharp wrinkle against my tongue,
smooth helmet brushing
ridges, the roof of my mouth,
scent of pubic hair,
tickling my nose,
weight of testicles, cupped in my hand,
I want to be there.
I spoke of it,
last night he just smiled.
It’s been a long time, you see.
I’d spoken before,
tried, but panicked,
leaving him cooling, dry.
I woke, dreaming, got up to pee.
When I returned to our bed,
his cock against his leg,
lay slightly swollen, wanton.
I touched his arm,
ran my fingers down his body,
the raised nipple,
belly hairs rising, muscles tightened,
My fingers came to rest on his thigh.
I leaned in and kissed him softly,
his cock hardened against my lips,
hips thrust toward me.
I took him in my mouth,
and it was good, we sighed.
© 2015 ThePoet, Nymphadora