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In Praise of Pussy
© 2002 by Julius



Erotic Fiction Ass man, tit man, leg man, pussy man.  A man should be all things, surely!

But, as befits this day, I shall, for now, be a pussy man.

I like the word, dammit! Soft, furry, begging to be stroked, held, nuzzled, loved.  Every other word for it seems to have headed gutterwards with time. "Muff" is nice, too, but for now let's be at ease with "pussy".  Let's say it a few times shall we?

Pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy.  Hmm! Sweet word isn't it?

Right boys and girls, squirm a little into your chairs.  Right hand for scrolling.  The left hand? Perhaps a gentle caressing, stroking action to focus us on this little piece of pussy praising prose.  Comfy? Very well, I shall continue:

The sight of her? Always a mound, just made to fit the hand.  She's a triangle, too, of course - and that's what she wears - from the modest triangle of sensible panties which cover her completely through ever narrower "vees" to those wicked little thong things that threaten to lose themselves in her.  Isn't she magic? The soft look of cotton, the sheen of silks and satins - the colours: red and blue and green that show so well the dark patch of her arousal! White and pastels that contrast with her dark fur.  The sheers which let that darkness hint subtly through.  We keep her trimmed.  Her fur is neatly covered when she's clad.  Well, except when she wears those tiny panties and thongs that kind of...  well, you know... kind of slip between ...  and then, well, she's barely clothed at all.  And naked, how does she look? Well, she's never really naked is she? With that soft, trimmed strip of curls we leave.  But she is beautiful unclothed.  That hair is a shadowline in quiet light.  It hints at the prize beneath.  The soft paleness on either side just begs for kisses.  My fingers, mouth, cock forever beg too, for their turn at her but it's my eyes that tell them how she looks before they feel! And she looks beautiful!

The scent of her.  Heavenly.  She's woman's version of leaves in the woods after rain.  Words can't adequately tell of scent, so that phrase must suffice: 'fresh, rain-wet leaves.' It's there after her shower, mingled with soap scent and talc's caress.  Its there after a busy day, better, sweeter, sharper.  A promise.  And afterwards, after loving her? It's on my mustache, my beard.  A lingering, teasing perfumed memory that stays and makes me smile, makes me relive her heat.

The taste of her This is the most elusive surely.  Her taste her scent are so interwoven.  She's sweet if she's anything.  But she's salty too, somewhere there in her centre.  Like sipping spring water, clean and clear and pure.  Heaven knows, she's wet enough.  We laugh at her wetness when we love.  But there's always that sweet saltiness that teases my lapping tongue.

The feel of her This could fill a book! The feel of her under my fingers.  That firm buried ridge that excites me so (and her of course).  The softness of her.  The softness, the softness.  The creamy melted butter of her.  The warm flowing honey of her.  The heat.  The textures.  My fingers play and frolic, my brain asks for more.

How do I explain the feel of loving this beautiful thing with tongue and lips and teeth.  To kiss her panty-clad, to nuzzle her undressed.  An open dew-drowned flower under my mouth.  I never get enough of her! Only her orgasms or her: "No more! Please!", or my so desperate need for her can end the kissing.  I think I could drown! One day maybe I will!

The feel of being inside her...that first scalding impalement.  How can any two things fit so well? The heat, the silky, sliding tightness.  The squeezing, milking magic.  I'm forever on the brink.  Kept there by this wonderful handful of heaven, kept there but forever driven on.  The phrase "this is to die for," says it all so well.  So very well.

And then? ........  then? My words can't describe pussy when we come to THEN!!

Lucky man! Lucky mankind! Praise the Creator for making this incredible, unspeakably beautiful little triangle! Surely the most perfect of designs.

Pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy.  Hmm. Sweet, sweet word is it not?

"In Praise of Pussy"  © 2002 Julius. All rights reserved.

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Julius

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